“Yeah, he’s a feline so he’s clever and creative. And just like the Bard himself, before I had Shakespurr fixed he liked older women.”
“Right.” Jesse enjoyed her sense of humor and quick wit. He wondered how many of the women he’d taken to bed over the years he might have liked if he’d bothered to get to know them. Maybe none. They’d been more like groupies. Bristol seemed really different. “So you decided you liked him because he tried to pet your pussy?”
She tsked at him, hands on her hips. But the fact that she was about a foot shorter, coupled with the smile she couldn’t repress, took all the starch out of her censure.
“That’s not all. Hayden also told me that he had a crush on me in high school.”
“And you fell for him?”
Bristol heaved a long sigh. “Well, I had one on him back then, too. So…yeah. I sound like an idiot.”
Jesse didn’t like hearing her put herself down when she’d done nothing wrong. “No. You sound like a woman who trusted the wrong guy because you wanted to believe the best about him.”
“I really did.”
Now she sounded sad, and he wanted to turn her frown into another smile. “Since you’ve been so honest, I guess I’ll tell you something true.” He squeezed her hand. “I saw you sitting on the barstool talking to Jayla and thought you were beautiful. If you’ve once thought you’re not simply because the ex-jackass tossed you over for your younger sister, trust me. It’s not you; it’s him. I can already tell you’re way smarter. I also suspect you’re a better human being. When you shined a spotlight on his deficiencies by being you, he bailed because he didn’t like the comparison.”
She scoffed. “He’s not that deep.”
“You’re right. He not aware of that realization because he didn’t come to it consciously. But I can almost guarantee he felt it. And he didn’t like it. So if anything he said or did made you feel lousy, forget it. And him. I’ve traveled all over the world and met a lot of people, women especially. You seem pretty awesome to me.”
She blushed again. “Thanks.”
“Like I said, just being honest.”
A comfortable lull fell between them, and Jesse finally scanned his surroundings. He’d played a number of places with this vibe when he’d first started singing. It hadn’t taken long before a random YouTube video had brought him to the attention of record producers. Back then, he’d been too nervous to appreciate the valuable learning experience and too young to join the revelry that would probably happen here later. Right now, a band dragged in their instruments and readied themselves for their Saturday night set.
Besides maturity and experience, the other thing that made his trip to this joint different was the fact that he held Bristol’s hand in his. He liked the simple touch, liked knowing she was there with him. She didn’t have any expectations that he’d find the nearest room away from his screaming public to get in her panties. Bristol seemed perfectly content to simply be with him.
Conversely, the fact that she wasn’t squealing to sleep with the Jesse McCall really made him want her. Or was there just something about her that did it for him?
“So…since you saved me from social hell tonight, are you expecting money?”
If she only knew how much he didn’t need it. “Nope.”
“Sex?” She quirked a brow at him.
Jesse couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t turn it down, but no.”
Her smile dipped. “Are you interested in Presleigh?”
“God, no. She’s pretty in that plastic way, like a Barbie doll. Sure, she’s got a nice bod. But I’ve met a million girls like her. She’s not interesting.”
“And I am?” Bristol raised a skeptical brow.
“So far, yeah.”
“You don’t really know me,” she pointed out.
“Fair enough. But you seem real. Unlike your sister, it’s pretty clear you didn’t spend all afternoon preening in front of the mirror and dressing for attention.”
“What does that mean? Maybe I did.”
“I guess that messy ponytail with the chunk that didn’t make it up—nice scrunchie, by the way—was on purpose. And who wants to wear a skirt so short that a stiff breeze could reveal your underwear when you could go the rumpled jeans route? Much sexier. And that patch of flour on your neck here.” He swept his fingers over the spot and felt her pulse jump. “Hmm, honey. It’s a turn-on.”
She gave a tsk of self-disgust and swiped at the flour, then dragged the elastic band covered in pink polka-dotted fabric from her hair. The multi-hued brown strands bounced past her shoulders and brushed her arms, the ends a shade much closer to blond. It wasn’t any sort of ombre dye job, simply a natural byproduct of the sun. Her tresses framed her delicate face.
“Okay, so I’m not Vogue ready.”
