It is true that I’ve totally loved hearing all the totally fucking awesome sounding work he got done with his dissertation today. Damn though, I love it when he gets all serious and adorably nerdy about his research. The way Jesse puts it all together, like this story and jigsaw puzzle and mystery he’s gotta solve all wrapped up in one, makes it super obvious why he got into doing what he does.
And fine, so there’s also the way his cheeks go all pink and the fact that he has this habit of running his fingers back through his already mussed up hair and mussing it just a tad bit more when he gets excited about what he’s saying…
Too damn sexy, sunshine.
Whatever college he works for once he graduates, half the school’s gonna be lining up around the block to take his classes.
Oh, and don’t even get mestartedon the things that smile of his did to me when it spread over his sweet, gorgeous face when I’d told him all about Mitchel and my paintings. Like hearing my news actually meant something real to him.
Fuck, my heart’sstillgoing all leapy-skippy-crazy, just at the memory of it. And now Ireallycan’t wait to get my hands on him.
I’ve just tipped his head back for a totally deliciously filthy kiss, and okay, maybe the way I’m shifting my ass around on his lap mighttechnicallybe considered grinding, when his phone pings.
“I’ve got to run down to the street,” he groans when he looks at it. “The Door Dash guy can’t find our building and he’s gotten himself all turned around.”
Not gonna lie, I totally pout as I slide out of Jesse’s lap. The fact that he’s every bit as hard as I am and has to tuck his cock up in the waistband of his jeans does cheer me up a little at least.
Since I might as well find something useful to do with myself while I wait, I get to work clearing off the kitchen table so the two of us will have a spot to sit and eat. ‘Cause it turns out that a productive, brainy sunshine is ahellamessy sunshine.
This morning, when I left for work, that table didn’t have a damn thing on it. Now? Now it’s all piled up with Jesse’s laptop and books and papers and other random shit he apparently needs with him while he’s researching. Like three or four empty water glasses, a half-spilled box of paperclips, some jumbled up cords, and about a million and a half sticky notes.
So yeah, now that I’m actually paying attention to it, the messismaking my skin go just a teensy bit itchy-crawly-feeling.
And somehow, thatstilldoesn’t stop me from grinning like a crazy person.
‘Cause how totally damn adorable my brainy, sexy sunshine had to have been, working away here all day with his mussed-up hair and too many sticky notes…
Maybe sometime I’ll get to just hang out here with himwhile he works. You know, maybe paint or something. Sneak some peeks to see if he’s doing that hot thing with his fingers through his hair.
Not even gonna pretend like the thought doesn’t have me melting just a teeny bit as I reach across the table for the last book to pile up on the stack to go back on the shelf. It’d all be just so sweet and homy and—
Fuck— No—
I swear I alreadyknewthe moment before my stupid-ass elbow went and smacked Jesse’s computer right off over the edge of the table, only no matter how surreally slow-motion the thing seems to move as it tips over the edge, I move even slower.
Next thing I know, there’s the crash; ten times louder than it has any right to be, and then this high-pitched, endless beeping that’s drowned out by the even louder panic blaring in my own head.
‘Cause I’ve fucked up.
Shit, I’ve fucked up so bad, just like I should have known I would.
This, with Jesse? Best goddamn thing I’ve ever had. God fucking dammit, I should have known it was too good to last.
He’s going to lose his fucking mind—
36
Jesse
“Sorry that took forever,” I call over my shoulder to Tris as I toe out of my shoes by the door, pushing it shut with my free hand that’s not taken up with the bag packed with our dinner.
“The poor kid had gotten himself so lost, and he felt terrible. I tipped him extra though—Tris? What’s the matter? Are you alright?”
I probably look like an overreactive idiot the way I practically throw the bag onto the counter and launch myself across the kitchen toward Tris, but there’s this strained, glazed over tension in his too-pale face, like he’s sick or in pain or—
“Don’t be angry, please?”
His words make me stop short, suddenly taking in the way he’s holding himself, arms clutching defensively around his middle.
