Because Jessa sure as shit didn’t come tomewhen she needed something anymore. She’d stopped coming to me around the time Seth came on the scene, and I wasn’t fucking stupid. But no matter how I tried to wrap my head around it, I couldn’t allow myself to believe that Jessa was giving it uptoSeth.
Nother.
Jessa Mayes was, and would always be, in my mind—until the day I had sex with her—a virgin. How could she possibly beanythingelse?
I couldn’tstandit.
And yeah, that was my bullshit male pride talking. Because I couldn’t fucking stand that Seth, or anyone else, had gotten a taste of herfirst.
No. Morebullshit.
I couldn’t stand that he’d gotten a taste of heratall.
And according to one incredibly ill-advised comment he’d dropped in my face when I’d confronted him on the subject late last year,hehad.
Which was how he’d ended up with a fractured eye socket and a chipped tooth, and I’d stopped talking to him for all of December. But that was a short-sighted plan since he was not only my friend but my client, and “Dirty forever” and allthatshit.
So instead, I stopped talking toJessa.
I told myself I’d let herchoose.
Three long years ago, I told her I’d wait for her, and if she wanted me, I told myselfshe’dcome.
I’d told her I’d wait a year, but I was still fuckingwaiting.
And it was eating me up, bit bybloodybit.
* * *
The next morning,I’d parked my truck on the street in front of Dolly’s house, where Jessa had lived since her mom died. It was raining and gray, and I was hungoverasfuck.
Jessa sat silently in the passenger seat, slowly taking off her seatbelt. She was wearing my Led Zeppelin T-shirt and her sequined tights. Last night, after we’d danced together in the dark, she’d slept in my bed, fully dressed. And even though she’d slept in my bed, holding me through the night, I couldn’t say that was a goodthing.
It wasn’t the first time it’d happened, either. But it’d been a long,longtime.
Mostly I used to find her there in the middle of the night, after some party, and more often than not she was drunk. But she’d hold me tight when I slid in next to her, and if she was awake enough, she’dkissme.
I’d kissherback.
But if I ever tried to put my hands on her—and I did—she’dstopme.
I didn’t pressure her. I didn’t push her boundaries. I left them intact, telling myself when she was ready, she’dbemine.
Last night, she’d kissed me just like she used to. I’d kissed her back, sloppily and drunk, grateful, desperate, frantic for her. Then I tasted the salty taste onherlips.
She wascrying.
She wasn’t making a sound, but the tears were running down her cheeks. So I tucked her head under my chin and held her close until she fellasleep.
I knew she was sad about Dirty leaving on their first world tour, but she’d already told us she wasn’t coming with us. Jesse threw a fit at first, but he’d gotten over it. I stillhadn’t.
But what the fuck could I do? I couldn’t makehercome.
I looked at her, sitting there, staring out the passenger window of mytruck.
“I think you should come on tour with us,” Itoldher.
“I can’t,” she said, just like every other time I’d brought it up. “I’ve gotschool.”
