Oh God, he was speaking her language. She could have had “hermit” tattooed on her forehead if she wasn’t deathly afraid of attracting MORE attention to herself. “I get that, I guess.”
“You do?” Jesse tilted his head skeptically.
“Well, duh! I hate the stares and the whispers. Although, I guess it makes me feel better that maybe people weren’ttryingto be rude.” She self-consciously ran a finger over the shell of her ear. Great. Even the one part of her face she could easily hide under the long dark hair still managed to cause trouble.
“It’s not a bad thing. The hearing what other people can’t? I bet it makes you an amazing cellist.”
“Mm. Maybe.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. It was at that moment that she realized her hair was not its usual sleek curtain and her eyes were probably streaked with mascara from crying.She probably looked like a puffy-eyed, raccoon-masked disaster. “Uh. Thanks for stopping. I’m sure that you—”
At that moment, the rain unleashed hard enough to make her gasp, the spray of hard drops sounding like a barrage of bullets.
“Sure that I want to go out and get my second shower of the day?” Jesse smiled ruefully. He sighed and raked his fingers through his still-damp hair. “Look, I get that I’m not your ‘bestie.’ But I’d hate to see you leave town. If people look at us differently, so what? You’re still gorgeous, right? What the hell does it matter if they don’t knowwhyyou look like Snow White come to life? Heh. Could be worse.”
His tone had changed to something brittle, but Sophie didn’t hear.
Gorgeous.
“You d-don’t have to go,” Sophie suddenly blurted.
“I’ve intruded enough already.” Jesse continued to hover by the door.
If this is the kind of “friendship” we have, I don’t think I want it, Sophie suddenly thought. He’ll say something, then leave for days or weeks. It’s just keeping me dangling. “Go if you want.”
“I don’twantto go. I just didn’t want to push more than I already did. In most cases, I’m not a pushy guy. I’m just—You’rejust special.”
Sophie smothered a disbelieving snort. “Not pushy” didn’t describe his efforts to get her to stay, but at the same time, being called special with obvious admiration in someone’s voice (someone who wasn’t her mother) softened her cynical armor. “Breakfast?”
“Yeah! Breakfast would be good.” Jesse’s face transformed from hesitant to beaming.
Damn. He was so pretty when he smiled.
IT FELL INTO A PATTERN. After orchestra practice or her final class of the afternoon, he was waiting. He walked her to Pettiford to stow her cello and books, then they walked back through town to go to Mila’s or pick up Chinese.
Today was a taco day, as yesterday had been Chinese. They ate the tacos at the scarred wooden tables from flat red and green baskets, laughing and mumbling in appreciation and playing a new game, eavesdropping on one line of someone’s conversation, then deciding to take the story from there.
“My feet are killing me,” Jesse began the game, gesturing with his head toward the man working the fryer.
Sophie angled her neck and saw the twenty-something cook shifting from heel to heel as if he wanted to do nothing more than take his feet off.
“Your line,” Jesse prompted, sipping his coke.
Sophie swallowed and moved a chip further into her little side container of salsa. “Little did he know, his feet truly were assassins from a distant planet and they indeed were sent to take him out.” Sophie lowered her brows, voice an ominous hush.
“A distant planet? How would they be attached to his body?” Jesse protested.
“Hey, I did my line. The next part is your problem.”
Jesse heaved a sigh. “The tiny nano-assassins who were masquerading as annoying but harmless toenail fungus decided they would leave the poor fry cook alone. Instead, they turned their malice at the frustratingly gorgeous brunette at table six,” Jesse growled.
“That was two lines,” Sophie demurred but her heart was fluttering. Gorgeous. Again, calling her gorgeous.
“You can have two lines, then. I’m not taking my last one back.” Jesse’s eyes seemed to sparkle into hers for a split second before he dropped them to his plate.
After two weeks, Sophie’s thoughts of leaving left.
