“Why not?” Mr. Talbot asks, grudgingly curious.
The words seem heavy on Jesse’s tongue, reluctant to hit the open air. “Because. Because she’s the kind of person who tries to talk to the loneliest person at a party. She cares so much it should be a crime. I knew the second I opened that door, the second I let myself accept any of her kindness, she would be done for. She wouldn’t give up on me or put herself first—she would hold on even if I pushed her away, even if I completely broke her.”
I turn my cheek into the pillow, tears dripping from my nose. The girl Jesse’s talking about is gone. He only let himself get close to me once I was already broken, once there was nothing left to damage.
“You don’t break people, Jesse. I raised you better,” Mr. Talbot says, in a hard tone that brooks no argument.
This time, Jesse’s laugh is cold, spreading through me like morning frost. “You did. That’s the problem.”
The door creaking open punctuates Jesse’s statement, and he closes it before I can catch a glimpse of Mr. Talbot.
We stare at each other. Jesse tips his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. “Any chance you didn’t hear that?”
“It was really good baklava,” I say. “I ground the pistachios myself. You missed out.”
An old sadness flits over Jesse’s features. “I know.”
He straightens, the moment gone before I even realized it was there. “We should get you home. Your dad will freak out if he notices you’re gone.”
Panic cannons through me, whiting out my mind. “No! No, please, let me stay. Don’t leave me alone again.” I start to cry in earnest.
“Whoa, hey. You can stay. Of course you can stay. I’ll text one of your friends to call your dad and tell him you’re spending the night with her. Sound good?”
I sniff. “Okay. Text Lucia. Baba likes her best.” She always patiently listens to his rants about the flaws in higher education.
“Done,” Jesse says, tapping out the keys on my phone. “You’re good to go. I’ll monitor you throughout the night, but try to stay awake for just a little longer.”
The long day comes crashing down on me. Staying conscious becomes a feat of epic proportions. Dimly aware of Jesse rummaging in his closet, I peel open one eye when he strips off his bloody shirt, revealing miles of smooth skin. Without the obstruction of clothes, a tattoo I’ve only caught glimpses of reveals itself fully for the first time. Small black and white flowers blooming from an elegant stem trace the curve of his bicep.
“An orchid,” Jesse says in response to my shameless staring. “Dad says it was my mom’s favorite.”
“Pretty.”
Though I’ve never been to Europe, I imagine the slopes and divots of Jesse’s body resemble the statues housed in the world’s grandest museums. It suddenly seems like a crying shame that Jesse hides his beauty behind aggressive T-shirts and a beaten leather jacket.
When he moves to his dresser, still shirtless, I press a curious hand to his bare stomach.
Jesse freezes. I trace the taut line leading from his abdomen to his waistband. His skin feels soft, delicate velvet overlaying hard muscle. Before I reach the groove of his hip, a firm hand closes around my wrist.
“You are incredibly concussed,” Jesse remarks flatly. I wiggle in Jesse’s hold, aiming to map out the sinuous motions of his back, starting from the sharp points of his shoulder blades.
“Nuh-uh.”
To my disappointment, Jesse tugs a shirt over his chest. He flashes a smile a touch too sour to be sincere. “Lose the head injury, and I’ll let you touch whatever you want.”
I flop back against the bed, scooting to make room for Jesse. At hishesitation, I pat the empty space. “No, you won’t,” I say, despondent. “You’re afraid you’ll break me.”
He lays down stiffly, keeping a good foot of space between us.
“I’m stronger than I seem, you know.”
Jesse’s head turns on the pillow. “I don’t think you’re weak. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, running his fingers to the furrow between his brows. “Hey, weren’t you telling me about the dress you bought?”
I brighten instantly. “Was I? Oh, it’s so lovely. Out of my budget, though. Baba will be mad, but maybe they can bury me in it. Kill two birds with one stone.”
