Page 66 of Jesse

Of course he does. “Sure,” I say.

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” He smirks.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. You planned this whole day to out-date me.”

“Well, I’m winning so far.”

He leans over in the backseat of the limo and says, “I’ll come in last every day of the week for that little surprise you gave me on the jet.” Then he waggles his eyebrows at me, points to them, and says, “Yes. To be clear. That was innuendo.”

I sigh.

“Seriously, you should let it go now. We’re having fun.”

I side-eye him.

“Liar,” he says. “You are having fun with me. I’m a fun guy.”

He is fun. I will admit that. And he’s kinda been a good sport about the whole drugged-up kidnapping. I did feel pretty guilty about the drugs after he mentioned how hard it was to get clean. But he hasn’t brought it up again. And he’s not like… jonesing for coke, or meth, or whatever his drug of choice was back in the day. So, dodged a bullet there.

But again, my fucking parents.

The limo stops and Jesse looks out the window and up at the sign. “Dumas—oh, shit.” He looks at me. “You brought me… here?”

I nod.

“Your parents’ fucking dive shop?”

I nod again.

“Emma,” he says. “I have no fucking shirt on.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

“What? I can’t meet your parents for the first time with no shirt on.” He leans forward and taps on the window just in time to catch the driver before he gets out to open my door. “Dude,” Jesse says, once the glass rolls down. “Take us to… somewhere to buy clothes. I need to change.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Boston,” the driver says.

And I wonder, how the hell does the driver know who Jesse is? He’s my driver.

We go back towards the shops and double-park alongside a beachy clothing store.

Jesse opens the door, looks at me, then says, “Just drive around the block a few times. I’ll be out in five minutes.” He jumps out and slams the door before I can even answer.

True to his word, he is standing at the curb five minutes later when we make our fifth trip around the block.

But it’s what he’s wearing that makes me suck in a deep breath of air and hold it.

I put on these shorty-shorts and the tank top because he asked for the pigtails. This was what I was wearing when we met. I didn’t do it to flirt or make him want me. I really didn’t. I just wanted to piss him off.

But he’s waiting to be picked up wearing something very similar to what he was all those years ago now too.

My heart aches a little as he smiles and waves when we pull up. Because he’s wearing tan board shorts, a white ribbed tank that shows every single hill and valley of his amazing muscle-y chest and stomach, a pair of dark sunglasses, and skater shoes on his feet.

He is twenty years old again and I am lost in time.

Falling. Just… falling and falling. The same way I did when he came up to my shaved-ice stand the first time we met.