Page 9 of The Stud Next Door (Frisky Business 3)
Jessa turns on her heel to wave me indoors. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, instantly distracted by the way her ass looks in that pair of heather-gray yoga pants. Two plump and perky handfuls.
Remember all that steely resolve? Yeah, it’s just a puddle of pathetic mush now.
“How was she today?” I kick off my shoes, noticing an unfamiliar pair of red-orange sneakers tucked onto the mat next to my own black ones. Cute.
“We had a bit of a mess around lunchtime, but otherwise she was an angel.”
I follow Jessa into the kitchen, and the scent of garlic fills my nostrils like I’m stepping into an Italian bistro. My stomach growls as I catch sight of steaming pasta and freshly cut vegetables.
“You made dinner?”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I figured it’s your first day back, so you’d probably be tired.”
“That’s really thoughtful of you,” I say, a smile twitching at the corner of my mouth. “Smells great. What is it?”
“Pasta primavera, maybe.” She chuckles, peeking over the lip of the small saucepan to monitor whatever buttery sauce she has going. “Mrs. Wilkes let me snag a few veggies from her garden. You’ll have to let me know how it turns out.”
I lean against the door frame, crossing my arms. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”
The wooden spoon stills in the pot. After a second, Jessa looks at me over her shoulder and shrugs. “Sure, why not?”
After transferring Marley from the sling into a portable bassinet since she’s still sound asleep, we sit down to eat. The pasta is cooked to perfection, fragrant with fresh garden flavors. Warm food in my stomach and dry wine on my lips, I’m more relaxed in this moment than I’ve been in . . . well, months.
“This is really good,” Jessa murmurs into her wineglass, indulging in another sip. “Tastes expensive.”
“It’s not. Just a grocery store brand.” I laugh, enjoying the flush that creeps over her cheeks. Making Jessa blush may be my new favorite pastime.
“I wouldn’t know.” She smiles, shaking her head slightly. “I’m more of a beer gal.”
All right. That’s just not fighting fair.
“They have beer where you’re going?” I ask, popping another forkful of pasta into my mouth. Not the smoothest transition, but I’m curious. I mean, why Central America?
“Don’t they have beer everywhere?” she says, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Seems it’s better to be direct with this woman.
“I should hope so. What will you be doing down there, anyway?”
“Well, the nonprofit helps folks in El Salvador prepare to emigrate to America. Assisting with documents, simulating naturalization interviews, and so on. I’m going to be working with the children, specifically.”
My eyebrows raise of their own volition. “That’s cool.”
“Thanks.” She smiles nonchalantly, my words rolling off her as easily as if I’d reminded her the sky is blue.
“Seriously, Jessa. You’re really impressive. I can’t say I know anyone else who has mission work on their résumé.”
“Well, it’s not on my résumé yet . . .”
“But it will be. Is this just like a one-time thing, or is it something you want to pursue?”
She smiles, poking at her pasta with her fork. “I’ve actually thought about becoming an immigration lawyer. But that would mean I’d have to go back to school.”
Blown away, I lean back in my chair. The level of ambition at this table makes me feel like a hack. A deep laugh rumbles from my belly.
“What?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.
“Nothing. I just didn’t know I was employing a superhero. But I guess I should have known, considering you did save my ass within minutes of meeting me.”
“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes, but her adorable grin is impossible to miss.
“In all seriousness . . .” I sigh, letting my gaze wander up to the ceiling. “I really respect that. What you’re up to is a lot more admirable than selling vibrators and massage oil for a living.”
“Don’t say that,” she says, her voice firm. “A healthy, active sex life is important too.”
Our eyes lock. Suddenly, I don’t know if we’re just having small talk or if Jessa feels the same connection I do. A flurry of fantasies ricochet around in my head, like someone lit off a firework in there.
Just when I’m about to open my mouth and agree with her that sex is important, there’s a knock at the door.
“Who’s that?” Jessa asks, concern creasing her brow.
“I have no idea.”
When I open the door, I’m surprised to find Maren and Scarlett on my front porch with wide, goofy smiles on their faces.
“Surprise,” they both exclaim, lifting twin foil-wrapped casserole dishes into the air. Slung over their shoulders are large grocery bags filled to the brim with diapers and baby wipes.
“Hey.” I chuckle, any moodiness melting away into appreciation. I’d forgotten Maren had promised to bring over supplies one of these days when she learned from Hayes that I’d been struggling. “Come on in.”
