Page 117 of Jesse's Girl

“Okay,” I say. “If you don’t want this, fine. Like I said, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. Do I hope you do something with your art? Yes. Not gonna pretend I don’t. But I won’t pressure you anymore.”

She considers me for a long moment. When she speaks, she sounds tired. “Let’s just go home.”

“Ada…” I say in a low voice. “Come here. Please.”

Reluctantly, she lets me pull her into my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, kissing her cheek. I don’t give a damn we’re out on the street. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know.” Ada’s brown eyes lift to mine. “Whether you believe me or not, I am happy. Right now, anyway.”

I let out a breath through my nose. “Ominous.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, pulling back slightly.

We both know there’s an expiration date on… whatever this is. On us.

“I’ll drop it, okay? The art stuff.”

“Really?” She peers up at me.

“Yes, really. I’ll chill.”

“You’ll chill?”

“I’ll be super chill. You won’t even recognize me, I’ll be chilling so hard.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

I don’t know how long we stand there, just holding each other, but the fight seems to melt from her as I run my hands over her hair, her shoulders, her back. The thought of leaving her makes my chest ache.

Ada eventually braces both hands on my hips and rises onto her tiptoes to lift her mouth to mine. The kiss is soft and slow, sending a warmth through me that’s equal parts incredible and terrifying.

As our lips part, I press my forehead to hers. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.

“Promise me something,” I say softly.

“Mmm?”

“Promise me, at the end of the summer, when I go back…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “We’ll stay friends.”

“Friends who used to fuck?”

“Oh, geez.” I lift my head and rub my forehead with the back of my wrist. “Do you have to make everything crass? I mean it, though. Let’s not let things get weird. I know it might be a bit weird—possibly shitty… But let’s promise not to be shitty to each other, okay?”

She prods me in the chest with a finger. “Jesse Bailey, are you telling me not to break your heart?”

“Is that Ada Russo?” an older woman’s voice comes from nearby.

We turn, pulling apart with a speed that only implies guilt.

“Hi,” Ada ventures. “Mrs. Nicolosi? What are you doing here?”

“Just getting some shopping done, dear.” She lifts the bags in her hands and gives us both a kind smile.

I slip my hands into my pockets, awkwardness quickly giving way to dread that we’ve run into someone from home.

Shit.

---