Jesse's Girl
Page 56
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“Thank you,” she squeals.
I slide into the booth next to Jesse. The girls recognize me from the YouTube video and beg for my autograph. Ever since Jesse started following me on Twitter, lots of random people have been talking to me online, but this is a whole new level.
“Can I use your marker?” I ask Jesse.
“Get your own Sharpie.” He passes it to me with a smile. Taking a deep breath, I sign my name on two cloth napkins and hand them back to the girls. A photographer snaps pictures of us before the restaurant manager chases him out.
Will I ever get used to being out with Jesse? I’m not jealous of the attention he gives other people or that it takes away from our time together, but I want to help him lead the normal life he wants so bad. How will that ever happen if we can’t go to dinner without being disturbed? Before I can feel too down about the situation, a waiter pulls a thick velvet curtain around our booth, leaving us in candlelit privacy.
The second we’re alone, I can’t help it—I have to be near him. I scoot over and burrow against his side, expecting him to pull away like he did at Dave’s house that night. Instead, he gently traces my jaw and kisses my cheek.
“How are you?” he asks, searching my eyes.
Much better now, after that kiss. “Things are okay,” I say slowly.
“Hungry?”
“Starved.”
He doesn’t even look at the menu. “We’re splitting the Spaghetti Vesuvius. I’m addicted to it.”
I clutch his hand. “You seem happy.”
“I am happy.” He drags a fingertip from my wrist to my elbow, making me shiver. “It’s really good to see you, My. Uncle Bob and Mark took me out for lunch today. The concert in Memphis last night went well. Just finished writing a new song. I’m working on a secret project too.”
“Oooh, what is it?”
“I can’t tell you until Mark gives me the go-ahead,” he says, shooting me his famous half-cocked smile. “Besides, why should I tell you my secret if you won’t share yours?”
When Jesse asked why I’ve been working so many hours, I told him I’m saving money for something, but it’s a secret. I will not put him in the position of feeling like he has to offer me money. Also, since he won the show as a kid, I don’t want him to feel obligated to help me in any way. I am doing this on my own. Plus, what if he thinks I’m asking for favors? I don’t want to be somebody who takes, takes, takes.
“I’m not sure if it’s gonna work out after all,” I say slowly. I leave his arms and choose a piece of bread from the basket.
“Why not?”
“My plans have a lot of moving parts.” Specifically, I haven’t made enough money to buy plane tickets. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it happen…at least not without help.” And my family can’t afford to help me.
“So you’ve got a decision to make then.”
“What’s that?”
“Decide if you wanna give up and move on to something else, or if you wanna make it work.” He picks up a straw, rips the paper off the end, and blows the straw paper at me. I catch it. “If I want something, I tell people. Even if I don’t end up getting what I want in the end, at least I’ve put myself out there.”
“But you’re Jesse Scott.”
“And you’re Maya Henry.”
I tap the table with my fork. I already asked my mom and dad for help, and that didn’t work out. But I do have other people in my family. My older brother, who I love so much, even if he is an overprotective ass. He doesn’t have money either though.
Mom always complains about Sam living in sin and wishes he’d propose to Jordan already, but I know the real reason he hasn’t. It’s pride. I find it hilarious that Jordan has asked him to marry her several times, but he always says no. He wants to buy Jordan an engagement ring she’ll love first, but he’s still working to save up for one. He’s nearly there.
To ask him for help would just set his plans back even further. I can’t do that, certainly not for something so selfish, something that’s all about me. I guess Jesse is right in a way though—I could at least tell Sam what’s going on.
Our food arrives, and we dig into our spaghetti. Jesse even tries the Lady and the Tramp move, you know, where we’re both eating the same strand of spaghetti and kiss? It doesn’t work out so well—we end up with spaghetti sauce all over our faces.
Jesse nudges my nose with his. “I missed you so much. It seemed like everywhere I went, I heard a Queen song that made me think of you.”
I slide into the booth next to Jesse. The girls recognize me from the YouTube video and beg for my autograph. Ever since Jesse started following me on Twitter, lots of random people have been talking to me online, but this is a whole new level.
“Can I use your marker?” I ask Jesse.
“Get your own Sharpie.” He passes it to me with a smile. Taking a deep breath, I sign my name on two cloth napkins and hand them back to the girls. A photographer snaps pictures of us before the restaurant manager chases him out.
Will I ever get used to being out with Jesse? I’m not jealous of the attention he gives other people or that it takes away from our time together, but I want to help him lead the normal life he wants so bad. How will that ever happen if we can’t go to dinner without being disturbed? Before I can feel too down about the situation, a waiter pulls a thick velvet curtain around our booth, leaving us in candlelit privacy.
The second we’re alone, I can’t help it—I have to be near him. I scoot over and burrow against his side, expecting him to pull away like he did at Dave’s house that night. Instead, he gently traces my jaw and kisses my cheek.
“How are you?” he asks, searching my eyes.
Much better now, after that kiss. “Things are okay,” I say slowly.
“Hungry?”
“Starved.”
He doesn’t even look at the menu. “We’re splitting the Spaghetti Vesuvius. I’m addicted to it.”
I clutch his hand. “You seem happy.”
“I am happy.” He drags a fingertip from my wrist to my elbow, making me shiver. “It’s really good to see you, My. Uncle Bob and Mark took me out for lunch today. The concert in Memphis last night went well. Just finished writing a new song. I’m working on a secret project too.”
“Oooh, what is it?”
“I can’t tell you until Mark gives me the go-ahead,” he says, shooting me his famous half-cocked smile. “Besides, why should I tell you my secret if you won’t share yours?”
When Jesse asked why I’ve been working so many hours, I told him I’m saving money for something, but it’s a secret. I will not put him in the position of feeling like he has to offer me money. Also, since he won the show as a kid, I don’t want him to feel obligated to help me in any way. I am doing this on my own. Plus, what if he thinks I’m asking for favors? I don’t want to be somebody who takes, takes, takes.
“I’m not sure if it’s gonna work out after all,” I say slowly. I leave his arms and choose a piece of bread from the basket.
“Why not?”
“My plans have a lot of moving parts.” Specifically, I haven’t made enough money to buy plane tickets. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it happen…at least not without help.” And my family can’t afford to help me.
“So you’ve got a decision to make then.”
“What’s that?”
“Decide if you wanna give up and move on to something else, or if you wanna make it work.” He picks up a straw, rips the paper off the end, and blows the straw paper at me. I catch it. “If I want something, I tell people. Even if I don’t end up getting what I want in the end, at least I’ve put myself out there.”
“But you’re Jesse Scott.”
“And you’re Maya Henry.”
I tap the table with my fork. I already asked my mom and dad for help, and that didn’t work out. But I do have other people in my family. My older brother, who I love so much, even if he is an overprotective ass. He doesn’t have money either though.
Mom always complains about Sam living in sin and wishes he’d propose to Jordan already, but I know the real reason he hasn’t. It’s pride. I find it hilarious that Jordan has asked him to marry her several times, but he always says no. He wants to buy Jordan an engagement ring she’ll love first, but he’s still working to save up for one. He’s nearly there.
To ask him for help would just set his plans back even further. I can’t do that, certainly not for something so selfish, something that’s all about me. I guess Jesse is right in a way though—I could at least tell Sam what’s going on.
Our food arrives, and we dig into our spaghetti. Jesse even tries the Lady and the Tramp move, you know, where we’re both eating the same strand of spaghetti and kiss? It doesn’t work out so well—we end up with spaghetti sauce all over our faces.
Jesse nudges my nose with his. “I missed you so much. It seemed like everywhere I went, I heard a Queen song that made me think of you.”
