Page 30 of When We Were Reckless
You couldn’t live like that, though. You couldn’t live in constant fear of whatcouldhappen. The therapist helped me deal with my fears, and for the most part, I felt optimistic about the future. But sometimes, my fears and doubts still surfaced.
I shouldn’t care about the scars or how they looked. It was the least of my worries. The important thing was that I’d gotten another chance, and I was alive and well. Obsessing over something so trivial, so superficial, was a waste of time and energy.
But I couldn’t help it. No matter how many times I told myself that it didn’t matter, that today I’d be brave enough to bare my stomach to people other than Evie and my family, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I always kept my tank top on. If I wanted to go in the water, I wore a one-piece that made me look like a twelve-year-old.
Mason nudged my arm. “Go get your stuff, Bean. We’re heading out.”
“Stop calling me Bean.”
He ignored me and told Jesse they’d see us up there. I didn’t hang around to listen to his warnings to keep me safe. Like I was a china doll. Fragile and breakable.
On my way out of the kitchen, I glanced at Jesse. He was too busy talking to Tasha to even notice me. It felt like the old days, just as if Friday night had never happened.
I would forever be the little sister.
* * *
As I threw a few things into my bag, I heard the floorboards creak outside my bedroom.
“Are you wearing the purple bikini today?” Jesse asked.
What the…
I lifted my head. He was gripping the top of the doorframe. There was so much to look at I didn’t know where to look first. His biceps were flexed, and the thick veins in his forearms were so pronounced that I knew this was what they called vein porn.
Why was that even sexy? No idea. But it was.
My gaze lowered to the strip of suntanned skin just above the waistband of his jeans where his gray T-shirt rode up.
He had a V cut. Oh God. It was too much. My mouth gaped.
“Quinn?”
My gaze snapped to his face, and his brows raised, prompting me to answer his question.Are you wearing the purple bikini today?
“No,” I snapped.
He advanced into my room, his gaze roaming over the bookshelves that spanned an entire wall. I was an avid collector. Hundreds of books filled the shelves, and at last count, I had twenty-seven Funk Pop! figures. Notorious B.I.G. and Baby Yoda were my newest additions to the collection.
“Why not?”
Why was he even asking me that? Was this friend-zone appropriate? “I’m wearing a one-piece. It’s better for watersports.”
“Huh.” He picked up a framed photo from my white lacquer dresser. I watched him in the round gold-framed mirror above it as he studied the picture—our annual family Christmas photo taken when I was thirteen. Six weeks later, Dad moved out. After that, Mom stopped sending family photo Christmas cards.
Jesse set it down and turned to face me. He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with accusation. “So you only wear the bikini for Walker.”
I wore the bikini under a tank top and shorts, neither of which I’d taken off. “I didn’t…” I pursed my lips. He didn’t even deserve an explanation. “Why are we even having this conversation?”
He didn’t bother responding. His gaze roamed over my body and down my bare legs, but it wasn’t heated, and his eyes weren’t hooded like they’d been on Friday night. “You need to wear jeans. Or long pants.”
I looked down at my shorts and then at his jeans. Faded denim hung low on his narrow hips. I knew for a fact that Jesse sometimes wore shorts and Vans when he rode, but today, he was wearing jeans and black motorcycle boots, so I couldn’t even put up a protest.
“I brought an extra jacket for you.”
“It’s going to be in the nineties today,” I argued.
