“Damn,” I whispered under my breath. I watched him stand up straight and scan the yard, and then I saw him kneel down and mess with one of the plants.
Totally distracted from my work now, I took a moment to study his tattoo from where I sat. The phoenix symbolized rebirth, renewal, and immortality in literature, from the old legend of the bird bursting into flames upon its death and then rising again from the ashes. I wondered what sort of ordeal someone had to live through in order to put that symbol permanently on his body.
And then there was the name and the cross. The cross was a beautiful symbol in itself, its intricate and twining design unique and stunning. I gazed at the red heart with the name in the middle of the cross.
The symbolism indicated to me that he lost whoever Allison was. Had she broken his heart? Had she died?
Was he still in love with her?
Was that why he had such a difficult time getting close to women?
For the five years I had known him, I’d never seen him in a relationship, even though he talked a big game about the women he was seeing. But in the two days I’d been staying with him, to my knowledge, he hadn’t been with another woman.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when my cell phone started ringing. I picked up my phone and glanced at the screen. I sighed as I answered. “Hey, Quinn.”
“Veronica Thomas, I need to see you.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just need my Sunday date with my best friend. I want to talk about boys and drink coffee and figure out what the fuck I’m teaching this week.”
I didn’t want to miss out on any Jesse time, but I also didn’t want to be that girl that planned my entire life around the possibility of spending time with a man. Even if that man happened to be Jesse Drake.
“I’m in the middle of planning. Let me get my shit mapped out, eat some lunch, and then I’ll meet you a little later this afternoon.”
“Three-ish? At the usual?”
“Perf,” I said, knowing “the usual” meant the Starbucks where we had our typical Sunday planning, grading, and gossiping get together.
Jesse came in a few minutes later (with his shirt back on, much to my dismay). I was just finishing my weekly outline. I cleared my papers off the table while he prepared us each a salad, asking questions about my preferences as he worked. I had to admit, I was thoroughly enjoying being taken care of by my host.
We sat together at the table in the same seats we’d been in the night before, right across from each other. I enjoyed the view as I took my first bite of salad. It was that same delicious dressing from the day before. “Jesse Drake’s Delightful Dressing?” I teased.
He grinned and nodded, taking a bite of his own salad. “It’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too,” I said. “It’s delicious.”
“Thanks,” he said.
I couldn’t help but stare over at him, entranced as ever by those eyes. I averted my eyes and glanced out the patio doors. “Quinn called. I’m meeting her in a few hours for coffee and lesson plans.”
“Okay. You know you don’t have to run your plans by me, right?”
I nodded, and I felt my cheeks heat up a little in mortification. Of course I didn’t have to. It was such a relationship thing to do, almost like I was asking permission. But we weren’t in a relationship, despite the fact that I wanted to be. I had to remind myself of that, because I was only setting myself up to be hurt the way I was going. I couldn’t expect Jesse to put his life on hold for me, and I couldn’t expect him to wait around for me. His sexy words from the night before floated back into my mind: You’re so goddamn beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at you and know that I can’t have you.
I brushed those words away immediately. It had just been the wine talking for both of us, and in the light of day, I knew that.
I pretended that I was so into my salad that I couldn’t possibly even talk. I found myself shoveling in forkfuls of food, barely tasting it. Shoveling meant not having to respond. Maybe it was immature, but so was my out of control crush on Jesse Drake, and I wasn’t sure what the hell to do about it anymore.
“No one’s gonna steal it,” he said.
I stopped chewing and looked up at him. “What?” I asked, mouth full. Attractive of me, I know.
“Your food. No one’s going to steal it.”
I furrowed my brow and swallowed my salad. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re eating it like someone’s going to take it away from you.”
Oh.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly, obviously caught. My plan to avoid chatting by eating quickly wasn’t working.