Page 37 of Jesse's Girl

I cut him off. “Yeah, but I had a thing for Naomi way before we moved in together. This is Ada we’re talking about.”

“So?”

“I dunno. She was always just part of our crew of dumbasses. Basically one of the guys, right?”

The sight of her ass in that miniskirt flashes in my mind, reminding me she is anything but one of the guys. I stomp the image down and sell what I’m saying. “I don’t think about her like that. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah?” He looks cautious.

I shouldn’t need to put this much mental energy into appearing confident, but I have no choice. Plus, maybe if I tell myself this story enough times, it’ll make it true—like some kind of keep-your-dick-in-your-pants positive affirmation.

“Dude. Come on,” I say. Under normal circumstances, I’d be hurt he doesn’t trust me, and I hate myself for knowing that, deep down, his worry isn’t totally out of line. One thing’s for sure: I can’t fuck this up.

“Okay, okay. Sorry I mentioned it.” He pauses like he’s mulling something over.

I watch him closely, putting my hands on my hips. “If you’ve got more to say, man, just spit it out.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt again. And I don’t want her getting hurt, either. Or for anything to fuck with our friendship. Because she’s family. It’d be messy.”

“Marcus.” I dead-eye him. “I don’t know what scenario you’ve cooked up in your head, but let it go. Not gonna happen. Ada and I are just friends. Now, can we get this shit inside?”

He nods. “Yeah, okay. Forget I said anything.”

We heft the mattress off the roof of the car and balance it between us as we walk down the stairs to Ada’s basement suite.

Marcus backs through the door and I follow with my end, ducking my head to avoid hitting it on the low doorframe. “Happy new roomie day, sis!” he calls out in a cheerful tone.

When we make our way into the kitchen, Ada’s doing dishes at the sink. Her turquoise hair is pulled up in a half ponytail and she’s wearing a tight red tank top and snug, cut-off jean shorts.

I snap my eyes up to meet hers when she turns to look over her shoulder.

Great start, dickhead.

“Hey,” is all Ada says to me, a hint of a smile touching her lips as she sets a dripping bowl on the dish rack. The shared eye contact—and the way her gaze slips from mine as she dries her hands on a tea towel—feels almost… awkward. Ada’s usual sarcastic self is MIA, and it’s a strangely uncomfortable feeling.

Marcus navigates us past Ada toward Katie’s old room, glancing over each shoulder to see where he’s going.

Behind me, plates clink under running water, and I try to think of something to say to smooth over whatever unease I sensed from Ada on the way in.

We deposit the mattress against the wall and return to Marcus’ car to get the bed frame, each lugging one of the simple metal bed rails to my new room. I’m looking forward to a better sleep tonight, grateful to have brought my trash couch era to a close.

Once my bed is assembled, we head back to the kitchen where Ada stands on tiptoe, reaching to put some dry dishes in a high cabinet.

My gaze once again falls lower than it should and… fuck. I guess whatever moral high ground I asserted with that prick Travis was just an act, because even I can’t stop myself from staring at Ada’s ass.

I clear my throat.

She turns as Marcus walks over to her and slings his arm over her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks.

She gives him a tired side-eye. “Sorry. I’m in a weird mood.”

After that argument with her parents last night, I think I can guess why.

“You’re probably just missing Katie,” Marcus says.

“I dunno. Maybe.” She throws me a brief look.

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