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Then she’d better pick something I can answer. Otherwise I’ll have to go with the most honest lie. I hold my neutral expression. “DoIget two questions?”
She stares at the floor, either counting the flecks of black on the white tile squares or trying to decide if what I’ll ask is worth the risk.
I already know she has daddy issues and that her mom isn’t in the picture. I’ve also experienced her anxiety in action and met Vi. What else could there be?
Jess lifts her head, but her gaze doesn’t align with mine. “Okay.” She repeats my go-to answer, the way I say it when I meanwe’ll see.
I run through the list of questions she could ask. Where is my mom? When is she coming home? Why won’t I stay at my own house? Why does my lawyer act like he lives there? None of those topics are up for discussion.
She clasps her hands in her lap, exposing Fort Knox. “How many other random girls have you kissed?”
Not even in the realm of what I anticipated. “None.” I’m not a total boy-whore.
“None?”
“You were my first random kiss.” I tap my big toe against her painted toenail. “Was Iyourfirst?”
“First?” Pink splashes her cheeks.
“Random kiss?”
“Yes.” She ducks her head. “That counts as a question.”
“That sucks.” Based on her shock over the escalator incident, me being the first guy to spontaneously kiss her isn’t a surprise. So basically, I wasted fifty percent of my deeper look into Escalator Girl on something I already knew. “Ask your next question.”
She pulls her hair over her shoulder, twisting it into a spiral I want to unwind. “Why do you want to be withmethis week?”
Another easy answer. “I like hanging with you.”
“You didn’t know that when you kissed me.” Her tone holds enough skepticism to capsize a cruise ship. She lets her hair go. And sadly, it unwinds itself.
“You didn’t ask why Ikissedyou.” Your very long legs in that blessed short dress. “You asked why I wanted to be with you.” Your very long legs in that blessed short dress. And a bunch of other less douchy reasons. Which bites. It’d be easier if the only thing I was into were her legs.
“I broke your bidet,” she says. “I was horrible to you at the panel. I fell off an escalator onto you. At the book signing, I lost—”
“Your shit?” I can’t help it. I’m addicted to her curse cringe.
And there it is, tacked to a glare. “I was going to say lostit.” She triple-emphasizes the last word.
“I know.”
“You didn’t even see me spill tea on Donna before I even got to the escalator. I’m the PR antichrist. You’ll lose fans if you spend more time with me.”
The caveboy in me couldn’t care less about the PR. Or the fans. He’s stuck replaying that scene in the bathroom of Jess trying to tame the bidet with her sweatshirt. The reason I want to be with her—the reason Ilikeher—is because she’s real. My life doesn’t come with a lot of real.
She picks at her pants again. “No one’s going to believe you’re into me.”
The thing is Iaminto her. The conference ends in five days, and whether Jess agrees to help me or not, I already know it won’t be easy to drop her from my life.
“Gabe?” While I’ve been lost in thought, she’s been searching my face.
I have a flash of panic that I’ve completely lost my mask. Rebooting my mellow vibe, I call, “My turn. Second question.” Skipping over the obvious get-to-know-you subjects, I go with something unpredictable and a little risky. “When I asked you to pick a perfect moment at the book signing, why did you pick the thing about your dad?”
She pulls her knees into her chest. “I don’t remember what I said.”
Out of the two of us, I wouldn’t have picked her for the liar. “Tanning by the pool while your dad mowed the lawn. The hum of the riding mower. The sun on your face. The smell of grass mixed with sunblock and chlorine.”
Her shoulders lift. “How did you remember that?”
