Chapter Twenty #2
Isaac is waiting for me outside of my dressing room with the same smile on his face that he had before. He pushes off the wall and claps his hands together. “You look great, Belle. How do you feel?”
I don’t lie. “Great. I’m ready.”
He nods, gesturing for me to follow him. “I’ll show you the set. Jesse is still getting ready.”
We walk in silence down a few hallways that lead back out to an open space where they’ve set up a backdrop and lighting. It isn’t until we’re almost there when Isaac stops and clears his throat.
“Happiness looks good on you,” he states, sliding a hand in his pants pocket. “And, as far as I’m concerned, it’s about time.”
I gape at him. It’s time that I’m happy? I didn’t think I looked miserable before. “Um. Thanks?”
He chuckles at the question in my response, his free hand reaching up to scratch the column of his throat. “I just mean that I’ve always wondered about you two. A guy can tell when another guy is interested in his girl. Not that you were ever mine. But you know what I mean.”
Before I can reply, an arm winds around my waist. “You’re right,” Jesse says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “She wasn’t.”
Shock cements me to the floor.
Is he…?
Are we…?
Oh my God.
Isaac simply shrugs. “Like I said, I saw that coming a mile away. You two make sense. I always sort of thought that. Anyway, let me show you two what we’re working with.”
He speaks so causally like this isn’t a big deal. I look up at Jesse, who still has an arm around my waist. I barely have time to appreciate the athletic outfit they put him into. We sort of match in our sets, not that it was intentional. We’ve always had a knack for doing that, though.
“Did you really just do that?” I whisper as he turns us to follow Isaac, still not letting go.
“What?”
I pinch his side. “You know what. Are we…making this a public thing?”
“We’re not in the public,” he points out, “but I’m not going to lie about it either, Belle.
If you want to keep things on the downlow, I’ll go along with it.
We should probably talk some things out at home and figure out where we’re at.
But I’m not going to pretend like I’m not crazy about you—like I haven’t been crazy about you for years. Isaac knows it.”
He does. And I’m only just finding that out now.
All I can muster is, “Okay. We’ll talk about it.” Because we should. Just not right now when we’re surrounded by strangers and cameras.
But the entire time we’re there doing a few test shots together before the actual shoot begins, all I can think is, am I making this a bigger deal than it is?
*
We celebrate the photoshoot with dinner at an Italian place with romantic lighting and vines hanging from the rafters. The brick interior is warm from the wood-fired pizza grill taking up a good portion of the open kitchen as the chefs prepare delicious-smelling meals.
My self-consciousness left the building hours ago, leaving me famished and proud.
I had fun today, and not once did I let myself feel off about what angle worked or didn’t work in my favor.
The photographer showed us a handful of shots throughout the day that she was excited for, and I had to agree.
I haven’t been able to stop smiling since we left.
Jesse didn’t even seem to glare when I gave Isaac a hug, thanking him for the opportunity.
Although, it didn’t take long for his palm to find my back or his hand to find mine like he wanted to remind everybody in the general vicinity that I was his.
And I didn’t mind. His possessiveness is actually kind of hot. Sue me.
“Today was good,” I say, sipping my Moscato and nibbling on my second piece of bread. Because fuck it. I was too nervous to eat breakfast and my appetite came back in full force when we were back into our clothes and driving away from the warehouse.
Jesse watches me, smirking as I butter the bread that he still hasn’t touched since they put it down. I ignore the olive oil and balsamic vinegar dip they put beside the basket of fluffy white carbs and offer him the slice. He shakes his head and watches contently as I eat.
“The photos they showed us were beautiful,” he agrees, picking up his water and taking a sip.
He ordered a glass of red wine to go with the veal parmesan and side of penne pasta with vodka sauce.
I’d been thoroughly impressed, and shocked, when he’d told the waiter what he wanted knowing it went against his diet. He splurges, of course, but not often.
“It’s a celebration,” was his explanation.
And it felt…good. So I got my favorite wine, chicken parmesan, and indulged on the bread before our ceaser salads come out.
“My mom is coming to visit again soon,” I say, wiping crumbs off my lap. “After your away game. She asked if it’d be okay if she stayed with us since your dad won’t be able to join her for the home game against Boston.”
There’s no hesitation. “Of course. She knows she’s welcome anytime she wants.” I don’t miss the tiny tilt to his lips as he sets his water down.
