Page 72 of Jesse's Girl
I also can’t stop checking the clock on the wall above the bar. Or eyeing the front doors as the time ticks closer to seven.
Fucking Jesse Bailey.
I have no idea what he wants to talk to me about. All I know is, whatever friendship-zone groove we’d found ourselves in, everything shifted the night he punched that drunk asshole. I can’t stop thinking about the way he held me—the weight of his chin resting on my head and his deep voice rumbling against my cheek as I rested it on his chest. Fuck. As hugs go, it may have been the best one I’ve ever had. I fidget with the bar cloth, remembering what I said to him that night. I should never have gone into his room and definitely shouldn’t have blathered about his relationship with his mom.
What was I thinking? Maybe the sight of his shirtless chest melted my brain… Or I was just strung out on adrenaline after watching him deck that lecherous shithead. I don’t normally get off on the knight-in-shining-armor thing but, I have to admit, it was a pretty badass punch. And it left me feeling things I’m not proud of. Cared for. Protected. I look up at the ceiling, blowing out a breath.
Ugh, I’m the worst feminist.
I scrunch my nose, remembering his earnest face last week when he told me I should apply for art school.
Why has he got to be so goddamn supportive?
I’m wiping down the bar when Jesse opens the front door and our eyes immediately meet. He looks sexy as fuck in a plain white T-shirt and well-worn jeans. Warmth coils low in my stomach, and I tear my gaze away before I start biting my lip and fluttering my fucking eyelashes. I quickly wring out the cloth and nudge Ros. Taking my dinner break suddenly feels urgent.
Dashing to the staff room to grab my purse, I give myself a quick pep talk.
Get it together. It’s just fucking Jesse.
I stop at the mirror to fix a few errant strands of hair, catching myself taking longer than I should.
Ugh!
I give my arms a shake and try for bland apathy.
Perfect. Just… hold that pose.
Strolling out past the bar, I make a beeline for the front doors, heart hammering in my chest. It’s only when I’m midway through breezing past Jesse that I realize I’ve overshot apathy and landed on rude indifference.
Shit. Too much.
“Ada?” He jogs after me. “Wait up! What the hell?”
“Come on. I’m hungry. Let’s go.” I throw the lie over my shoulder, hoping the excuse explains my aloofness.
He catches up to me right as I push out the door and onto the sidewalk. He grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks, and I spin back to face him.
Fuck.
He’s so close I can smell his soap. He must have just showered.
Double fuck; now I’m picturing him naked. And wet. And soapy…
I take a step back, pulling my arm away.
“You gonna tell me why you’re acting like a spooked horse?” He frowns and stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“I’m not spooked,” I say. I glance through the restaurant window, feeling like everyone must be watching us, then turn back to Jesse. “I told you, I’m hungry. Let’s just go.” I stalk down the sidewalk, out of sight of my coworkers.
Why am I acting like this? This isn’t endearingly snarky and aloof; this is straight up drama queen behavior.
“Ada.” Jesse jogs to catch up again and plants himself in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. The confused pinch in his brow suddenly smooths out. “Wait. Did something happen again? At work? Did someone?—”
“No!”
He exhales with obvious relief.
I let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, and try to find the words. “I’m just…”