“You sure? You look like you’re about to hyperventilate.”
She scoffs. “I am not. I just wasn’t expecting company.”
“You don’t have to make anything fancy. Plus, I’ll help!”
Natalie rolls her eyes. “The last time you ‘helped’ you mistook a tablespoon for a teaspoon of salt and ruined my blueberry pies.”
“That could have happened to anyone!”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”
Jesse grins, then hesitates. “Listen, Nat… I get that you worry about me, but I’m doing great. Really.”
She exhales, softening. “I just?—”
“It’s weird, right? Not getting all stressy depressy about me all the time?”
She smiles wryly. “Yeah. A little.”
“Well, you better get used to it. I got this. And you? You should probably start worrying about yourself for a change.”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smirks. “Maybe you should, I don’t know… stop being a nun and go on a date?”
“Jesse.”
“What? You should find some nerdy guy to read all your books with.”
She rolls her eyes, but she can’t argue. And, unfortunately, her thoughts drift back to Jake.
No. Absolutely not.
“Let’s focus on your game tomorrow, alright?” she says instead. “Now, did you get the groceries I asked for?”
“Yep, Instacart for the win,” Jesse says. “It’s nice not being poor.”
“We weren’t poor,” Natalie says, indignant. “We were resourceful.”
Jesse laughs. “Right, that’s why you used to skip lunch and sew my pads together with fishing line when they split. You’ve got a dope Christmas present coming your way, by the way.”
Natalie shakes her head. “Save your cash. You’re all I need, little bro.”
CHAPTER 12
NATALIE
Asharp knock rattles the door. Jesse grunts from the couch, too absorbed in the digital carnage on his PlayStation to bother acknowledging real-life visitors.
Natalie opens it to reveal two guys who, judging by their hockey haircuts alone, are Jesse’s new teammates. One is tall, blonde, and lean with sharp, cocky eyes. Tristan Fleischer, she assumes. Jesse calls him Flea, though honestly? Nothing small or jumpy about this guy. The other, stockier with thick black hair, a heavy brow, and an awkward grimace, must be Pavel Pekar.
“Hey, boys,” Jesse says, not looking up from the screen. “This is my sister, Natalie. Nat, Tristan and Pavel.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says politely.
“Whoa, Jesse wasn’t kidding. You actually cooked?” Tristan asks, sniffing the air dramatically. “I thought he was lying.”
“I do cook, you know,” Jesse says indignantly.
