Chapter 13
Trey
Ilaugh, holding a French fry covered in ice cream across the table at Jessie. “Just try it.”
Her lips are clamped shut as she shakes her head.
I huff in defeat, popping it into my own mouth. “You’re missin’ out, Hawkins.”
“I highly doubt that.” She sticks her freckled nose up.
Fuck, she’s cute. Sometimes it hits me all over again how beautiful and fun she is.
I love spending time with Jessie, but the Jessie I met as Kacey’s best friend isn’t the Jessie I’ve gotten to know since I moved in.
She’s exhausted, stressed, and on edge. Not the life of the party, quick-witted one who is always ribbing Carson or Chet.
So, which is the real Jessie? Or is it both, and she only lets the world see one version?
We’ve grown closer since Gran fell and even more since the night I woke up to her screams down the hall. The fear I felt radiating off her the day her father showed up haunts me.
She scared the shit out of me that night. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just held her. And when she whispered to me about her family, my heart broke for her. I want to figure out a way to help her.
Jessie is dead fucking wrong—there is no reason I should stay away from her. It’s like she’s been wired into my bloodstream, and I’ll do anything to be closer to her.
A man walks past and does a double take, checking Jessie out.
He’s the second man to eye-fuck her in twenty minutes, and it’s pissing me off—not that I can blame them.
An irrational, jealous side of me wants to move over to her side of the booth and stake a claim.
A claim I have zero right to, and I’m pretty sure she’d shove me right onto my ass for attempting it.
I’m considering whether to move by her or drag her out of here to have her all to myself when I notice she’s distracted, paying no attention to the men looking at her—myself included.
She’s happily munching away at her club sandwich, doing her little bopping shoulder dance.
When she’s super hungry, she does this cute happy dance when she finally gets food.
I’ve also noticed she loves to go out to eat but doesn’t unless it’s my idea.
I don’t think she can afford it, so I always make it my idea and force her to let me pay.
She argues every time, but I win every time.
I’ve discovered the stack of overdue bills she keeps tucked in a kitchen drawer.
And I see how depleted she is after working too many shifts in a row, yet she keeps doing it.
I’ve noticed more than that.
She likes a clean house, fresh produce, and dogs.
If we watch TV, it can’t be reality TV—she prefers fantasy or tragic love stories.
Her favorite color is purple, she loves Sabrina Carpenter, and Dot’s Pretzels.
But above all, she loves books. She reads all the time.
I can listen to her tell me—in great detail—about a book’s plot and characters for hours.
I love watching how excited she gets telling me about each book.
She told me about her favorite author, and I’ve secretly started reading her books so I can see a glimpse into the world she loves so much.
There are a lot of women in my past, but none like her. She consumes my thoughts. I want to spend every moment with her. I still want to sleep with her, but we’re genuinely friends now. I’m enjoying it immensely and think that’s only made it worse.
Since she’s relaxed around me, we fight, flirt, and touch. She isn’t afraid to touch me or let me touch her. All casual—a brush of my forearm, my hand on her lower back—but it sends my blood rushing every time her skin grazes mine.
Jessie gets up to use the restroom, and once she disappears down the hallway, I sneak to the cash register to pay for our meal.
She can’t argue about paying if it’s already done.
I also order Gran a burger, fries, and a strawberry shake to-go.
We’ve been taking her meals or take-out so she doesn’t have to cook as often.
I’m waiting for the waitress to place the order when I overhear some women behind me whispering.
“I don’t understand why every man in this town drools over Jessie. They all know who her parents are.”
“Yeah, I’m surprised the hospital hasn’t busted her for stealing pills for her father to sell.”
The other woman laughs.
I grind my teeth.
“No kidding. I wonder how many times she’s pumped her mother’s stomach after an overdose.”
Are they serious? Her dad is a drug dealer, and her mom is an addict? It wouldn’t matter to me. Who Jessie is matters to me. But what did that mean for Jessie growing up? She said it was rough, but that seems like an understatement now.
That day I overheard a man at the door telling her not to be a bitch, I flew to my feet, prepared to punch the dude in the mouth.
I pulled up short when the rest processed: “your old man.” I quickly gathered the man was her father.
When he pushed too far, I stepped in, somehow managing to stay calm until he made another crass comment.
About his daughter. Who talks about their own daughter that way?
I wanted to knock his teeth out—and worse—but it was clear Jessie didn’t want me to interfere further.
After he left and we fought, neither of us brought it up again. I’m a fixer. It bothers me when my friends or family have problems in their lives. Big or small, I always want to help make things right.
Our conversation upset her, so I didn’t push it, but I damn sure haven’t forgotten.
The closest we got to discussing it again were her whispered words in the dark late that night.
If what these women say is true, I understand her fear better now.
I could see the violence in her father’s eyes and the fear in hers.