“What?”
He lifts one of those broad shoulders. “I was thinking we’ll have to remember to sleep in separate rooms when she’s here.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
That smile on his face grows. “I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed sleeping next to somebody before. But I did with you. I’d like that to be more than a one-time thing. If you want. No pressure if that’s something you’re not comfortable with.”
Is he kidding me? “Why?” I blurt.
“You’re not a bed hog,” he answers nonchalantly. “And you don’t snore. I didn’t sweat spooning you all night, and I didn’t hate when you were the big spoon.”
Oh my God. I big spooned him? I don’t even remember that. Hell, I didn’t even think that was possible with our height difference. “I didn’t mean why would you want to sleep together, even though I’m glad I don’t snore or steal the blankets. I’ve been known to do that.”
His jaw tics. “Who told you that you stole the blankets?”
I have the decency to flush at his tone. It isn’t like he thinks I’ve never had sleepovers with men before. We both know we’ve dated around and stayed the night at people’s places. I didn’t lose my virginity to him, and he didn’t lose his to me.
“People,” I say, shrugging loosely. He doesn’t need to know that I’m referring to my best friend in middle school.
We’d have sleepovers all the time and sleep in her bed together.
She said she used to fight me for the blankets.
I should really call her and see how she’s doing.
It’s been ages since we’ve talked. “Anyway, I meant why would I be uncomfortable with it. Which I’m not, for the record.
I’m a little surprised you’d suggest it, but it’s nice. ”
Nice doesn’t quite cover the way my heart pumps in my chest a little faster at the thought of cuddling Jesse all night.
He seems to relax a little. “I meant what I said, Belle. I don’t want to hide this. If we’re going to give this a chance, I’m going all in. But I want you to be comfortable with whatever that entails. And it will entail people being dickheads.”
It will, which I don’t love. Being part of the public eye has always made me itchy.
The press will respect my privacy for the most part.
There are always tabloids who want attention by posting unflattering pictures or ridiculous headlines for clickbait, but it’s usually the type of stuff I can easily brush off.
Going public with this relationship, if that’s what we’re calling it, is a totally different beast to tame. And Jesse doesn’t seem all that worried about it. If he can be cool, calm, and collected then why can’t I?
“There will definitely be dickheads,” I confirm, rubbing my lips together.
Are we going to talk about this here? In the middle of a restaurant?
There were at least two people who turned their heads when Jesse walked in.
It could be because he’s tall and handsome, or maybe because of the scar he doesn’t try hiding.
But more likely than not, it’s because he’s one of the league’s best players.
Clearing my throat, I ignore the people around us. They don’t matter. Their opinions shouldn’t matter. “My concern is more about…personal opinions.”
He looks at me, a little lost at first. I stare at him with my brows raised hoping I can convey my meaning without saying it. It doesn’t take long before he nods. “I’ve considered that,” he admits, speaking of our parents. “And I’m not sure it will come as a surprise to them.”
I can’t help but gape at him, the warm bread in front of me long forgotten. “Why do you think that?”
He shifts in his seat and pulls his wine closer to him, staring into the red liquid. “My dad might have said something to me about it.”
He what? “When?”
“A few weeks ago,” he admits, almost sheepishly. “And then he brought up the stats of stepsibling porn—”
He stops abruptly when the waiter comes back with our salads, placing them in front of us with a smile. An amused one. Because he definitely heard Jesse bring up stepsibling porn.
Wonderful.
“Cheese?” the waiter asked, nodding when we both shake our head and wait until he walks away before Jesse explains the rest of that very awkward sentence.
Because…what the hell? “Your dad brought up stepsibling p-o-r-n?” I don’t know why I’m spelling it out like we’re surrounded by toddlers and not grown adults who, assumingly, can spell.
He presses his lips into a thin line and nods once, looking about as pleased by that as me. I’m so glad I wasn’t there for that conversation. “He basically said he wasn’t shocked that I didn’t like you going out with David.”
I deadpan. “Dane.”
Jesse waves a hand. “Whatever.”
He knows damn well what Dane’s name is, so I let it go. “Did he ask if we were together?”
He shakes his head. “Not quite. But he did tell me I had a lot to figure out. I know it would be a strange dynamic for everybody, but would it be the worst thing? We all get along. We all love each other. We’re family. That won’t change.”