Jesse's Girl

Chapter 8

Before Jesse, the time I spent alone with my thoughts usually ended up being productive. That was, if wondering what I most wanted to eat or trying to figure out if a flashing light in the sky was a star or an airplane was even considered being productive.

        And yet, even though the thought of Jesse made me more annoyed than slow internet, there I was, seated at the kitchen table, using a fork to bring pieces of my dad’s pecan pie to my mouth as I went over the reasons why Jesse struck so many nerves in me.

        It might have been the fact that he was good looking. With the black hair, the blue eyes, and the face looking as though it was carved from stone, even I couldn’t deny it. And maybe, if he weren’t such an arrogant little shit, I probably wouldn’t even find it in me to deny the simple pleasure of having a crush on him.

        But, of course, guys like him took advantage of the jeans they carried.

        And I hated that.

        “Carson.” I paused, the fork in my hands midway to my mouth. I looked up to see my father entering the kitchen. With narrowed eyes directed at me, he grabbed a fork similar to mine and sat beside me at the table, sticking it into the pie. “You know better than anyone not to start a party without me.”

        I smiled. “Rest assured, Dad. It won’t happen again.”

        He returned my smile and was quiet for a moment as he ate the dessert. But then, after a minute, he asked, “What’s on your mind, kid?”

        “What makes you think there’s anything on mind?”

        “Because, daughter of mine.” He tapped at my plate. “You hate pecan pie.”

        I stopped chewing.

        And then when I actually started to taste the food in my mouth, I dropped my fork. “Oh, my God, you’re right,” I squeaked, pressing a hand to my mouth as I swallowed the piece of pie.

        “So, what is it?” my dad asked once I composed myself. “Fight with Katrina? Get a bad grade? I’ll sign the sheet so your mom won’t beat you with the iron crowbar we have out back.”

        “No, none of that. It’s just…” I sighed. “This guy at school.”

        My dad’s eyebrows shot up, and he shifted in his seat. “Dear God. Maybe I should get your mother—Reanne! Honey—”

        “No, no!” I shot my hands up to ward him off. “It’s nothing like that, I swear.”

        My dad’s panicked stricken face morphed into seriousness, and he scooted closer to me. “Then what? Is he picking on you? The little prick. Just let me call Darren back from college and we’ll fry the bastard—”

        “No! Dad!” I slapped his phone away the moment he yanked it out of his pocket. It was easy to see which parent I’d inherited my brash actions from. “It’s not any of that, it’s…well, it kind of is but not really. He acts like he likes me and I know he doesn’t.”

        My dad pursed his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call your mother?”

        “No, because that would be implying that I like him. And I don’t.”

        “Okay, then. Well…how do you know he doesn’t actually like you?”

        “Because he doesn’t really like anyone. Not in that way, at least. It’s just who he is.”