Page 63 of Jesse

But she looks away, uninterested, and says, “OK, get me those reports when you have them. I need the final numbers ready for Natalie by Monday so we can plan this next trip.”

What a faker. There is no way she didn’t appreciate what I just gave her.

She fixed her hair. And did she get rid of the pig-tails? No. They are bouncing alongside her face as she pulls the earbud out and places it on the table.

In front of her is the Wall Street Journal, a glass of orange fizzy, and two Barbie and Ken mini-rolls on a tiny little plate. She picks one up, still ignoring me, takes a bite—a fucking bite? Are you kidding me? The thing is only a bite big!—then sets it down on the plate.

“Did you get some rest?” Emma asks, peering up at me from behind those adorable glasses.

“I did,” I say, flexing my pecs again.

She doesn’t even glance at them. But she saw. I know she saw. “Did you eat?”

“If you can call that eating. What the fuck is up with your Barbie townhouse food?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Those,” I say, pointing to the two crumbs of mini-rolls.

She glances down at them. Then up at me. “You have a problem with my cinnamon rolls?”

“You didn’t eat the ice cream cone either.” I slip into the chair opposite her then pick up her plate and dump the crumbs into my mouth and chew. Then I point at her. “I’m gonna challenge you to an eating contest.”

She guffaws so loud I lean back in my chair. “Is that the only game you feel prepared to win today, Mr. Boston? Haven’t you learned your lesson? I win everything now. I’m not that girl you once met.” Then she cocks her head at me and narrows her eyes. “Didn’t you see the way I ate your cock?”

“What?” I laugh.

She wants to smile. But she presses her lips together to tuck it away.

I nod my head. And I guess I don’t have her self-control, because my grin is big. I don’t know. I might like her. I mean, I did like her. Would like to like her still. But she’s not letting this one-up bullshit go.

I do like that dirty talk though. So I say, “Well, I had my eyes closed for half of it. Maybe you could give me a play-by-play?”

This time she not only smiles, she laughs.

Got you.

“Where are we going anyway?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

The door opens and Miles appears with a whole shitload of little rolls on a bright silver tray. “Your rolls, sir,” he says, placing the plate down in front of me. Then he looks at Emma. “We’re in descent now, Ms. Dumas. We’ll be on the ground in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Miles,” she says sweetly.

Why doesn’t she talk like that to me?

I’m not a bad dude. OK. I was a bad dude. But I’m not anymore. “You should give me a chance,” I say.

She narrows her eyes. “A chance to do what?”

I shrug. “You know. Date you.”

“Date me?” she huffs.

“Yeah,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “If Johnny hadn’t pulled me away from you all those years ago, we’d have been a thing.”

“A thing? What kind of thing?”