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“If you want the truth, Marci, about why we can’t break the rules,” he whispers. “I’m starting to regret pretending to be married to you because all I can think about is having you for real. Touching you. Making you come. Making you smile. Even though you would never let me. Who am I to you? Just the guy who broke your family apart. Just the guy you could never love.”
My heart squeezes in my chest.
What the hell?
“And I’m the guy who will never be worthy of that love. The attention-seeker, the cop, the guy you can’t trust. Fuck. If things were different, if we were different people, or we didn’t have the history we had, I can’t help wondering if you would see me as more than Taylor.”
I’m stunned.
He legitimately thinks I’m asleep, so this isn’t a ploy to soften me up. He’s not like Nate. He doesn’t need to lie to get what he wants. He got what he wanted last night without having to lie.
Jesse doesn’t annoy me because he’s a bad person. He annoys me because he challenges me, and it is so dang hard to deal with that along with the diner, Billy, and life.
And I always figured he hated our family like the other deputies and cops in town.
Am I wrong about him?
The rain keeps pouring down, and Jesse settles onto the bed at last. His breathing evens out slowly. I risk a peek at him. He’s got one arm thrown above his head, those curls brushing his forehead, eyes closed.
I sneak my foot across the space between us and rest it against his calf.
Twenty-Five
JESSE
Sunday arrives,and I’m grateful for the reprieve from work. I’m struggling to make headway on finding this “Jonesy” asshole, but, thankfully, Marci’s kitchen door at the diner hasn’t been found open this week.
I lie in bed on my side, watching her sleep. She’s got the day off, too, and I want her to get as much rest as possible.
This shit with her brother is stressing her out, and while we have a plan for the diner, she doesn’t have the capital to invest in it. And she won’t take handouts, as she calls them.
Marci’s cute upturned nose is begging for a kiss, but after I confessed my feelings to her while she was asleep, I haven’t dared touch her again.
I want her so bad it physically pains me.
But my father is right. If this goes bad, and it will if we go a step further, we’ll fuck up more than our short-lived friendship. I have a feeling that the peace that exists between us can snap back into hatred quickly.
Going to bed each night and not touching her has been a trial, and I’m growing weaker by the day.
I slip out of bed and leave her to rest, her red hair strewn across the white pillow, and get breakfast ready. Tea and waffles with clotted cream, fresh fruit, and syrup. I’m halfway through breakfast prep when my phone buzzes on the table.
Cash’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, brother,” I say, “what’s up?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” I ask, keeping my voice down.
“The Heatstroke Hit Piecepublished an article about you. A tell-all, claiming that you faked your marriage to Marci to curry favor with the locals,” Cash says.
“Fuck.”
I haven’t even formally announced that I’m running for sheriff yet.
“Guess that ex of yours wasn’t kidding the other night, huh?” Cash asks. “I’m not going to ask you if it’s true or not. Frankly, I don’t care because I trust you to do the right thing. Just thought you should know.”
“Thanks.”
