Page 41 of The Idiot

“Yeah,” he confirms, testing the ‘bounceability’of the couch with his ass. “That’s all that was available.”

Ouch. Nothing like a reminder that this was a charity mission for him, not a well-planned vacation.

“Man, this couch is hard as shit,” he grumbles. Making his way to my bed, he flops down on his back, boots and all, before I can even get the words out. Why does it look like he’sGoldilocks-ingmy cabin?

“Dude, get off my bed.”

I don’t need it smelling like Jesse after he was touching me all day, and I sure as shit don’t need to remember the sight of him in it.

“Get. Out!” he exclaims. “Even your bed is better than mine. I swear! That’s some bullshit.”

Sighing, he folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. Is he freaking settling in?

No. No way can I handle a sleepover right now.

Lifting my leg, I give his boot a swift kick. “Don’t you dare get comfortable. Your fake boyfriend detail is over. I’m not sharing my bed.”

“Just five minutes in case Button Man is lingering.”

He has a point. I hate that he has a point.

“Fine, but wait on the couch. I know you. It only takes you five minutes to pass out once you hit a mattress.”

Clicking on the TV with my remote, he scoffs. “Does not.”

Rolling my eyes, I head into the bathroom. “It does too!”

Gripping the counter, I heave a sigh at the reflection in the mirror. I swear I look older than the last time I saw myself. And, of course, my sappy heart sinks at the thought of getting older… alone. I’m no better off than when I decided to take this trip.

“Oh, my God!”

Jesse’s cry from the other room has my spine going rigid. I’ve left him alone for ten seconds and he already hurt himself?

“You brought Lasso Ted?” he squawks.

Fuck.

His discovery of the bobblehead doll he bought me is worse than him getting hurt. I turn back from the doorway to hide my reddened cheeks. I saw Lasso Ted on my first trip to the rodeo with my dad when I was a teenager. It was the one and only time that Jesse came along, and it was our favorite part of the show. It’s debatable that the tight jeans on the cowboys might have been my favorite part of the show, completely signifying my sexuality for me, but neither of them needed to know that at the time. I couldn’t believe he remembered after all these years and actually found a Lasso Ted bobblehead doll. It’s just one of the sweet things about Jesse—the way he pays attention tousand our memories.

“He sits on my nightstand at home,” I call casually, like it’s no big deal, like I didn’t pack him because I knew I’d miss Jesse. “I thought it’d make it feel more like my room.”

His cackling laugh has me smiling despite myself. I love that stupid laugh.

“No way. That’s awesome. I thought you hated it.”

“I don’t hate it,” I murmur softly enough that he won’t hear, staring at the fool in the mirror.

Rip the damn bandage off Murph. Tomorrow needs to be different.

Resigning to find a way to turn off the floodgate of my emotions, I rest on the toilet to take off my boots and socks. I brush my teeth and splash my face with cool water like a tidal wave of reality.

Sucking in a breath, I head back into the cabin.

“Listen, Jesse. Tomorrow, why don’t we just do our own thing, and then we can meet up for—”

He’s snoring. The jackass is already snoring. I freaking knew it.

I’m about to kick his boot again, but the sight of Lasso Ted clasped in his grip strikes down any ire. Am I even capable of being annoyed with him?

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