I bite on my lower lip. This is what’s troubling me, but how can I tell the girls that? They’ll laugh. They’ll tell me to stop thinking about him.
And I frigging can’t. I feel like I’m losing my mind.
While I’m lost inside my mind, Kayla makes a grab for my box, and she spreads pendants, earrings and bracelets on the red carpet. Ev bends over them eagerly, like a kid at Christmas, and their exclamations of awe and their giggles wash over me.
A thought has hit me, and it’s sending chills down my spine.
I told Jesse I’m antisocial, too, and he didn’t believe me. Then I got comfortable, let myself free to do and say whatever came to my mind. I thought we were just talking, but instead I pushed him until he snapped and ran, like I knew would happen.
Like everyone else, he expected me to know the boundaries, to behave normal. He said I could be myself, that I’m fine as I am—but apparently that was a lie.
Tuesday morning and I’m standing in front of Jesse’s door.
This is a bad idea. I know it, and I wish I had a better one, but if I ask Ev or Kayla or any of the boys to take the bags with Jesse’s new clothes over to his place, they’re bound to ask me questions and assume lots of things that aren’t true.
I don’t need more teasing and harassment. Seriously, I’m fine most of the time, but avoiding drama is half the work.
Besides… I need to see Jesse.
I reflect on that, my finger hovering over the doorbell. Although I’m pissed at him for vanishing, I don’t blame him. In fact, I’m worried about him. After dropping that bomb—and I’m still not sure what he was telling me exactly—I want to look into his eyes and make sure he’s okay.
It’s been years since that evening he was attacked, I remind myself, hefting the bags in my hand. The plastic is cutting into my palm. He’s here, alive, perfectly healthy, working and flirting with girls. Going shopping with you. He doesn’t need your concern. He survived all by himself, but still…
“Sometimes I’m not sure I did.” That’s what he said.
I ring the bell and wait, his words haunting me. It doesn’t matter. I’m just going to drop off his bags and go.
Nothing happens for a while, and I send the staircase a longing glance. Crap. I ring again, shifting the bags to my other hand.
In my memory, I see the way he’d looked in the metallic blue shirt that made his eyes glow, his smile, his teasing.
Before I can analyze why the thought of his teasing makes my face warm and my heart beat faster, the door unlocks and swings open.
A tall guy dressed in shorts and holding a towel in one hand is standing at the opening, giving me a once-over—but it’s not Jesse. Definitely not. This one’s blond with soft brown eyes and his powerful chest appears devoid of tattoos. His fair hair is wet, as if he just emerged from the shower.
You know your mind is stuck in a rut when you find the lack of tattoos on a man’s bare chest strange…
Pulling myself together, trying not to stare at the guy’s powerful physique or the red lines on his pecs—are those scratches? Like from a woman’s nails?—I lift the bags in front of me.
His eyes narrow a fraction, focusing on the bags. “Yeah? Can I help you?”
“These are Jesse’s. Could you please give them to him?”
“What’s in there?” He leans over them. “Are those clothes?”
“Yeah. He knows what they are.” I lift the bags again, but he doesn’t take them. “New clothes. He bought them.”
“And who are you?” His gaze is back on me, and I squirm under the scrutiny.
“Just… please give these to him?” I drop the bags and turn to go.
“Hey, wait a sec.” A heavy hand drops on my shoulder, and I yelp, stumbling and twisting around to shove at him.
“Let go.”
“Girl, what’s your problem?” He lifts his hands, his eyes comically wide, but he’s still crowding me, so that I press my back to the wall of the landing. “I only wanted to tell you he’s here, and you can give them to him yourself.”
Cold sweat is running down my back. My breath is frozen in my lungs. He’s towering over me, and he smells all wrong—not at all like Jesse. He reaches for me and I gasp, my legs folding under me. I slide down the wall.