But Jessie’s got it all wrong—that doesn’t make me want to stay away, it makes me want to pull her close.
“That will be $52.90.” The waitress pulls my attention from the women running their mouths.
“Thanks.” I hand her my card.
I don’t get time to wonder more about Jessie’s childhood before she comes up behind me and pinches me on the side. “Ouch!”
She scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be a rough-and-tough bull rider?”
“That depends.” I smirk at her. “Do you have a thing for rough-and-tough bull riders?”
She gives me an unimpressed look, but her cheeks flush. “You have to stop paying. I can buy my own food.”
“I know you can, but I want to. I also ordered Gran something. Figured we could drop it off.”
Her eyes soften, and she nods. “Thanks. She’ll love that.”
I don’t knock as I stride into Dot’s house, holding the door open for Jessie. I haven’t knocked since the second time I came over, and Dot threw a ball of yarn at me.
“I’m eighty years old,” she’d said. “You think I want to get up and answer a knock at the door? Mercy, you’re thick as molasses in January.”
“Dot!” I holler when I see she’s not in her chair in the living room.
“Laundry room,” she calls back.
Jessie skips ahead of me. “We brought you a burger and shake.”
“Oh, thank you, dears. I was just about to see what I could scrounge up for dinner.” She places the shirt she was folding on the top of her laundry pile and we all move to the table.
Jessie sets the milkshake in front of her and pulls out the burger and fries.
“Is that a strawberry milkshake? I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“Thank Trey; it was his idea. Careful, though—he’s going to try convincing you that dipping your fries in it actually tastes good.”
Dot scrunches her nose. “That’s just not right.” She turns to Jessie. “Do you think all the concussions affected his taste buds?”
“Haha, very funny. For your information, I’ve only gotten one concussion.
” Since moving in with Jessie, Dot and I have struck up quite the friendship.
It’s nice. My grandparents all passed before I was old enough to know them, so visiting Dot and helping around her house has felt a little bit like having a grandma.
She’s quick as a whip, always making me laugh, and I never go hungry around here.
Between the baked goods and her homemade, from-scratch meals, I think I’ve put on at least five pounds. “Y’all don’t know what you’re missing.”
Jessie and Dot chat while she eats. Before long, we’ve all shifted to the living room and Jessie is settled on the opposite end of the couch from me, legs stretched out, feet almost touching my thigh.
“How’s your back? Will you be hitting the road soon?” Dot asks me.
I see Jessie go still at the end of the couch before I answer. “It’ll be a few more weeks yet. I have a follow-up scan and appointment at the end of June. I am flying to Arizona next week, though.”
“You are?” Jessie asks, forehead puckered.
“Uh, yeah. I have a photoshoot for a sponsor.” I run my hand through my hair.
“I normally wouldn’t do them this time of year, but since I’m hurt, it worked out.
” I hadn’t mentioned it to her because it’s not a big deal.
I don’t like talking about my sponsorships as much as my riding.
I promote their brands, and they’re all great companies, but I don’t brag about it.
Most people don’t get large amounts of money handed to them just for existing, so it makes me feel awkward talking about sponsor stuff outside of rodeos.
“That sounds very exciting. What kind of photos?” Gran pulls my attention from Jessie.
“It’s an off-road vehicle part company. Off Road Rage. We’ll be in the high desert with some off-road trucks they’ve built.”
“Well, make sure you wear your seatbelt and be careful.”
I smile. That’s such a grandma thing to say. Sensing Jessie’s unease, I change the subject to something I know will yank her right out of her head and into an argument with me. “So, Dot, say I were to paint some kitchen cabinets. What color would you recommend?”
Jessie mule-kicks my thigh.
I laugh. Mission accomplished.
“I said no. Do you not understand the meaning of the word no?”
“I understand it perfectly. I wasn’t even talking to you.” I turn my attention to Dot, who is restraining a smile, glancing between the two of us.
“I’ve always thought mint green was a nice color. You should do that. If you ever paint any cabinets, that is.”
Jessie gasps.
Have I ever mentioned that Gran’s my favorite person over the age of seventy-five? Because she so is.
“That is a nice color. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You will do no such thing! You literally just tore out tile that color we both hated.”
“Whoa now, calm down. I promised I wouldn’t do any construction without authorization, and I don’t break promises.”
“You know, my Edward built our kitchen cabinets. He was very handy. You remind me a lot of him, Trey.”
“Thanks, Dot. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to remodel a kitchen.”
“Ugh! Fine! You can paint the damn cabinets, but I’m picking the color and helping.” Jessie’s freckles blend into her cheeks as they burn red with frustration.
I smile at her, aggravating her more. “Hey, if you want to paint them, who am I to stop you?”
Dot laughs and shakes her head. She knows exactly what I just did.