Page 68 of Never Pucking Ending

Oh.

“And he’s okay with it?” I ask next slowly.

“He told me to ask you,” is his simple reply.

I wet my lips. There’s no real reason to say no to this. Right? No. it’ll be fine. I’ll get paid, maybe get a brand deal for the store. I could do this. I smile, but it seems feeble. Why does the idea make me so nervous? Being around Jesse is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I should be excited.

“Okay,” I answer, although my voice sounds a little weaker than it should. “Okay. If he’s fine with it and I get paid.”

Isaac doesn’t know me well enough to hear how off I sound, and that’s probably for the better. “Great! I’ll get my team to draft up an agreement. Do you want me to send it to the same person to look it over?”

He’s referring to Jesse’s agent. “Sure.”

Once we get off the phone, I stare at the computer screen again before groaning. In hindsight, this could be a lot of fun. But there’s a difference between me and Jesse doing an ad together and me doing an ad with hockey star Jesse Clarkson—a man rippling with muscle. I am…not that. The only muscles I exercise frequently is my mouth because I talk a lot.

Self-consciousness creeps its ugly head in.

I’m pretty. Somebody recently told me in an Instagram post that I have a lethal face card. It was a stranger who then proceeded to message me asking for pics of my boobs, but I’d still take the compliment. I appreciated it.

“This is good,” I tell myself, powering off my computer because it’s obvious I won’t be doing any work on it.

Dobby comes in and jumps into my lap, clearly sensing I need some loving. His purrs melt away some of the bad juju lingering in my head, and I heft out a sigh.

At least I finally stopped thinking about my stepbrother naked.

*

Jesse doesn’t get home until almost eight o’clock, looking like somebody punched him in the face.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, completely ignoring the chicken wrap I was rolling for him for dinner. There are way too many leafy greens in it for my liking, but I know it’s one of his favorite go-to meals. “What happened?”

I don’t think before I get on my toes and grip his face, carefully examining the puffy cheek that looks slightly purple. It’s going to be a shiner tomorrow. A bad one.

“Somebody punched me,” he says, lifting a shoulder.

I stand straighter. “Who?”

His lips pull up at the corners. “What are you going to do? Fight them.”

I let go of his face and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t miss the way his eyes dip down to my boobs, which are fully covered in the unattractive stained college sweatshirt I slipped on earlier because I was cold. “Maybe. I’m sure I can’t win, but I can at least get a few good kicks in.”

His snort is loud, and that tiny smile grows as he dips down and presses his lips against mine like it’s the most natural thing ever. Like we’ve done every single day he comes home. The light, quick peck swells my heart to the point I’m afraid it’ll leak out of me.

It lasts barely half a second, but my body heats like it did yesterday. How could something so simple feel so…monumental? People did it all the time. They greeted their loved ones with kisses on the cheeks and temples. Jesse had done that before too. But this…

It doesn’t feel the same.

I let out a short breath, almost embarrassed by how shaky it is. But I don’t think he hears its instability. He smiles at me and brushes his nose against mine before straightening.

“I appreciate you willing to go Muhammad Ali on their ass, but it’s fine,” he tells me, backing up a step despite his eyes flashing the way they did yesterday. The kiss did something to him too, but he clearly has more self-control than me.

I lick my lips and gesture toward the plate of food behind me. “I’m making you dinner.”

When he texted me saying he was on his way home, I’d waited fifteen minutes before starting the prep knowing it would take him thirty to drive home from the sports complex.

His eyes brighten. “Is that a chicken ceaser wrap?” I swear I hear his stomach rumble as he follows me around the island. I bite my inner cheek remembering how the edge of the countertop dug into my hips when he—

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Replaying that in my mind is probably not the best idea. My body needs a break. Especially the southern half of it.