From his seat on the second step, Jesse waits patiently while I stare at him.
At this point, I could probably draw his eyes from memory. Steal Aida’s sketchpad and re-create the sooty, unfairly long lashes around his dark brown eyes. The half-moons of exhaustion shadowing them. Two eyebrows that curve down at the ends and a cut at his jawline where he’d cut himself shaving.
It’s dangerous, how misleading Jesse’s looks are. On the outside, he might strike you as an angel. Elegant hands kissed by tiny white scars. Red knuckles chapped from the cold. A full, languid mouth. Effortlessly messy black hair most of the male student body would trade their spare kidney to replicate. Half the time, I think Jesse dresses like a rebel from an old sixties movie to overcompensate for how beautiful he is.
Most importantly, there isn’t a hint of orange to be found anywhere in his indolent gaze.
Another full minute ticks by. Jesse raises his brows. “Does it usually take this long?”
Never. The thing keeps to a tight schedule. Carefully, I say, “I don’t understand exactly how it works.”
If he’s immune, maybe other people are, too. Maybe Baba is.
Shaking the perilously hopeful thought loose, I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you think you know about what’s going on with me?”
“I think I know a lot.” Jesse shifts, long legs stretching over the steps. “Happy to break it down for youinside.These stairs are wet. My ass is numb.”
I gnaw on my lip. What harm can he really do with his shoelaces tied and his arms stuck in his jacket?
One last time. I will try hopeone last time.
“Alright.” I throw out my hand to stop him when he rises. “Stick to your side of the room and don’t untangle your shoelaces.”
My room is barely bigger than an office. The options for hiding consist of my closet and under the bed, neither of which are particularly conducive to conversation. After a moment of thought, I push the dresser away from the wall and hunker behind it.
Jesse arranges himself at the farthest point in the room, which ends up being the head of my bed. The sight is so bizarre it’s almost otherworldly.Jesse Talbotlounging in my bed, arms tangled in his jacket, the laces on his work boots clumped into a massive knot. He rests his head against the wall.
His shoes are on my bed,I think, aggravated. I’ll need to wash the sheets while Baba’s asleep.
The walls groan under the rain. “Start talking,” I bark. Baba could be home any minute.
The command amuses Jesse. “Damn, who knew little cheer captain Mina Mansour had such a big bite?”
“Dance captain. For the last time, the cheerleading team is an entirely different extracurricular body. Different funding, different training, different rules—”
I cut myself off, shooting him my most scathing glare.
Jesse chuckles. “Bottle that glare back up, Sour Patch. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”
Sour Patch?
It takes me a beat to piece it together. Mansour, Man Sour, ha-ha. What a comedian. He knows my last name isn’t pronounced with hard vowels.
“Listen, if you’re just plotting some elaborate joke …” My voice wobbles, and I stop to collect myself. I will not break down in front of him. He already thinks I’m softer than a charred marshmallow.
Heaving a disappointed sigh, Jesse tips his head to the side. “Well, if you’re going to cry about it.”
The side door rattles, hinges whining beneath the wind.
“You’re cursed, Mansour.”
I blink. “Sorry? I think I misheard.”
“I doubt it.”
Oh … oh, no. I glance at the door, gauging the distance between myself and the exit. I never put much stock in the rumors about the Talbot family, but that was clearly a mistake. A curse? Like inScooby-Doo?
At my strained silence, Jesse’s brows furrow. “Why are you acting so shocked? What the hell do you think that thing is?”
