Page 45 of Jesse's Girl

An Ada Russo original.

Taking one last look at it, I shake my head and head back to the kitchen for my coffee. As I pass Ada’s room, I catch a sliver of soft light peeking out from under her door and pause.

She’s awake.

I imagine her on the other side, rubbing the sleep from her eyes or pulling on an oversized hoodie. I fight the urge to knock, then walk on. Just friends, I remind myself, returning to the kitchen. Just roommates. Marcus’ sister. Marcus’ sister. Marcus’ sister.

I’m reaching for the coffeepot when her door clicks open.

“You’re sweaty.”

“Hey,” I reply, unable to hide my wide smile when I see her standing at her bedroom door.

She’s wearing cotton pajama shorts and a faded David Bowie T-shirt. I have to rip my eyes from her when I notice the hard points of her nipples through the fabric.

Jesus.

I clear my throat. “Coffee?”

“Please.” She rubs her arms like she’s cold and shuffles into the kitchen.

I get out another mug and pour two cups.

“Thanks.” She takes one and leans against the counter, reaching out to pluck at the shoulder of my sweaty T-shirt with a grimace. “Did you go to the gym on the surface of the sun or what?”

“Pretty much.”

“How long have you been up?” she asks, then takes a sip.

“Since five, I think?”

She nearly spits out her coffee, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are you fucking serious?”

I smile. “That’s what happens when you spend eight years getting up with the sun. That shit’s in my bones now.”

She scoffs. “You and I are very different people.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” I say. “I have it on good authority we’re both snarky little bitches.” I nudge her bare shin with my toe.

“Ah!” She laughs, pulling her leg away. “Get your sweaty foot off me!”

I chuckle, then sip my coffee. “So, what are you doing today? You at the bar?”

“No.” She sets down her mug long enough to hop up onto the counter, letting her feet dangle in front of the lower cupboards. “Tonight I’m taking the youths out to terrorize the community.”

“Yeah? Where?” I ask with a smirk.

“Bowling alley.”

“Oh, man,” I breathe. “That takes me back.”

“I know, right?” She peers at me over the rim of her mug. “Gotta make sure they meet their teenage shenanigans quota.”

I lift a brow. “Remember all those popcorn fights in the parking lot after they closed?”

“Vividly,” she says, taking another sip of coffee, then smiles to herself. “Like that time you poured your entire bag down the back of Marcus’ shirt?”

“Ha!” I bark. “Yes! Some of it got stuck in his ass crack.”

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