Page 44 of Jesse's Girl

“What, we too good for bowls?” he asks as he takes one.

“Oh, yeah. Bowls are way beneath us,” I reply with an arched brow, holding out the container to him. “Yetis first.”

He studies me before taking a reluctant scoop, and I try not to stare at his lips as he puts it in his mouth.

“Mmm, okay, this was a good idea,” he mumbles around the ice cream, gesturing to the container in my hands.

“Now, tell me what happened with awful Kristen.” I try to suppress a smile.

“Hey, I didn’t call her that,” he corrects me, pointing at me with his spoon.

“Okay, yeah, yeah,” I say, swirling my own spoon in his direction. “A girl can extrapolate, though.”

He hesitates for a beat, like he’s trying to decide what to say. “Okay, well… it wasn’t that bad. She was just checking her phone the whole night.”

“Gross,” I say, around a mouthful of ice cream.

“Yeah, and when she wasn’t on her phone, she and Renee were talking about real estate. But, like, every story was one of those you-had-to-be-there things, with inside jokes that just didn’t…” He trails off. “I dunno. It doesn’t matter, I guess.”

I make a face. “Ew. Sounds painful.”

“Exactly, right?” He shakes his head, then glances at me before digging his spoon back in. “Just not my kind of person. Whatever.” He looks tired—maybe even disappointed.

The urge to comfort him rises in my throat, but I don’t know how. I have to stop myself from reaching for his chest—from chucking the ice cream aside and sliding my chilled fingers over the soft, warm fabric of his shirt and feeling the breath fill his ribcage.

Stop thinking about touching him. Christ.

Taking one last bite, I push the container into his hands. “I should go to bed,” I say softly, then toss my spoon into the sink before turning to leave. “Sorry your night didn’t end up so great.”

“Hey,” he calls to me over his shoulder.

I pause and turn on my heel to face him.

We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before he speaks. “It uh… ended up alright after all.” He looks like he wants to say something more.

My heartbeat picks up, my pulse racing in my neck. There’s something loaded about the way he’s staring at me. Something that stirs places inside me that should be decidedly unstirred by Jesse Bailey.

“Anyway, thanks,” is all he says, raising the ice cream container with a lazy smile.

I nod and turn back toward my room before he can see the grin spread over my face.

10

JESSE

The apartment’s quiet when I unlock the front door, and I realize I’m both relieved and disappointed Ada’s not up yet. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead.

Shit.

It’s been nine days since I moved in with her and I’m fucking struggling.

I pinch the chest of my sweat-slicked T-shirt, tugging it away from my skin, and switch on the coffeemaker. Determined to settle my mind with exercise this morning, I’d found a gym several miles away and decided to run there and back. But even a long, hard workout couldn’t calm the virtually permanent fizzing feeling in my stomach, and I’m just as worked up now as always.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her this much. About the feeling of her arms around my waist. About how she smells like goddamn summertime. About that time I came home with a load of groceries and caught her dancing to the Beastie Boys on full blast in the kitchen. About how sneaking up on her Friday—mug of wine in her hand, tipsy smile on her lips—was the best part of my night. About how she intuitively understood why my date with Kristen had been a letdown.

Ada saw me—saw what I needed, what I wanted. And what I wanted was her. I still want her.

I open the cupboard, resolving to push Ada out of my mind yet again. As I set a mug on the counter, a sticky note on the wall catches my attention. I walk over for a closer look, then huff an amused breath at the doodle. Scrawled in red marker is a bearded guy with his hair in a bun. The cartoon me is crying, theatrical tears streaming down his face and an ominously large pair of scissors hovering over his head. Above the drawing is the word “you”; underneath, it says “soon”—underlined three times. Smiling to myself, I peel it off the wall and walk back to my room. I stick it above my bed, smoothing it flat with my hand.

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