Marissa #3
“You think people would get over America’s Sweetheart?” Shelby shakes her head. “Honey, come on.”
“It’s not only that,” I protest. “It’s also … if I’m going to get back in the ring and spend time away from my kids, it has to be for a project I really believe in. Something that feels important, you know?”
I can feel Jesse’s eyes burning into the side of my face. I glance over at him and he’s studying me carefully, his mouth set in a hard line. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“You’ll know when it’s the right one,” Shelby says reassuringly. “I’m sure of it.”
I smile back at her. “I hope you’re right.”
The food arrives. No one seems to notice that Jesse is only eating with his left hand. His leg has migrated to seal itself against mine, his thigh pressing into my skin. There is a delicious heat passing between us, made even more electrifying by the secrecy of it.
I wouldn’t mind sharing a few more secrets with Jesse.
It’s dark by the time we get home, the velvety, indigo sky melting into the silhouette of treetops. The houses encircling the lake provide the only luminance, their interior lights casting shimmering reflections across the water.
Jesse switches off the truck’s ignition. We dropped Toby and Shelby off first, and now we’re alone, sitting in a parked car like teenagers who don’t want the night to end.
The smoke of our under-the-table secret plumes between us, the memory of his fingers interlocking with mine branded on my skin. Are we going to talk about it?
Do we need words at all?
For the first time since I met him, he seems nervous, his usual steadiness now replaced with boyish uncertainty. He’s looking everywhere but at me, his long fingers drumming rapidly against the steering wheel.
“Walk me to my door?” I ask, and it’s only then that he turns to look at me. He swallows hard, then nods.
It’s a funny thing to suggest. Old-fashioned. I just couldn’t think of anything else.
We step out of the truck and head up the driveway, our hands swinging inches from each other but not quite touching.
My fingers are screaming to lace themselves through his again, but I can’t get a read on him now.
His body language is tight and closed off, a sharp contrast to the energy he was putting off an hour ago.
Has he changed his mind, regretted his earlier flirtation?
I wouldn’t blame him for recalibrating after thinking it through.
Who would want to get involved with someone like me, a mother of two who’s approaching forty and saddled with this much emotional baggage?
Still, it’s not like I’m holding auditions for a second husband.
This doesn’t have to be anything serious.
We’re clearly attracted to each other, so why not give in to chemistry and get it out of our systems?
Now we’re facing each other on my front porch.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, affording me another glimpse of his muscled forearms. I bite down on my bottom lip as I study the trail of veins, the faded pink scar that curves up from his wrist. Every detail about this man is unspeakably sexy.
“Thank you for today. I thought it was going to be hard, but you turned it around.”
He shrugs, color creeping into his cheeks. “You’re giving me too much credit. It was all my brother and sister-in-law. I apologize for them again, by the way. Both for the paintball debacle and their behavior after two alcoholic beverages.”
“Good thing you were there to throw yourself at me,” I say. But the joke falls flat, the words coming out more serious than I intended.
His flush deepens.
“It was nothing,” he says quietly. “It was just a game.”
“It wasn’t nothing to me.”
Jesse’s eyes lock on mine for a long beat as the words hang between us. I am newly conscious of my body, attuned to the blood in my veins, the way that each breath labors in my chest.
With effort, he finally tears his gaze away, eyes dropping to study a paint splatter on the toe of his shoe. “It’s getting late. I should let you get some sleep.”
A wave of disappointment floods through me, extinguishing the flame that’s been steadily growing inside me all night. Damn. I really thought he was going to kiss me. What’s changed? From holding my hand to this new, tense distance between us?
Jesse looks like he’s waging a battle within himself, his gray eyes turned stormy. When he finally speaks, his voice is resigned.
“Good night, Marissa.”
My body deflates. Well, that settles it.
“Good night, Jesse.”
I rotate, taking a step toward my front door. And that’s when I remember my resolution from earlier. I’m done letting life happen to me. I’m in charge now, and that means going after the things I want. And right now, what I want is Jesse.
I turn back to grab hold of his elbow. That small movement is all it takes. He whirls around, and before I can register what’s happening, Jesse’s mouth is on mine.
The moment our lips meet, reservation melts away and instinct takes over. His hands are everywhere: dragging through my hair, skating down my back, pressing into my hips. One palm cradles the back of my head, angling my face upward. My arms loop around his neck as I pull him down to me.
Jesse’s kissing echoes his personality: strong and capable, yet gentle. The coarse stubble of his beard is juxtaposed with the softness of his lips, which are firm and confident as he alternates between deep pressure and gentle, lingering kisses.
“Marissa,” he breathes, and the sound of my own name sends a pulsing sense of need through me.
I grab him by the collar and dive back in, kissing him with a fervor I didn’t know I possessed.
God, it’s been years since I’ve been kissed like this.
Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever been kissed like this.
My fingers weave through the curls at the base of his neck and they are just as soft as I’d imagined they’d be.
Jesse presses a hand into my lower back, pulling me flush against him.
I gasp when his hips press into me, and I feel the unmistakable shape of his excitement.
My own desire throbs between my legs as he drags his lips down the column of my neck, his tongue tracing over my pulse point.
He takes hold of my face, thumbs skating across my cheeks as his mouth claims mine again.
My body goes limp as I melt against him, no longer conscious of anything other than the sensation of his lips and the heat of his body as it presses into mine.
The world around us fades to a blur of fireflies and woodsmoke, pine needles and the dizzying sensation of being truly and thoroughly kissed.
When he finally breaks away, his lips are purple and swollen and his formerly tousled curls are now in full disarray. The unsteady rise and fall of his chest mirrors my own as we stare back at each other, wild-eyed and struggling to catch our breath.
“It wasn’t nothing to me either,” he says. And then he backs down the sidewalk, disappearing into the darkness.