Page 3 of Jesse's Girl
His mom’s in the hospital
Tell mom and dad I won’t make dinner tonight
“Shit,” I breathe, my brow knotting with concern.
“What’s wrong?” Katie asks.
I turn the phone so she can read Marcus’ texts.
She presses her lips together.
“You already knew,” I say.
“Confidential patient information. Sorry. I couldn’t.”
“How bad is it?”
“Ada…” She averts her gaze and stands.
We both know she can’t tell me. But she’s an ICU nurse. It can’t be good.
“Just… is it bad?” I search her face for a hint. “Blink twice for bad.”
“I’m not…” she says, turning to leave.
“Katie!” I say, catching her by the arm.
“Just text Marcus and ask him like a normal person,” she says, shaking me off.
Fuck. Jesse’s mom was always so sweet when we were younger. She can’t be that much older than my parents, can she? Guilt shimmers in the periphery of my mind for bitching about Mom and Dad.
“Fine.” I send a quick reply to my brother then pocket my phone, chewing on my lip. “I should get ready, anyway. I’m covering part of Kyle’s shift at the bar before dinner.”
Katie throws me a confused look over her shoulder as I follow her into the kitchen.
“He asked me for a favor. He has a thing.” A fuck-buddy, probably. “I could use the extra hours.” Especially if I can’t find someone to split the rent soon. I’ve known for a few weeks Katie was moving out—saw it coming a mile away, even before she gave her notice—but Dimitri proposing last week finally made it real. I admit, I’ve been procrastinating on the roommate search.
Katie nods, a hint of guilt flickering over her features, as she fills a glass with water. “Make sure you bleed the drunks dry for tips then?”
I flash her a playful smile. “Always do.”
“Okay, I need to get the last of these boxes moved before my shift.” She turns toward her room.
“I believe in you, you beautiful she-beast!” I call after her.
She spins on her heel, walking backward a few paces, and flips me off with a smirk.
I slip behind the bar at Carnival with two bobby pins between my lips and lift my chin at Kyle. Rising on tiptoe to catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar shelves, I quickly pin my hair away from my face and move to the sink to wash my hands.
“Hey,” I say over my shoulder, then shut off the tap and grab a towel.
“Hey, yourself.” He fills a pint glass and slides it over the bar top to a woman who gives him a lingering look. “Enjoy,” he purrs softly, leaning toward her. Kyle would flirt with a lamppost if it had boobs.
“Kyle,” I say and, when his gaze stays trained on the woman’s ass as she walks away, I snap my fingers in his peripheral vision. “Kyle!”
His eyes jump to mine.
“You wouldn’t know of anyone who needs a place to live, would you?” I hate that it’s come to this.