Chapter 17
Trey
Trey
What’s Jessie’s favorite pizza topping?
Kacey
What’s it worth to ya?
Trey
B other times, we’ll watch movies or TV shows together.
I’m in the kitchen sliding the pizza into the oven when Jessie comes through the back door, her Mary Poppins bag banging on the door frame as she enters.
Even though her hair is a mess, and she’s wearing little makeup, she looks stunning in her maroon scrubs.
She walks right past me, into the living room, and falls face-down onto the couch.
It’s safe to assume she’s had a long day.
I don’t think she’s sleep-tired; I think she’s worn out by life.
She works more hours than anyone I’ve ever known, and I wish I could help her, but I don’t know how when she won’t let me.
So I always fall back on cheering her up—that I can do.
I walk to the couch and look down at her.
“What?” she snaps.
Yikes. Someone’s testy tonight.
“Are you hungry?” I ask pleasantly, ignoring the daggers she’s shooting at me from her eyes. I don’t take it personally. It’s not about me; I’m just standing the closest.
“Maybe.” She perks up, suddenly smelling the pizza.
I’ve got her. I know a hangry woman when I see one. “Good, we’re having homemade pizza and hanging out.”
“Are we now?”
“Yes, because all work and no play makes Jessie a dull girl.” I bend down, booping her nose.
“I am not dull.” She all but yells before jumping up off the couch.
“In all the time I’ve lived here, all I’ve seen you do is work and read cliterature.” I raise a brow, daring her to argue.
She stomps into the kitchen, and I follow. She shoots me a challenging look before pulling a bottle of wine out of the fridge. It’s been there since I moved in. Uncorking it, she takes a long pull straight out of the bottle.
Damn, girl.
This wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’m down. I smirk as I cross the kitchen to her. Taking the bottle out of her hand, I take my own drink. I’m not a big wine guy, but I’ll drink whatever she wants.
“I’ll show you dull, but first I need a shower.” Her eyes flick to my still-damp hair.
Images of Jessie in the shower flash through my mind.
“How long until the pizza is done?” she asks.
“About ten minutes.”
She turns on her heel and leaves me standing in the kitchen, holding the bottle of wine, breathing through my growing erection at the thought of her in the shower.
I check the pizza before grabbing a wine glass out of the cabinet and pouring her one.
I hear the shower as I make my way down the hallway.
After listening at the door to make sure she’s in the shower, I slowly open the door, creep in, and set the glass on the counter, then successfully sneak back out and into the kitchen.
I take the pizza out to rest. By the time it’s ready to cut, Jessie walks back down the hall.
She’s wearing black leggings and an oversized blue sweatshirt. Her hair falls around her shoulders, and I have to stop myself from staring. “Do we need a new rule?” she asks.
My heart rate kicks up. What the fuck did I do now? “Uh, I don’t know?”
She holds out the wine glass, now half-empty, and I smile. “I thought you might want some. The door has a lock, you know?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t rib me further. I fill two plates with pizza and move to the table.
When she picks up a slice, she asks, “Is this pineapple? Most people hate it, but it’s my favorite.”
“You don’t say.” I take a slice of the nasty little yellow-spotted pizza, eyeing it warily.
“How did you know?”
“I can read minds,” I deadpan before taking a bite.
I must make a face because she laughs. “You obviously don’t like it, so fess up. Who told you? Gran or Kacey?”
I choke down the bite. “Kacey. For the price of one Barnes & Noble gift card.”
“And you never thought to just put it on half the pizza?”
“Well, when I thought of that, I had already spread the pineapple, so now I’ll eat it . . . or starve,” I reply, setting down the slice.
“You are so dramatic,” she teases as she steals my plate and starts picking the pineapple off my slices, adding them to hers. “So, I was thinking . . .”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “I do have a lot of PTO. And we’re fully-staffed at the moment, which is rare. So . . .” She slides my plate back to me. “Does that offer to join you in Arizona still stand?”
“Yes, absolutely. I can text my sponsor representative, Greg, now and let him know—unless you need to request the time off first?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d say yes because I kind of already did today.” She smiles shyly, but the excitement in her eyes shines through.
Jessie has always wanted to travel but never has—outside of the few rodeos she’s attended with Kacey. This is a big deal for her, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make it perfect.
“I hope you don’t mind flying first class.”
She smiles bigger now, shaking her head in disbelief.
I shoot Greg a text.
We’re down an entire pizza and bottle of wine when Jessie climbs up on the counter.
“Hawkins, what are you doing?” I grumble as I stand to catch her short ass if she falls. I’m not a tall guy—most bull riders aren’t—but Jessie’s so little, my frame dwarfs hers. She and Kacey both look like tiny humans, but while Jessie has curves, Kacey has a more athletic build. I prefer curves.
She ignores me, standing on the counter digging around in the top cabinet.
I can’t help myself—I check out her ass. After several more clang and tink noises, she looks down at me with a smug grin on her face. And a bottle of whiskey in her hand.
Oh, fuck. Is Jessie broken?
I know she likes to drink and have a good time every now and then, but never with me.
“Pineapple really gets you going, huh?”
She laughs as she squats to jump off the counter. “No, it just makes me taste good.”
I almost swallow my tongue at the thought of laying her out on the table to test this theory. That’s it, I’m listing bull names—Jawbreaker, Richard Slam, Slamwich—to once again fight off a boner.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Before I can recover, the red-headed tornado I have released digs around inside a drawer. I watch her, using every bit of my self-control to refrain from asking about testing the pineapple taste theory.
“Aha!” she exclaims, pulling out a deck of cards. “Gin rummy?”
Still contemplating my taste-testing question, I reply, “Sure, I’m game.” I grab the bottle of whiskey out of her hand because, lord knows, I’m going to need it.
After I mix us both drinks, Jessie deals the cards.
We play a of couple hands—I win both—talking shit, drinking whiskey, and flirting before a slightly-tipsy Jessie asks a slightly-tipsy me, “Care to up the ante?”
I watch her for a second, trying to gauge what she has in mind.
I’ve never experienced Jessie like this, so relaxed and carefree.
A little wild even. I’ve heard stories about her earlier in her twenties with Kacey and even seen it, once or twice over the last year, but she’s different tonight.
She’s always more guarded around me, careful not to get too close or flirt too much, but not tonight.
I don’t know what’s changed, but I like her like this. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Instead of the last one to a hundred points loses, the first one naked loses.”
Am I dead? Have I died and gone to heaven?
“Yes,” I blurt without hesitation. We might be on our way to drunk and about to cross a line, but I’ve been waiting a year to cross lines with Jessie Hawkins.
She shuffles the cards, and I mentally hype myself up to kick her ass. I already won the first couple of hands. I have to win. I need to know what’s under those leggings.
I lose the first hand.
Fuck. I didn’t wear socks.