Page 51 of Jesse's Girl
I’m loving this—watching her squirm as she tries to guess what I’m gonna do next. I won’t lie; this power over her is intoxicating. Pondering my options, I toss a small handful of popcorn into my mouth.
“Come on, Jess, are you gonna?—”
Before she can react, I toss another kernel at her chest, and, like a heat-seeking missile, it lands down her tank top, right between her breasts.
I almost choke. My coughing and spluttering laughter only intensifies when she slowly raises her head to glare at me. When I finally regain my composure, she’s smiling too.
She gives me a pointed look while she reaches down her shirt and plucks out the piece of popcorn, popping it into her mouth. “Get in the damn car, Man Bun.”
11
ADA
“You sure?” I ask, closing my sketchbook and tossing it onto the couch. “I can cut it? For real?”
Jesse smiles. His hair hangs in long ropes, wet spots darkening the shoulders of his blue T-shirt. He holds a towel in one hand and a comb in the other.
“Yeah, I gotta get you off my case about it somehow, don’t I?” He works his fingers through a few tangles. “It has gotten pretty long.”
“About fucking time.” I push off the couch and walk to the kitchen. “You were supposed to be working in the bush, not becoming the bush.” I pull a pair of scissors out of a drawer.
Jesse shakes his head and drags a chair into the center of the linoleum floor, placing it under the dim yellow light. “I feel like you were waiting to use that one.”
“No way to know for sure,” I deadpan. I snip the scissors in the air, then gesture to the chair. “Sit.”
“Okay, smartass,” he says, following orders.
I drape the towel around his neck and tuck it carefully under the collar of his T-shirt, willing myself to ignore the warmth of his skin against my fingertips.
He squints up at me as I circle around in front of him. “Is this where we make awkward small talk, or what?”
“Nah, this isn’t that kind of salon.” I smirk, combing out his hair.
“Okay.” He blinks a few times when some wet strands fall in front of his face. “So what kind of salon is this?”
“Big talk only. In fact, you so much as mention the weather—or the local sportsball team—and I’ll shave you bald.”
He scoffs. “Knew I shouldn’t trust you with this. We’re not one minute in and you’re already threatening me.”
“Shut up. I told you: I’m good at this. And stop moving.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His blue eyes shine with amusement.
I walk around behind him, combing and parting his dark blond hair. “So, you gonna give me some guidance about what you want, or…?”
“Honestly, as long as you don’t make me look like a dork, do whatever you want. Shorter, I guess. That’s my guidance.”
“Wow,” I say. “First the drink and now this? Do you even have opinions?”
He huffs a laugh. “When it matters, yeah.”
I take up the first sections, snipping carefully as his long, damp locks fall to the kitchen floor around my feet. His scalp is warm under my hands and he smells like soap. I have to remind myself not to lean down and huff the citrusy scent of his shampoo like some kind of subway pervert. I breathe quietly through my mouth instead, grateful I’m standing behind him where he can’t see my face, because I’m already struggling to keep my cool. This was a bad idea. But I’m committed now.
“So, have you talked with your dad since you’ve been home?”
“Oof. Big talk right outta the gate.” He rubs his hands over his jeans. “No. He’s an asshole. Cut contact years ago.”
“Okay, noted,” I say. “Things must have been pretty rough after your parents split.”