Page 42 of Jesse

I narrow my eyes at him. It just can’t be that easy. “So you forgive me?”

“Sure. I forgive you. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” I ask, so softly.

“Because for me, forgiving you is nothing. It costs me nothing to forgive you. But you will have to live with this for the rest of your life. You will have to forgive yourself, Emma. And take my word on this, OK? I was a guy who had to look at myself in the mirror after I cleaned up my act. I had to see him for what he was. I had to learn how to forgive myself for all that shit I did when I was younger. And it’s not as easy as you might think.”

I want that to make so much sense. I want this to be his reason for suddenly becoming reasonable, I really do. Because I do not want him to leave me again. I’m so pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

“So what do you want to do? Part ways enemies? Or try for a second chance?”

I want this second chance so bad. So fucking bad.

“OK, I’m outta here.”

“Wait,” I say, grabbing onto his arm. “Just… give me a second to catch up, will you?”

He steps away. Leans against the wall. Folds his arms over his chest. Glares at me.

What is that glare? What is it telling me that he’s not?

Because I think I see hate in that glare.

Which means everything he just said is a lie. Just another Jesse Boston lie.

“I’m waiting,” he says.

“OK,” I say. Because I can’t walk away from him. Or let him walk away from me. Not without finding out for sure if he’s for real.

“OK what?”

“OK, then…” I suck in a deep breath, gather myself, remember who I am, and say, “Please continue.”

He grins. And even though I know it could be a trick—that all of this could just be him playing me again—I relax when he beams that grin at me.

He takes a step forward, hands on my hips, mouth leaning into my neck, and commences nibbling.

I am going to regret this, I know it. The minute we’re done, I will be kicking myself for falling all over him like an idiot.

But I don’t care. That’s at least twenty minutes in the future and all I want is the here and now.

So I place my hands on his hips. Then pull his shirt out of his pants.

He laughs a little in my ear as he continues to kiss me. “That’s better,” he whispers. “Just give in, Emma. Find out what you’ve been missing all these years.”

I have ten comebacks to that on my lips. Things like, You mean, what you’ve been missing. Stupid teenage girl things.

But I just stop caring about the scorecard. I don’t have energy for hate and suspicion right now. Because I’m unbuttoning his shirt. And just a few seconds later I’m popping that button on his pants too. Unzipping that zipper just as his hands reach down and slide underneath the slit of my dress.

And that’s it, folks.

Show’s over.

Because we are going to fuck.

But he says… “I could fall for you, Emma. If I let myself, I could really fall for you.”

Something snaps in my brain when I hear these words.