Jesse's Girl (Hundred Oaks #6) (9 page)

When Jesse gives up his love, his music.

When I go back to my life in Franklin.

He looks up from signing an autograph and grins. It’s a smile just for me.

Suddenly, I get the feeling this doesn’t have to be a one-day thing. That maybe the best day ever can develop into a lot more. Maybe it can become a life where I’m friends with Jesse Scott, where I can sing solos on a regular basis, where I can take chances.

I’m going to work for it.

Neither of us is ready for our day to end.

When Jesse’s sick of schmoozing with the girls (only five minutes later), he gets the boat captain to make a special detour to drop us off at a dock near his motorcycle. The girls wave at us from the deck of the Belle Carol as the captain toots the horn.

Jesse hooks an arm around my waist. “Now what? Dinner?”

A text from Dave says he and Xander are heading over to the Coffee County Fair. It only comes once a year, and I usually go waste my money on the Ferris wheel and bumper cars. I also like to check out the biggest pumpkin contest and the mule races. And it could be another chance to help Jesse feel normal!

His phone rings right then. He pulls it from his pocket and checks the screen. His eyes grow wide as he answers. “Hey, Dad.”

The hope disappears from his eyes as he listens. I can hear the shouting. I hear the words “motorcycle” and “riding around town” and “blond floozy.”

At that word, Jesse steals a horrified glance at me before darting several feet away. Did his dad really just refer to me as a floozy? I bite down on my lip.

When Jesse hangs up, he lets out a long sigh and looks up at the dark sky.

“You all right?” I ask.

He shrugs, and we just stand here awkwardly. I have no idea what to do. Is Jesse okay? He doesn’t look okay.

“Want to hit up the fair? I’m craving a funnel cake,” I say, scared because his dad insulted me. I know Jesse wants to make nice with his parents, but I hope he doesn’t compromise by ending our day.

Jesse’s eyes darken. “I used to go to the fair with my parents when I was little.”

I wrap an arm around his side. “I have an idea. Let’s invite Dr. Salter and Mr. Logan to meet us.”

Your
true
family.

• • •

At the fairgrounds, we walk through cakey mud to the entrance. The smells of corndogs and popcorn and funnel cakes waft through the cool night air. Lights from the Ferris wheel and booths brighten the inky sky.

We see Dr. Salter and Mr. Logan in front of the arts and crafts booth before they see us. The publicists, Gina and Tracy, are with Mr. Logan, and Jesse’s manager and uncle are going on and on about something, hands flailing around. Jesse throws me this pompous knowing grin as we walk up.

My principal gives me the look he saves for kids who get high behind the woodshop at school. “Maya Henry, you have two weeks of detention.”

Mom
and
Dad
will
kill
me.
“I might want to rejoin the show choir.”

Dr. Salter smiles. “Okay, but you still have two weeks of detention.”

“But not tonight, right?”

“No, not tonight.”

Then Mr. Logan and Dr. Salter are all over Jesse about our afternoon. He tells them everything. Dr. Salter seems nervous that the press took pictures of us jumping around in a fountain and is worried about repercussions of us running from the horse cop. He’s worried the school board will cancel shadow day going forward. Mr. Logan and the publicists think it’s all great, of course, because any press is good. And my principal
does
seem pleased that Jesse is smiling. I was worried after the call with his parents, but he seems okay.

“You wore a suit to the fair?” Jesse teases Mr. Logan.

Mr. Logan adjusts his gold watch and ignores Jesse. “What’s first?”

“Funnel cake, then the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

Later, the four of us do bumper cars, and Jesse keeps ramming us. Mr. Logan yells at him when his gelled hair gets messed up, which makes Jesse laugh so hard he snorts. Then we all ride the teacups and the Ferris wheel.

Jesse and I slide into the seat together, and the fair worker secures the bar in front of us. My shoulder nestles against Jesse’s, and he looks over at me. His hand grabs mine as the wheel soars toward the sky.

I pretty much love sailing over Franklin while holding Jesse’s hand. Thinking back to this afternoon when we were lounging on the purple cushion, I still can’t believe what happened, that he looked deep into my eyes and gently touched my arm. I felt sparks then, and I’m still feeling them now as the Ferris wheel plunges through rushing air back to the earth.

