Page 35 of Jesse's Girl

“Isn’t the right side of the brain more creative, like artistic and stuff?” Marcus asks.

“Oh, that’s totally you, Ada,” Renee adds. “With all your drawing and painting.”

My anger wanes slightly as I realize what they’ve done—how elegantly they’ve derailed my parents’ line of interrogation and shifted the subject away from college.

“I’m uh… I’m gonna go get some air.” Five sets of eyes follow me as I push out of the dining room, but I can’t look back.

I pace on the front porch for a few minutes, trying to calm myself down. Eventually, I settle enough to sit on the wicker bench near the living room window, hugging my knees to my chest as I stare out at the street.

The front door opens, and I smile when Jesse emerges with a small plate of tiramisu in one hand.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

“Hey.” There’s an enviable ease in his voice.

“That for me?” I gaze longingly at his dessert as he walks over.

“Fuck no!” He pulls it away, affecting a shocked expression. “Get your own!”

I suppress a laugh and groan, peering up at him. “Don’t make me go back in there.”

He sighs. “Okay, fine. Shove over.”

I shift sideways on the bench so he can sit beside me. The wicker crackles under his weight.

He passes me the spoon, holding the plate between us.

“Sorry you had to witness that carnage.” I take a bite and pass the spoon back. It’s light and creamy—one of Mrs. Nicolosi’s better efforts.

“What? You eviscerating your parents with the stone-cold facts about your neurological wiring?” The corner of his mouth curls before he takes a bite of the dessert.

“Sure.” I blow air through my nose, trying not to think about how he licks his lips. Or how the spoon that was just in my mouth is now in his mouth. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” he asks. The spoon clinks against the plate as he sets it down.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. You know. For…” I pause, searching for the words. “For being my buffer.”

“Buffer?” He frowns, then flicks a mosquito from my shoulder.

“With my parents.” I rub my arms.

He takes another bite and nods, passing me the plate.

I scoop up another piece as I lift my gaze. “You sure about this?”

“Sharing my tiramisu with you?”

“No. Living with me, you ding-dong.” I put the bite in my mouth.

“Ding-dong?” He raises a brow. “Wow, you must be pretty shaken up. That was weaksauce.”

“Shut up.” I laugh, swatting his knee. “Seriously. You wanna be roommates?”

He nods slowly, studying me. “Yeah, I think so. If you’re cool with it.”

For a moment, something unspoken buzzes like static in the air.

I swallow my tiramisu. “Yeah. I’m cool with it.”

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