Page 19 of Jesse

“What?”

“I’ll pay you back if you’re not having a good time.”

“I don’t need your money. I’m probably richer than you are now.”

He furrows his brow. “Now?”

Ooops. OK. This is going wrong, fast. So I ignore his implied question and stare up at the menu board above the take-out counter. “Vanilla,” I say. “In a cone. Dipped in butterscotch.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see him look up at the board and grin. “I like half and half.” Then he looks at me. “Dipped in cherry.”

I smile back, I can’t help it.

We move forward a few paces as people place their orders. “So what should we do after this?” he asks.

“What do you mean? We’re going to the lake house, right?”

“Sure. I mean, we can do that. But that was Joey’s plan, not mine. We don't have to go to the lake house. We can do anything we want. I’m told this is a weekend date. And I don’t know what the hell we’re gonna do up at that lake house all weekend. We don’t keep boats out there anymore. Haven’t for a long time because we haven’t really spent much time out here since I was a kid. There’s no swimming pool and I don’t play tennis. But if you want to, I’ll give it a go.”

Is he serious? What are we going to do all weekend? Who is this man? Because the Jesse Boston I knew would be picturing all the ways he was planning to fuck me.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” I say.

“We could just go back to the city. Maybe hit up a spa for a couples’ massage? Or a concert?”

“No,” I say, too quick. Because no. This isn’t a date. It’s a kidnapping, for fuck’s sake. And I need him to be at his lake house tonight.

“Yeah. Couples’ massage is a bit much for a first date. But I really could use a rubdown.” He rubs his neck, illustrating his point that he’s carrying some stress.

Hint. Hint. I need a massage. Now that is a typical Jesse Boston move.

The people in front of us are done, and then it’s our turn.

“We’ll have one vanilla cone dipped in butterscotch,” Jesse says, taking a moment to glance at me and grin. “And one half and half dipped in cherry.”

And I don’t know why I find that kinda of adorable, but I do.

I am out on a date with Jesse Boston and he just ordered me an ice cream cone.

I would’ve died—simply died—for a date like this, with him, back then.

He pays, then places his hand on the small of my back.

I realize then that everyone is looking at us. We are dressed up like celebrities. My red gown, his black tux. A sleek Aston Martin parked nearby.

And every single girl—from six years old to sixty—is looking at me with envy.

CHAPTER EIGHT - JESSE

I look around and chuckle under my breath.

“What?” Emma says. “What’s funny?”

She’s kind of uptight. And mean. Which only makes me chuckle again.

“What?” she repeats, kinda flustered.

I place my hand on her arm and pull her closer, then lean in and whisper, “I think every fucking dude here is staring at me. Even those Little League dudes know what’s up.”