I decide right then that I’m going to take Mom’s advice this time: if Jesse really wants me, he’ll let me know.
He’ll show me.
I haven’t had time to pine over Jesse, and I don’t want to start. But his calloused fingers—rough like sandpaper from playing guitar—feel so warm and solid in mine. I can’t ignore that. I don’t know what I’d do if I had the chance to be with him, and that scares and excites me.

There’s this anticipation I get when I’m about to strum guitar strings. I get a similar feeling when I look at Jesse. It’s a feeling of
I
want
to
be
near
him
, and
what’s next?!
, and I crave that sensation as much as playing guitar. My interest in him has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a star. I like him for his temper and his sweetness, his pranks, his protectiveness, his laugh. And damn, when he sings, my skin tingles as if he’s kissing me all over.

After the Ferris wheel, we go through the funhouse of mirrors, where Jesse gets trapped by a bunch of younger girls who want pictures and his autograph, so he gets his black Sharpie out and starts signing shirts and scraps of paper. An elementary school girl tells him, “I love ‘Agape.’ The way you played piano makes me want to learn how, but my parents say I can’t right now ’cause they just had a baby and piano lessons…aren’t as important.” Her voice trails off.

Does that mean her parents can’t afford lessons? Jesse looks over at me, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing—that this little girl’s story might be similar to mine. The publicists snap pictures of Jesse with the girl for his website.

And then the four of us head over to the Harvest Dance at the fairground’s barn, where a slow Tim McGraw song is playing. Groan.

Bales of hay and large pumpkins fill the barn, and it smells like campfires and hot apple cider. I do love the way the fair people decorated, using wheelbarrows and hay and rusty farm equipment and wildflowers and gourds. Strings of white lights droop from the wooden rafters.

I’m standing elbow to elbow with Jesse when his hand slides into mine. “Wanna dance?”

I swallow and nod.

He leads me onto the dance floor and wraps his hands around my waist. I smile up at him as we dance junior-high style, two feet apart. Lots of gaping kids from school watch us dance. Connor Crocker—a junior at my school—pumps his fist at me, laughing, and I smile back at him.

The paparazzi who’ve been following us today snap pictures, and Gina and Tracy are managing them, but Jesse doesn’t seem to notice. If he’s happy, I’m happy. Dr. Salter and Mr. Logan buy cups of hot cider and sit on a bale of hay together, chatting, but they both keep looking over at Jesse, checking on him as if he’s a kindergartner.

“What are you thinking about?” Jesse asks quietly.

“You.”

“Yeah?” His voice is gravelly and thick, and we go from dancing far apart to having no room between us at all. His chest presses to mine, and I tighten my arms around his neck.

“I’m thinking about you too,” he whispers.

The music changes from Tim McGraw to Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly.”

“This is my favorite song ever,” I say.

“You have good taste,” he replies, and my heart swells because he respects my music choices. He rests his nose against mine. It’s like we’re in our little cocoon beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. He softly sings the song to me in the most romantic moment of my life.

And that’s when I hear, “Maya, we need to talk.”

I turn to find Nate looking mighty pissed. He stumbles back at the sight of Jesse.

“Can I cut in?” Nate asks.

“No, you may not,” Jesse says and twirls me away, leaving Nate dazed. I can’t help but snort. But what did he want?

We dance until I hear Dave shouting my nickname: “My!” He hugs me, and then I introduce him to Jesse, and I meet the famous Xander of Taco Bell, who is quite cute with his styled blond hair and tight polo shirt.

Mr. Logan and Dr. Salter come and clap Jesse on the back. “We’re old,” Dr. Salter says with a yawn. “I’ve gotta hit the sack. You kids okay to get home?”

“We’ll be fine. Thanks for coming,” Jesse says.

“We should do this kind of thing more often,” Dr. Salter replies, patting Jesse’s cheek, and then the two men take off for the parking lot.

Jesse nudges me. “Think they’re going to get it on?”

“Ew! Too much info.” I laugh, and he curls a hand around my waist. It feels really nice to be in his arms. What’s happening between Jesse and me isn’t lost on Dave and Xander, and they share a knowing look.

“You guys want to get some food at Foothills?” Dave asks.

Jesse looks nervous at the invitation. “I can’t. I have a show tomorrow and need to get to sleep soon.”

When I hear his words, I stare into the distance at the Ferris wheel as it slows to a stop. Does this mean our night is over? It’s barely ten o’clock.

