Page 57 of Never Pucking Ending

His amusement isn’t hidden. “Fair point. But those seem like justifiable questions. I love Belle like a daughter, but I always knew you never saw her as a sister.”

I choke on air at the statement spoken so confidently. “Nope,” I all but wheeze out.

Dad doesn’t seem to hear my distress. “Oh, come on. I didn’t raise a prude. Since when are you so sensitive about these topics?”

Since they have to do with Belle, I answer silently. That’s not a reply I’m going to vocalize for my mental wellbeing. “We’ve never exactly broached this territory before,” I defend. We may be close, but we’ve never talked about girls outside of him telling me to practice safe sex.

He seems to consider that. “Let me ask you this,” he presses lightly. “Do you want to fix this with Belle?”

Of course I do. “Yes.”

“Why?”

What kind of question is that? “Because I hate knowing she’s upset, and I hate more that I’m the reason for it.”

“But why?” he asks again, this time sounding like he’s trying to draw an answer from me that I’m not getting. “You need to think about that, Jess. It’s one thing to crash a date if you think she’s going out with a tool. God knows Nora has thought about doing that with a couple of guys from Belle’s past. I had to convince her not to. But this guy, Dane, doesn’t seem so bad from what I’ve heard. So unless there’s something you’re not telling us, I think you need to figure out why you’re so upset about it that you felt the need to step in.”

The problem is, I don’t need to think about it. I think the topic was covered last night when Belle called me out for being jealous. But if I tell my dad that, it confirms things that will lead to conversations that go past what a mid-thirties man wants to discuss with his sixty-year-old father.

I swallow. “I love her, Dad.”

It’s not some scandalous admission that nobody would have ever thought I’d say. Belle and I have told each other that plenty of times in the past. When we’d grown close my last year of high school and I’d go away for games, she’d say “love you” to both my father and I when we left. Or when I went to Denver for college, and I’d come back whenever I could on breaks or between my game schedule and she’d give me a tight hug at the door and would look just a little bit sad whenever I’d have to leave again. We’d exchange heartfelt “love yous” and somber “goodbyes” knowing we’d see each other soon enough but still being sad from the distance.

So when Dad says, “I know you do, kid,” it’s because he does. Nora knows I love Belle. Belle knows I love Belle. And I know I love Belle. You’d have to be an idiot not to love somebody as kind-hearted as her.

I rub my lips together as I near our street, slowing down and putting my blinker on. “Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what to do.”

He chuckle is low. “Nah. That’s up to you. It’s up to the both of you. But take it from me, Jesse. All choices we make in life present risks. You have to decide which ones you’re willing to make and deal with whatever consequences may come from them.”

That doesn’t sound promising, but it’s not untrue either. I can’t fault him for heeding the warning, even if I don’t want to hear it. After all, he’s not telling me not to love Belle. He’s simply pointing out that I can risk losing her no matter how I choose to love her.

“And Dad?” I ask, opening the garage using the button in my car. “Please don’t ever bring up porn again.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Belle

If I don’t forgive Jesse, I’m going to gain twenty pounds. I decide this yesterday, when he walked into my office with my favorite sub—an Italian with extra red wine vinaigrette—and a small bag of second favorite chips, because the first choice apparently wasn’t an option. The day before that was a sugary drink from Dunkin, the day before that was a bag of pastries, and the day before that was a greasy but delicious breakfast sandwich.

Even though I never outwardly told him I’m still mad about that night at Delmar’s, he’s going out of his way to still make up for it. I swear I’ve gained five pounds consuming his apology gifts, even after I told him he didn’t need to buy me anything.

He still does.

Every. Single. Day.

Am I still a little bit miffed about the situation? Yes. But not enough to hold this over Jesse’s head. Our situation is complicated, and not even I know what we can do to make it better.

Between the elephant in the room with us and my upcoming meeting that’s less than twenty-four-hours away, my mind is a race of messy thoughts. I struggled to sleep last night thinking about the possibility of the planning board shitting all over my sketches or telling me I didn’t fill the paperwork out right. Anxiety has always been a significant part of the process whenever I go after anything, living just under the surface to be a constant pestering issue without it totally derailing me from going through with it.

Anxiety is the reason I wind up in the home gym walking on the treadmill with my headphones on listening to my newest audiobook download. It’s almost six o’clock at night, and I’m too strung up and antsy to sit still. I figure if I can’t sit around and relax, I may as well counteract all the calories Jesse has been feeding.

I’ve been walking for forty-five minutes on a four and a half incline when Jesse walks in. And because he’s obviously not expecting to see me of all people utilizing the gym, he does a double take before gaping at me. It’s a little offensive he’s so surprised, but I try not dwelling on it.

I pause my book and lower my headphones to rest around my neck. “Hey.”

He stares at the two-piece workout set I forgot I owned because I don’t exercise enough to know what kind of athleticwear I have. The subtle leopard print pattern is on both the shorts and the crop top that has a built-in bra. The outfit doesn’t expose too much skin or make me feel like I’m drowning in sweat unlike some of the clothes I used to work out in.

I’m not sure why he’s looking at me like I’m walking butt naked, so I do a cursory look down at myself to make sure my shorts haven’t ridden up. There have been one too many athletic shorts in the past that rolled up and gave me uncomfortable wedgies or unfortunate camel toe.