“You don’t know me, Jesse.”
“I know you have some weird idea that Georgia’s prettier than you. I know it took you a half hour to relax after Leon stared at you. I knew that dress wasn’t something you’d choose for yourself before you told me so, and that the girl in the photo you didn’t want to show me is one of the most kind, down-to-earth girls I’ve ever met.”
My palms started to sweat because she didn’t move. Had I scared her? Maybe I’d paid her so much attention in secret that she thought I was like Leon, watching her, but saying nothing.
Excellent, now she thinks I’m a perv.
Her shoulders started to shake, and I realised she was crying. I made her cry.
You’re such an asshole.
“Oh God, Isabelle, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -” I trailed off. I’d upset her, but I wasn’t sure exactly which part of my grand speech had done it.
Finally, she turned to face me. The sight of tears streaming down her face hit me deep in my gut. I took a step forward to comfort her before I remembered it was me who caused the crying.
“Okay. Maybe you do know me,” she said.
“No, I don’t, I just talk too much.”
“You got it right. All of it.” She wiped some of her tears away, her face red. “I can’t believe I’m crying in front of you. What an idiot.”
When I took another step closer to her, I felt braver. I slowly put my hand up to her cheek, and brushed away another tear with my thumb. “Now I know you’re not used to wearing so much make-up.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you were used to it, you’d know not to cry while wearing mascara.”
Her eyes widened in panic, making me laugh.
“Well this is great,” she said. “The first time a boy tells me I’m beautiful, and I look like I’ve been punched in the eye!”
“You’re still beautiful.”
Isabelle smiled, her face brightening through her tears. “Thank you.”
I wanted to kiss her so badly. I wanted to hold her against me, to wrap my arms around her and keep her close, but I’d already made enough moves for one night. My thumb was still lightly brushing the soft skin of her cheek, and as I was about to let it drop, she covered my hand with hers. She wove her fingers through mine, her touch warming me.
“I really like you, Jesse. I just don’t understand why you like me. Whenever a guy has shown interest in me before, it’s always been to get closer to Georgia.”
“You think I don’t get what that’s like?” I asked. “I’m a soccer player. Any time a girl hits on me, I never know if it’s because she likes me, or because she wants to be famous. My ex-girlfriend only dated me so she could meet Radleigh McCoy.”
“What? That’s awful!”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s a time in my life I’d like to forget.”
“I never even thought about that. I mean, I know you’re famous in America, and I’m sure girls must chat you up all the time. But I was just thinking -” she trailed off, blushing.
“What were you thinking?”
“That … you’re really good-looking, and friendly, and funny. I liked talking to you. I like talking to you.”
I couldn’t help it, I put my hands on her waist, and when her arms slid around me, I pulled her in close.
I’d held Taylor against me this way a million times, but it never once felt the way it did with Isabelle. She was warm and soft, and … there was a connection between us. How could I have thought I was in love with Taylor, when just having Isabelle in my arms was so much better than anything I ever experienced with her?
“Do you have plans tomorrow?” I asked. “Do you wanna go out for a coffee or something?”
“Like … on a date?”