Page 8 of Forgotten

“Jesse? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Holy…. Holy shit. Charlotte? Charlotte, what the hell areyoudoing here?”

“I asked first,” I said, unable to stop the bubbling laugh of surprise from coming out. The smile that came with it triggered one of Jesse’s, and suddenly, my knees got weaker.

He looked incredible. Just stupidly incredible.

Tall and lean, I knew for a fact that he hid a series of stomach muscles under that raggedy T-shirt he wore. A bandana tied around his neck made him look like he’d just gotten done robbing a bank, and his torn jeans indicated that his style hadn’t changed much since he discovered eighties heavy metal. But those eyes… those deep blue eyes, they burned into me with a fondness and recognition that absolutely nailed me to the spot. Absentmindedly, I dropped my phone.

“You dropped your phone,” he said.

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to… pick it… up?”

He was looking at me like I had lost my mind, which, to be fair, I felt like I had. What was he doing here? Why did he look so good? What the hell happened to the last eight years of growth and distance that I was so dumbfounded and overwhelmed by seeing him that I couldn’t even grip my damn phone?

“Yes,” I said. “In a minute.”

“O… kay,” he said. “Can I get a hug?”

Nodding, I took a half-step forward and hugged him awkwardly. It was the hug of two people who once were close but had been apart for a long time. There was a closeness to it, an intimacy that others wouldn’t have, and yet it was weird and disjointed, both of us pulling away early to not make it any weirder than it already was.

As I hugged him, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Had he driven here like that? Did his life spiral and I didn’t know it?

“So, hug done, why are you here?” I asked.

“To stay in a room,” he laughed. “My band is already here. I’m supposed to have a room up on the top floor.”

“Wait, your band?The Hitmen?”

He laughed again. “No, no, that band broke up a long time ago. Kev’s still here, though. Just me and him left.”

“Oh,” I said.

“CalledThe Jesse James Galloway Band,” I said.

“Oh. Original,” I said, then felt my skin go beet red in embarrassment. “I mean, it’s not bad! It’s just… just… Wow. How long has it been?”

“Eight years,” he said immediately. He didn’t seem to mind me changing the subject rapidly but did grin a little, making it even harder for me to remain standing.

“Eight years, wow,” I said. “Excuse me.”

I bent over and picked up my phone, sticking it in the pocket of my black slacks and clearing my throat.

“Anyway, yeah, I just got in and caught the bar before it closed. Got a little drink in before checking in, since no one was at the desk.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “My clerk went off to help another guest. I didn’t know she wasn’t back yet.”

“Are you the manager?”

I smiled proudly and yet felt insecure all at once. I was proud of how hard I’d worked to get to my position, and it was one where I held a considerable amount of respect and power—and it paid well. But Jesse was a freaking rock star. Because of course he was. It just fell flat in the face of him coming in looking like he did with all his swagger and casually mentioning he was staying on the top floor because he was such a big shot.

“I am,” I said. “I can check you in.”

“Sure, sure, yeah,” he said. “Are you… are you working overnight, or—?”

“No,” I said, “I’m still not a night owl like you. I’m just covering for someone who had to call in. I actually should have left about twenty minutes ago.”

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