Page 35 of The Idiot

He said he’s allergic to shellfish, though, so this should be a safe bet for the last place I’d find him. I’m fucking starving, which considering how much I paid for this trip when I could have saved the money for a bigger down payment on a new tractor, I should be stuffed to the gills. I’m an adult. I can’t hide in my room and waste away because I’m being stalked by a… aboywho wants aBuild-A-Bear, daddy model number thirty-seven.

Walking like my ass is on fire, I make my way to the hostess podium and blurt out, “One! Table for one!” before the young man in the bowtie can even get a word out.

He recovers from my outburst and nods. “S-sure. Right this way.”

Walking over the threshold, I sigh in relief as though it’s a victory line. Finally. A fucking meal. A real meal, in peace, not overpriced vending machine snacks or a rushed dinner with Philip’s hand on my leg.

He… tried to feed me. Actually spooned my cherry fluff and tried to feed it to me. I amnotalright.

We pass by a few occupied tables. The place is fairly empty being that it’s only four in the afternoon and people who don’t have stalkers are probably still well-fed from lunch. I’m seated at a table near one that hasn’t been cleared yet, but I have no concern over the diligence of the cleaning staff’s promptness at the moment. The waiter comes, and I place my drink order, informing him that I’ll have the buffet. I am not waiting another second to eat.

Getting up from my chair, I balk when I nearly crash into a hand carrying a loaded plate of food.

“Murph,” Jesse blurts, rearing back and catching a crab leg as it tumbles off his heap.

“Jesse.”

My skin grows hot as we stand awkwardly, blocking the space between tables. All I can see is that silver fox’s hands all over him from when I took a stroll on one of the pool decks yesterday, trying to wear Philip out. A stranger, touching my Jesse.

‘NotyourJesse,’ my common sense reminds me. It does little to tamp down the return of my agitation.

I got groped by a sparkly minion and Jesse got a rubdown. It’s not exactly fair.

“What are you doing here?”

Frowning, he glances down at his plate. “Eating.”

Shaking my head at myself for my crap line of questioning, I move to make my way around him, but he tries to advance. Huffing, I stop. “Well,Ihaven’t eaten yet, and I’d like to change that if you could move.”

“I need to get to my seat,” he whines like I’m the one being difficult, but when I look at where he’s pointing, I am now convinced that fate has a sick sense of humor. It wasn’t an uncleared table from a previous guest that’s right next to mine. I know what Jesse can do to a buffet. Of course, he went up for a second helping the tight-ass. I still can’t get over him ponying up hot tub money to chase after me.

Sighing, I turn to the side and let him pass. If I ever take a vacation again, I’m not telling a damn soul, and I’m traveling by pack mule so there will be no paper trail left behind for anyone to discover my whereabouts.

I fill my plate mindlessly, unaware of what I even grab. Try as I might to ignore him, my only thoughts are of the fact that I’m going to have to consume an entire meal right next to the person I came here to avoid.

Taking my seat, I breathe in the aromas of my food to comfort my growling stomach. I can do this. I’m so famished that I shouldn’t even notice that the man who both makes my pulse quicken and my blood boil is only three feet away from me.

The moan I produce around my first bite of flaky tilapia shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. If Jesse knew the moans I made over the last few weeks every night that I tried not to think about him, he wouldn’t be sitting here. Between Philip telling me about his three cats, his photo booth job, his mother, and the complete history of the productions he’s been in at his local theater, I shouldn’t have had a moment tothink, but I couldn’t squash all my thoughts of Jesse. They’re probably the only thing that allowed me to tolerate Philip’s company for as long as I did, preoccupying my mind through his incessant and excitable ramblings.

I don’t know how to fix things with Jesse, and I don’t even think it has anything to do with him or that he came on this trip. Yes, he invaded my privacy. Yes, he ignored the fact that I said I wanted space, but the longer I stew on it, the more difficult it becomes to find fault in his actions. He just wants to be my friend like he always has. It’s not his fault I’m the one who doesn’t know how to do that anymore. It’s not his fault I fell for his charms, even if he never intended to use them on me.

A cracking sound pierces the air. Glancing over, I wince, watching him trying to break open a crab leg with a metal seafood cracker. That man should not eat food that requires a two-step process. I’m about to break my code of silence and offer to help when a hunk of meat flies through the air and slaps me in the eye.

“Fucking A,” I mutter, swiping flecks off my cheek and butter from my eyelid.

“Shit. Did I get you?”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

“Sorry. They’re slippery.”

When I de-butter, I can see the worry on his face. Since when has Jesse ever looked worried about talking to me? I hate that I’ve caused that. And I hate that my instinct is to reach over and swipe my knuckle across his cheek to reassure him. This newfound well of affection needs to be capped if I hope to survive this trip with him or live in the same zip code when we get home.

“Just try not to Julia Roberts me again. Okay?” I say calmly, which earns me a smirk.

We eat in companionable silence for a few moments, silent other than the disturbing sound of his crab legs being massacred. How many did he fucking grab?

“So, where’s your friend?” he asks.

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