Page 31 of Jesse's Girl

He sits back in his chair and shrugs. “Didn’t want to horn in on your situation with the apartment.”

I almost laugh. “Uh… you saw my roommate prospects, right?”

He smiles and tilts his head in acknowledgment.

Fuck. Could I live with Jesse? Does he want to live with me? I study him in profile as he takes a bite of roast, wishing I could read his thoughts.

Marcus pipes up again. “But wouldn’t that…”

I pull my gaze from Jesse and face my brother.

“Wouldn’t that be weird, though? You living together?” He lets out an awkward chuckle, glancing between me and Jesse.

“No,” Jesse and I both say in unison—a little too quickly.

Our eyes meet. He looks like he’s fighting to suppress a smile.

Shit.

“Why would that be weird?” I ask Marcus, hoping I’m pulling off an air of disinterest.

“Well, I don’t see the harm in it,” Mom interjects. “You kids have been friends since high school. It might be fun! It’s not like you’re a couple.”

Right. Jesus is watching.

“Yeah,” I say to Marcus, pleasantly surprised to be agreeing with Mom for once. “We’ve known each other for, like, a thousand years.”

I can’t admit the truth—that it absolutely would be weird. Yesterday’s awkward roleplay proved that. But I also can’t ignore the relief I feel at the idea of not having to share my home with a stranger. This would buy me more time to find the right roommate.

“Well, I guess it makes sense,” Jesse offers with a shrug. “You know, if you want a non-murderer.” His brow ticks up.

“What’s this about a murderer?” Mom asks as she tops up Dad’s wine.

“Never mind, Mom,” I mumble in her direction. “It was just a joke.”

“We could split the rent for the rest of the summer,” Jesse continues. “Probably easier to find someone for September, when the students are apartment hunting.”

“I guess,” I hedge.

Dad clears his throat. “Sounds like a plan, then. I think we’ve got a spare mattress in the attic. There should be a bed frame too. Marcus can help you bring it over to Ada’s place.”

“Here,” Mom says, scooping another helping of roast onto each of our plates. “Eat some more.”

Discussion kicks off about when Marcus can move the bed and I start to quietly spiral. Am I agreeing to this? It feels like this train has already left the station. If I say no, Marcus will ask why. And if I say yes…

I consider Jesse once more as he talks with Mom about borrowing bedding. When he reaches for a piece of bread, I study his broad chest. He looks strong—like he could pin someone up against a wall.

Fuck. Inappropriate thought. Think platonic things.

I take a breath and try again.

How would we work out the groceries? Would we share food? Would he come out of the shower shirtless and… Nope.

I tear my gaze away, dragging a hand through my hair, then reach for my wine.

“It would only be for the summer,” Jesse reassures me quietly, having obviously picked up on the Ada-shaped ball of inner conflict sitting next to him.

I give him a small smile. Those damn blue eyes seem to suck up my ability to think this through.

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