“But?” I roll my eyes.
“Butit seems to be my standard reaction when I do something stupid.”
“Stupid?” I glare because we both know what I’m talking about, and that grin spreads wider on his lips. “Oh, you mean when you told me you would pick me over Madden?” My face goes somehow even more deadpan. “Hal,” he starts, and I ignore the way the single word sends butterflies to my belly. “I have spent my entire life with people telling me Madden is the better brother.” I try not to make a face, but I think I fail when his eyes light up before he continues to explain. “He’s friendlier, flirty, and dresses like he actually cares about how people perceive him.”
“I’ve always been way more into brooding,” I say with a shrug, trying to play this off as fun and silly, but it’s Jesse I’m talking to, so he takes it up a notch.
“As far back as when you were fourteen, Mrs. Hallie King?” That blush deepened, and I guess now I can assume he realizes why I didn’t want him to see those vision boards. “Thought those were about Madden, too, in case you were wondering.”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “As if.”
“Hmm. Well, I think it’s just fine for friends to be attracted to one another, yeah? Doesn’t have to mean anything, much less be something to avoid me over.”
“It doesn’t?”
He shakes his head, then turns away, headed back toward the dining room, and for a moment, I think I’m home free. But then his feet falter, and he looks over his shoulder.
“But just so you know, I’d pick you, too, Hallie. Every time.”
Then he walks into the dining room, talking to Emma like he didn’t just blow me away.
I don’t really know what to do with that, so instead, I do nothing. I play the same role I’ve played for as long as I can remember, of being into Jesse and never, ever doing anything about it.
BreakTK
The next morning, I don’t drag my feet when I finish all of my morning tasks and realize it’s barely even seven. It’s the last day I’ll be watching Emma before she goes back to school on Monday, and also the day Wren comes home. Instead of sitting around and waiting until eight to make my way to their house, I’m out the door by 7:10.
I’m already thinking about the coffee I’m going to have once I get there (I don’t know how he does it, but even though I have a fancy machine and the same creamer, Jesse makes better coffee in his shitty pot Mrs. King got him for Christmas years and years ago), but when I hear a consistent grumbling and athunk, thunk, thunksound, my curiosity is piqued, and I decide to follow it.
And then that curiosity turns to something else altogether when I carefully walk the path around the house to the backyard and see Jesse in the corner, a black and red flannel pulled tight across his back, muscles moving with each shift of his body as he lifts an axe over his head and brings it down, chopping wood.
Oh. My. God.
It’s possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t feel guilty about thinking that. I can’t have Jesse King, but I sure as fuck can have this memory for long, lonely nights with my vibrator, right? That’s not against the rules, is it?
Plus, Ihaveto just stand here and watch. What would happen if I spoke and scared him, and he chopped a toe off or something? That would weigh on my conscience for an eternity.
Instead of interrupting, like the creep I am, I watch Jesse lift thick hunks of heavy wood onto the stump, then step back, lifting the axe high and swinging it down to split the wood effortlessly. After the third or fourth time (or fifth, or sixth, who knows—I’m very distracted, and counting isn’t really a priority), though, I start to take note of the words.
Fucking bitch.
Hate her.
Terrible fucking person.
It seems this isn’t just Jesse tackling the chore of chopping wood, but possibly him getting out some long-held aggression. Suddenly, I feel less inclined to drool over him and far more concerned.
When he’s reaching for another log, I speak.
“Uh, something you want to tell me?” I ask. Jesse’s head whips in my direction, and all joking leaves my chest.
He looksterrible.
Angry, hurt, and so beyond frustrated. It’s intense emotions I’ve never seen on his face before, and I almost take a step back.
“Tell you?”
“I just…you keep saying you hate some kind of woman and?—”
