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“Yes,” he says. “You’re amazing.”
I lose my train of thought.
Jesse comes over and sits beside me in his towel, leaning his elbow on his thigh and catching his chin in his hand.
“I’m nervous because people might not show up. Or if they do, it’ll be because they want to watch the car wreck.”
“You’re anything but a car wreck,” I say. “You’re a fantastic person, Jesse.”
He straightens, and his gaze goes soft as it lingers on my face, my lips.
“You think that about me?”
“Yes,” I say. “I think I was wrong about you. I mean, you can be so fucking annoying, don’t get me wrong, and I’m still not about cops in general, and there’s the fact that you arrested my family member, but?—”
He presses his finger to my lips. “You were doing so well until then.”
I place the tip of his finger between my lips, and Jesse groans. I suck his finger from the base to the tip, then kiss it and smile sweetly.
“I was talking,” I say. “You can’t shush me whenever you want.”
“You’re going to be the fucking death of me. I nearly blew a load from that.”
“So romantic, Taylor.”
He grasps my throat and squeezes lightly.
“I’m going to punish that pussy if you keep this up.”
“Promises, promises.”
But I get up and walk to the other side of the room before things can escalate. I love sex with Jesse. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve liked sex, but fucking isn’t going to help him deal with what he’s feeling.
He watches me, his gaze hooded.
“Jesse, you’re amazing,” I say. “You’re responsible and kind. You’re funny. You care about Heatstroke. And you’ve gone out of your way to help me.”
He shrugs. “I try but I can’t get any of this shit right. I spent the past week trying to find leads on this Jonesy guy, and I’m coming up blank, even with the description you gave me. And figuring out what happened on the night your father passed is proving difficult.”
My throat closes. “Jesse, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he says. “If Sheriff Davis is responsible, he’s going to pay for it. And I won’t let that piece of shit son run this town either.”
“Why?”
“Because he… Because they hate you, Angel. They’ve always hated you. Why do you think I wanted to run for sheriff in the first place? Not because of my grandfather, but because of you.”
I place a hand over my mouth. “What?”
“I told you,” he says, bracing his hands on the bed, and there’s this look in his eye, one that sends prickles over my body and makes me tense.
“I told you, Marci. I never hated you.”
“I don’t want you to do this for me,” I say. “Run for sheriff. I don’t think you should do anything for anyone but yourself, Jesse. You don’t need to impress me or your family. You’re great as you are.”
His Adam’s apple bobs.
A scratch at the sliding door distracts us, and I open it for Mr. Skitters. The ginger cat strides into our bedroom like he owns it. He pauses and meows first at Jesse, then at me. Jesse and I stare at each other, wide-eyed.
