“Should we name yours?” Drew says, with a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes!” I shout while Jesse growls, “Hell no.”
“Just give in, dude,” Rusty says. “It’s the easiest way with these two.” He flicks his finger between Drew and me.
“Johnny,” Drew shouts, “You own Johnny Jeep.”
“Yes,” I say, “that’s perfect.” And in my mind I have renamed him Jerkface Jesse.
“God help me,” Jesse says, just as his mom pulls up.
She rolls down the window, “I hope you apologized to Reese for hitting Betty.”
“Really? You know her car’s name?”
“Yes, and this here is Penny Pontiac.”
“Fuck me,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Jesse Thornton,” she scolds him, “language, I raised you better than that.”
“Sorry, Mom,” he says, as he climbs into the passenger seat. He looks out the window at me. “Reese, I’ll leave my insurance details on your desk in the morning.”
“Thank you.” I nod and smile.
“And, Short Stack, I’m sorry for hitting your car.” His sincerity warms my heart, I wish he could be like that all the time.
Standing on the sidewalk, I watch them pull away and sigh. “What’s the sigh for?” Drew says, throwing her arm around my shoulders.
“I’m without Betty…again.”
“Maybe we should get you a bicycle?”
“I’d rather walk, thank you very much.” I’m not the most coordinated person in the world. Me and bicycles go together like oil and water, as in, we don’t. The last time I tried to ride a bike, I ended up in hospital with a broken wrist and a concussion. I hit the back of a garbage truck and landed in it; like in the trash compartment back of a garbage truck. I’ve never been on a bike since, and I never will.
“Ohh yes, the great bike crash of nineteen ninety-eight,” she teases.
“Yes, that,” I sass back. Looking to Rusty, I smile sweetly, “Rusty, do you think you can drop me home?”
“Of course,” he says,
“And maybe stop via the liquor store and supermarket?”
“Of course, but it will cost you a batch of brownies.”
“Deal.”
Rusty chauffeurs me around and when he drops me home, I promise to have a batch ready for him in the morning when he picks me up for work. Luckily for him, he also works at the school where I teach third grade, so it's not out of his way.
I spend the rest of the evening baking Rusty his brownies and wishing I could stop thinking about how sexy Jesse looked in the afternoon sun earlier.
4
Jesse
Mom drops me off and when I walk inside, I head straight to the fridge and grab a beer. I pop the cap and take a sip, sighing as the cool liquid coats my throat. Flopping down on the couch, I flick on Netflix, lie back, and watch an episode of Housewives of Beverly Hills; it’s my ‘I’ll take it to my grave’ secret guilty pleasure. The antics those women get up to amaze me, it really is addictive television. It also helps that they’re smokin hot, albeit a little crazy at times…reminding me of sexy crazy someone in town that I know.
The episode ends and I head into the kitchen. Placing the empty in the recycling, I grab another beer and go into my office, I have a few things to catch up on and my delayed arrival home didn’t help. Nor did watching Housewives, but you get that.
Sitting on my desk, I think over the afternoon. The fuckin’ brakes had been messing up the last few days but I didn’t think it was too serious, guess I thought wrong. Now, I’m up for an insurance deductible and wrath from Reese Turner. Of all people to run into, it had to be her. The conversation with Mom on the way home made it all the more awkward…
* * *
…“All I’m saying is she’s a lovely girl.”
“Who hates me,” I mumble.
“She doesn’t hate you, Jesse. A sweet girl like Reese couldn’t hate anything or anyone. But heed my words, Jesse, she’s the one.”
“Yeah, and how so?”
“Call it mother’s instinct. I think this little accident was just what you two needed to push you in the right direction.”
“I think it's more likely to get me killed.”
“Ohh pish posh, mark my word, by New Year’s Eve, you two will be an item.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that, Mom.” But as I say this, even I doubt myself.
* * *
…As Mom’s words die off, my mind drifts to how angry Reese was earlier. She’s a fiery little thing, that’s for sure, and I really do believe she’d kill me at the drop of a hat. I feel sorry for the sucker who ends up with her…and sorry, Mom, it won’t be me.
Leaning back in my chair, I remember Mom also said I need to apologize with flowers ‘cause girls love flowers. I know Mom’s right. I do need to show her how sorry I am, even if it's just to make work life easier. Opening my MacBook, I log onto Flowers R Us and order Reese a “Sorry I Hit You” bouquet and me being me, I can’t help but make a dig with my gesture when I fill in the card part.
I finish up some work and when I close down, I notice the flyer for the annual Christmas bake-off sitting on my desk. After winning at the fair, I feel like entering and it's not just to piss Reese off. I really think I have a chance BUT Reese makes the best rum balls around and those things deserve to win. The temptation is too hard to resist. I open my MacBook back up and enter myself and my snickerdoodles.
It’s going to be so much fun competing against Short Stack, and winning; again.
Game on, Reese Turner, game on.
5
Reese
Walking into my classroom, I stop midstep when I see a vase of peonies on my desk, it’s a beautiful arrangement. With a smile on my face, I walk over and grab the card. My eyes pop open when I read the message.
A small laugh breaks free. “I heard that,” a deep voice says from behind me. Spinning around I see Jesse standing in the doorway, he’s leaning against the frame, staring at me. He’s in dark chinos and a white short-sleeved button-down, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his shirt. The muscles in his arms bulging from being crossed against his chest. Man, this guy is smokin’ hot.
“You heard nothing,” I scoff in reply.
“Nope,” he says, pushing off the doorframe he enters my classroom and walks over to me. “I definitely heard a laugh, Short Stack.”
A growl breaks free at his nickname for me, but my eyes betray me and rake over him. The air in my classroom crackles and the temperature rises with each step he takes toward me. Looking up at him, I smile. “Thank you for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome. I really am sorry and I’m glad no one was hurt.”
“Just Betty’s ass,” I say.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Yeah, Betty.”
“I’m sorry that Johnny Jeep is in the shop.”