Page 22 of Jesse's Girl

“Parts of it. I like my other gig better.”

“Right, with the teens. The, uh, weird art kid mentorship program?” His lips curve in a wry smile.

I laugh. “Yeah. Dunno if you remember, but I used to go to the teen center at West Valley when I was younger.”

He frowns like he’s searching his memory.

“School was always kinda hard for me,” I continue, “and it gave me a place to be myself and get away from my parents.” Admitting this to Jesse feels so lame. I suddenly feel like a child—Marcus’ embarrassing kid sister. “It’s dumb. Whatever. Forget I mentioned it.”

He shakes his head and swallows. “Doesn’t sound dumb. If you enjoy it, and you’re helping the kids. Sounds great, actually.”

I nod, and a beat of silence passes.

“Why’d you come back?” he asks. “After traveling for so long, I mean.”

I swallow, not answering right away, and take a sip of my drink. I weigh how much detail to give him about what happened with Pascal. “Bad breakup. He… uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me, you know,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear him in the busy deli. And yet, there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me want to tell him.

I grimace, brushing off his concern. “No, it’s fine. I was living in Ireland. I got into this applied arts program in London and moved there for a few months. We did the long-distance thing… until I found out he fucked someone else.”

Jesse nearly chokes on his sandwich. “Oh, shit!”

I use my elbow to slide him a napkin, waiting for him to regain his composure before continuing. “Yeah. It… sucked. Really sucked. So, anyway, when that program ended, I came back here. I’d been gone a while, and I figured it was time to stop fucking around. You know, you can only run away from home for so long…”

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding slowly.

My eyes widen when I realize what I just implied. Shit. “I didn’t mean?—”

“No, it’s fine. You’re… not wrong.” He gives me a tight smile and we turn back to our subs, effectively dodging any in-depth discussion about why we’ve both felt the need to escape this place.

My sandwich is quickly losing its structural integrity. The top bun slides awkwardly off to one side, shreds of lettuce escaping and raining down from it at every opportunity. Mayo and dressing drip down my hands, over my wrists, and onto the checkered wax paper wrapper below. I give the sub a bewildered scowl. If it weren’t so damn delicious, I’d give up and chuck it down—call it a day.

“You, uh… you have mayo on your face.” Jesse gives me a sidelong glance.

I turn to him. “Where?”

“There,” he says with a smirk, pointing to one side of my mouth with a free pinky finger.

I lick around my lips, trying to clean it up without having to let go of my rapidly disintegrating sub.

“No, it’s still there,” he says, chuckling as I redouble my efforts. “Here,” he says, setting his sandwich down and picking up a napkin.

I swallow as he turns to me. “What are you doing?” I ask, my body ringing alarm bells. I’m suddenly aware of my breathing.

“Just hold still, damnit.” A slow smile plays over his lips.

“Ugh, fine,” I say, realizing I need the help. “Just don’t lick the napkin first like a gross grandma.” I back away in a cautious pause.

His expression falls. “Do I look like a gross grandma?”

If only you did.

He leans in and gently wipes my cheek at the corner of my mouth, his gaze lifting to mine and twinkling with amusement.

My breath hitches ever so slightly in my throat as I search his eyes. I barely have time to register his wicked grin as he shoves the napkin into my face, pushing me back with it. I gasp, my entire body tensing as I try not to lose my balance and fall off the stool.

“Ugh, asshole!” I say, dropping my sandwich and shoving Jesse away, messy hands be damned. I sit there gaping as he laughs.

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