“I’ll get her home safe,” Jesse says, and Dave excitedly whispers that I need to call him as soon as I get there. I turn to leave with Jesse, and a bunch of kids from school, those annoying publicists, and the press all trail behind us, but really, it’s just me and him walking under the sparkling fair lights, my arm curled around his elbow.

• • •

I wrap my arms around Jesse’s waist and rest my cheek against his back as he drives me to my house, going extra fast to lose anyone who’s still following us. We pull into the driveway, stirring up gravel. Neither of us speaks as I take off my helmet and hand it to him. We still haven’t talked about what happens after today. Is this the last time I’ll ride his bike?

The last time I’ll see him?

Jesse leaves his cowboy hat on his bike, and we walk slowly to the porch, rocks crunching beneath our boots. The stars sparkle down on us, and moths do figure eights in the air.

I stop next to the screen door. “Thank you so much, for everything. I had such a good time.”

He squeezes my shoulders. “Me too.”

“You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“If we can be friends…”

That smirk of his fills his face. “I hope so. I mean, I’d like that.”

My knees wobble in relief when he takes my phone and enters his number, then calls his phone so he’ll have mine.

Then he clears his throat. “May I give you a kiss good-bye?”

I smile and lean back against the house. “You may.”

He places a hand against the brick above my shoulder, leans in, and gives me a quick peck, his lips barely brushing mine. I let out a soft moan. I’ve been kissed before—thoroughly—but none of those kisses felt as amazing as this tiny peck. This must be the rush everybody talks about, the rush that makes it impossible to breathe.

When he pulls away, he stares at my mouth.

“Wow,” he whispers, burying a hand in my hair. With the other, he runs a thumb across my lower lip. His breathing speeds up, and right when I think he’s gonna kiss me again, my stupid brother slams open the screen door.

“What’s going on out here?”

“Nothing,” Jesse sputters and pulls away from me. Jesse is tall—at least six feet—but my brother is huge, a six-foot-four former football player, so I can forgive the sputtering.

“Who’s this guy?” my brother asks, even though he knows damn well who it is.

“Get out of here, Sam! What are you doing here anyway?”

“I was waiting on you to get home so I could have a few words with this country buffoon for running off with you—”

Jordan bursts through the door and grabs my brother by an ear. “Are you insane, Sam? Get your ass back inside now.”

“But that jerk is touching my sister!”

“Oh, as if you never touched a girl when you were his age. You touched every girl you saw.”

“Quiet, Jordan, or you’re going in time-out.”

“Time-out, my ass!” She tugs him inside, then pokes her head back out the door. “Nice to meet you, Jesse. I love your work. Especially ‘Ain’t No City Boy.’ No one else can sing about making love on a tractor like that. I love—”

“You only like it ’cause it’s about sex,” Sam hollers.

“It’s not
only
about sex. It’s a metaphor! You probably don’t even know what a metaphor is, you dumba—”

“Now you’re really going in time-out!” my brother says, and I let out a long sigh as they disappear back inside.

Jesse’s mouth has fallen open at their spectacle.

“That was my brother and his girlfriend.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I’m glad I’m an only child…”

“Come this way,” I say, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward a towering oak tree at the edge of the property. It’s swallowed in darkness where we can be alone. Jesse presses me up against the bark, the force stealing my breath away.

He nuzzles his cheek to mine and murmurs, “What are we doing?”

“I’m not sure.” I run my fingertips along his strong jaw, unable to keep my hands off him, and I guess that’s all the encouragement he needs.

He nudges a knee between mine, threads a hand through my hair. He takes his time, slowly peppering my throat and cheek with kisses. Making my knees weak, making my breath catch. I steady myself by wrapping my arms around his neck as our lips meet again.

The encore blows the first kiss out of the water. His body melts against mine, and his lips feel so soft, his breath warm, his hands strong as they glide over my sides and settle to grip my hips. I kiss the freckles on his face, trying not to miss any.

“You’re so sexy. Your nose stud drives me crazy,” he mumbles, and the pleasure of his words makes me kiss him harder. “I’d ask if we could do this inside, but your brother’s kinda scary.”

“It’s probably better that we stay out here anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Why?” He dives in for another long kiss.

I come up for air. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“You’d take advantage of me, huh?” I can feel him smiling as he kisses me. “Maybe we can hang out again soon?” he asks.