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Snowflake shook her head, pretending to be exasperated, but I knew she secretly liked that I saw her as more than just her reputation.
“So. Where to?” I repeated my question. I wasn’t going to address her question seriously. We were friends. We hung out. She was supposed to trust me not to bang her mom.
Snowflake gave me the address, but she still looked hesitant, tapping her fingers over the edge of her opened window.
I flipped my keys in my hand. “Meet you there.”
“So. About my mom…?” She trailed off. I stared at her like she’d tried to rub a hedgehog on my cock.
“Of course I’m not going to fuck your mom, Jesse. What kind of asshole would do that?”
“Nolan would,” she muttered, then amended. “Did.”
I stopped on my tracks. Nolan had been in high school when he and Jesse were still on speaking terms. Was he a senior or a junior when he’d sampled Mrs. Morgansen? I turned around to the girl with the Pushkin tattoo.
“Is that a figure of speech all the cool kids are using nowadays?”
“Nope, it’s the figure zero in loyalty when it comes to Pam Carter. My mom likes them young. So please excuse my suspicion.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She gave me a pointed look then sighed. “I really hate men.”
“As a species or as a concept? And does that include me?”
“As everything. And unless you have a secret vagina, yes, you’re included.”
“Pretty sure I’d know if I had one. It’d make a great place to stash pot.” I groomed the tip of my beard with my fingers, something I did more and more when Jesse was around. Normally I didn’t care what people thought of me. With her, I didn’t not care.
“Too bad. That would mean eighty percent of the women of Todos Santos were lesbians, and that would explain why all the guys here are such angry douchebags.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the lightest thing she’d ever said to me. In fact, I nearly toppled over laughing. Jesse Carter had been burned, but that only made her hotter than hell. She wasn’t emo about what had happened to her. She was angry. And rightly-fucking-so. A weird, stupid regret slammed into me—for never properly meeting the girl she’d been before the attack.
She was good, and funny, and broken. But it was only the last part that defined her. In her eyes, anyway.
“Know what, Snowflake? I think you officially graduated from creeper to a mild weirdo. You’re ready to give me a ride. Least you can do for dragging my ass through a fucking maze.”
“Did I win you over with my lesbian talk?” She batted her eyelashes, plastering a hand to her cheek.
“Yes. I want to hear all about lesbians the entire ride to the vet, please. And make it graphic.”
“Not happening, and no thank you.”
“Look at us, bantering like old friends.” I opened my arms wide. Shadow barked from the back, a gentle reminder that he was feeling like crap. “See? Even your dog agrees.”
She redenned, and that was my cue. I circled her Rover, getting into her car, into her realm, and under her skin. She stared ahead as she reversed and slid back from the roundabout parking area. Shadow whimpered, and Jesse twisted slightly, reaching back and patting him. Her scent hit my nostrils and sent my head tipping back against the seat. Ever been punched in the face? I had. Plenty of times. The first few seconds, you’re disoriented. Not really sure what time of the day it is. Where you are. That’s what Jesse smelled like. Like a punch in the fucking face. And, honestly, women should find a way to bottle it as perfume. Very powerful stuff.
“What are you so happy about?” she asked, suspicious of my smirk.
I shook my head. “Green apples and fresh rain.”
Experience had taught me that there were a few types of silence.
Embarrassed silence. Intense silence. Sexy silence. Mysterious silence. Sorry-I-fucked-your-wife-she-said-you-were-cool-with-it silence. Jesse and I had settled into a new type—companionable silence. It felt like her variation of small talk, and sat between us like your favorite uncle who always made great fart jokes.
I got it. She was slowly getting used to hanging out with someone new. Not just someone new, but an actual man, who smelled and looked and acted like a guy. It couldn’t have been easy. Her life story was like a bitter winter, one that covers everything in a thick layer of ice you need to crash your way through. It was in the air, crackling between us. I was working my way to the flame that danced inside the old Jesse.
After the ride, I carried Shadow out of the back seat, because Old Sport, as she’d called him, was damn heavy and didn’t seem to be getting around very well. The forty-something receptionist at the vet looked between us, obviously half-worried that I’d kidnapped Jesse, before buzzing the intercom on her desk. Two minutes later, Snowflake walked into the examination room with Shadow. There was a glass window overlooking the reception area, so I could see them both, along with the vet, Dr. Wiese.
