Love You Better (Better Love 1)

Rounding the corner on mile five, I catch a glimpse of Jesse coming out of the student union. I don’t know what he’s doing up this early, but I can’t say I’m not glad to see him. With the exception of the “hey fucker are you alive?” text I sent him when he didn’t come home last night (to which he replied with a bunch of water and eggplant emojis), I haven’t seen or talked to his ass since Friday morning, and I’ve got questions to subtly throw his way.

“Jesse!” I call out, slowing to a walk and pushing stop on my watch timer. “Hey, man.”

“’Sup, Kell. Training morning?”

“Yep,” I reply. “Halfway through the program.” I rest my hands on the top of my head and work on steadying my breathing. I’m barely winded, but my heart rate is still elevated above resting.

“Damn. The marathon is getting close, yeah?”

“It is,” I say on an exhale. “I’ll be ready.”

“Hell yes, you will.” He nods with a grin. Jesse is a natural hype man. It’s in everything he does. He’s always the life of the party and the loudest one cheering in your corner.

“What are you doin’ up so early on a Sunday?”

“Picked up a volunteer shift at the hospital, but I wanted to turn in this paper first.” He holds up a stack of papers and nods toward the end of the quad. “This philosophy elective is kicking my ass, but it’s interesting.”

“The unexamined life is not worth living,” I say in my best scholarly voice.

“Socrates. Nice.” He chuckles. “Okay, out with it, Kelley. I know you didn’t halt your training for bullshit small talk and to quote dead philosophers.”

Busted. So much for subtlety.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning innocence. “I love quoting dead philosophers.”

He shakes his head slowly, leveling me with a no-nonsense stare. “I’m not spillin’ shit until you grow a pair and ask, man.”

“Fine,” I say on a defeated sigh. “Tell me about Friday.” I look away, hoping he can’t see the apprehension on my face, but I can see him exaggeratedly roll his eyes in my peripheral.

“Same as usual. She nursed a drink, cozied up to a dudebro in a shirt two sizes too small, disappeared to the bathroom for fifteen minutes, and then left with the guy.”

I nod my head slowly.

“You gotta get over this, Kelley. It’s not gonna be you if you never shoot your shot. And for being her bestie, you’re still damn clueless when it comes to Ivy.”

“What?” I sputter. What’s that supposed to mean? “I’m just looking out for her, J. Honestly. I don’t want something happening to her.”

“She’s a grown ass woman, man, and she can handle herself. Trust me. If anyone can handle themselves, it’s Ivy.” He repeats the same thing he always does every time we have this conversation.

“I played the creep and took the picture, you’ve got her tracked on that stalker app, and I’m always there. You need to stop worrying. Maybe get out once in a while and have some fun.”

“Not my thing, J.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says around a laugh and shrugs. “Can’t fault me for trying. It would be nice to have a wing man in addition to my wing woman.”

“I don’t understand you two. Doesn’t going out every weekend get old?”

“Nope. We make a good team.” He winks like a jerk, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet while he taunts me. “She reels me in some company, I vet hers, and we both go home happy. Nothing wrong with that.” Jesse laughs at what I’m sure is a disgruntled look my face.

And on that note, I’m done.

“Alright, J. I gotta get to it,” and I head away from him without a goodbye.

“Later, Kelley,” he shouts at my back. “Come out Friday and I’ll make sure you get your dick wet!”

I toss my middle finger up over my head and round the corner with his loud laugh echoing in my ears.

Later that night, I pull up to Ivy’s apartment building in a truck I borrowed from a friend to give her the first lesson on how to drive stick. For a brief moment, my mind goes to her handling a different kind of stick—my stick—but I chase that thought away with a shake of the head.