Page 60 of Jesse's Girl

Don’t look away.

I do my best blank and bored face, hoping it’ll hide the way my heart is racing.

He studies me, our eyes locked in some kind of sexually charged Mexican standoff.

“And nothing can ever…” he adds, trailing off as he gestures between us.

“No!” I force a dark laugh. “Never.”

“Because Marcus was always clear about that—since we were kids.”

“Ew, don’t even tell me what he said.” I wave a dismissive hand, picking up my bowl and then frowning at it before setting it back down. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, and the roiling sensation in my gut is threatening to bring the few bites I’ve eaten back up.

He rubs the back of his neck. “And Ada… y’know, beyond the whole Marcus thing… Your friendship is really important to me.”

I let out a scoff and put on a mocking tone. “My friendship is really important to you?” I give him a blank stare. “Gross, Jess. Put it in a fucking Hallmark card.”

“Okay,” he says, “so much for trying to be real with you.” He stands and lets out a long breath. Walking past me, he pauses and leans down close. “But you don’t need to be shitty about it.” He smiles as he gently shoves the side of my head, then freezes when his gaze lands on the open sketchbook on my lap.

I wince.

“Holy shit, Ada,” he says. “You drew that?”

I squint up at him. “No, a magical fucking forest nymph drew it.”

He gives me a look.

“Yes, of course I did.”

“It’s…” he trails off. “It’s really fucking good.”

“Sure,” I say sarcastically. “Whatever. It’s not finished.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says. “I had no idea you could draw like this.”

I roll my eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Do what?”

“Act like it’s no big deal. Be all whatever about it.” He rolls his eyes, imitating me.

“It’s just a hobby.” I don’t know why I’m downplaying this, but Jesse seeing this side of me has my guard up. Lately, my art has felt so… personal. Emotional. Raw.

“Looks like more than that to me.” He raises his brows and inspects the drawing once more.

“What are you saying?”

“I dunno… Have you ever thought about being an artist? Like, for work?”

I bark a laugh. “In this economy?”

“Ada.”

I let out a breath and try again. “I mean, sure, I’ve thought about it. But the pay is shit. Hence the bartending.”

“What about art school? You could apply. They’d have to take you.”

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