Forbidden Fruit (Shannon Cheney) - By Ann Aguirre Page 0,13

but if so, you should check your medication. “Yeah, I bummed a lift from a friend.”

“The hot cop? Are you guys a thing?” She skims me up and down, not meant to be insulting, but I suspect she can’t picture Jesse and me together.

Dammit. Neither can he.

“Nope. He’s just overprotective. Apparently the public transportation system is fraught with many and myriad dangers.”

“You should go for it,” she advises.

“I’m trying,” I mumble.

“I’d offer to lend you some sexy undies, but I don’t think they would fit.”

That’s not a slam. Maria’s butt is bigger than mine, plus who wants to borrow sexy panties? Pass.

“Thanks. I appreciate the thought, though.”

Maria heads to her room after that. We don’t talk extensively, but she’s a decent roomie, here enough that I don’t feel totally alone, but she’s not always in my business, either.

First I wash the Pretzel Pirate smell off, then I make a salad. Along with some tuna and buttered noodles, this is dinner. I’m not much of a cook, but I’ve gotten good at putting healthy meals together from fairly little. Maria goes to bed while I’m still eating, so I turn on the TV for company.

I’m almost ready to turn in when my phone vibrates with a text from Jesse. You drive me crazy. Why won’t you let me protect you?

I reply, That’s not your job. You’re my friend, not my lover or my bodyguard.

There’s a pause between messages. I picture him on the couch, like I am, frowning at his phone. If we WERE together, would you fight me this much?

Elation surges through me. He might not realize it, but that reveals how much his thinking has changed in a relatively short time. Even if it’s a hypothetical question born of aggravation, it also means he’s wondering what we’d be like as a couple. So obviously, I flirt with him.

That depends, I answer. How much do you like it?

A whole lot…and not at all.

Look, J, I’m never gonna sit on a pedestal and wait. I’m not that kind of princess. I’ll insist you take me with you to storm the castle and I’ll carry my own sword.

You won’t let me slay your dragons? I imagine him saying it in a soft, teasing tone.

Without hesitation, I type, there’s only one circumstance where I would.

What’s that? He responds so fast; there’s no way he’s doing anything but talking to me. That makes me ridiculously happy. His dinner might be cooling on the table beside him, the TV playing unnoticed.

If you want me to say yes to you, you have to say yes to me.

Blackmail’s illegal. But damned if you don’t make it tempting.

That’s the idea. Night, cowboy.

Six

All through the week, Jesse sends me texts and emails.

Those messages are the high point of my day, no matter what he says. Sometimes he writes about how work’s going, though nothing specific about his cases. Other times, he talks about his partner, and then rarely, his family. I wonder if he realizes how much he’s sharing, how much he’s opening up. I keep teasing him, and soon he’s flirting back. It’s easier to get him to respond this way, possibly because he’s not looking at me and thinking how young I am.

Wednesday, Maria and I have a Chris Pine movie marathon by connecting my laptop to the TV; she has a Netflix account—or rather, she knows a cousin’s password. So we’re all set. As we’re watching Mr. Pine use psychic powers, I try not to think about the weirdo who was watching me. I haven’t sensed anything out of place since then, but that doesn’t mean I’m clear. It’s hard to feel safe when somebody could be staring up at you from your dishwater.

A text comes in from Jesse as the last movie ends. What’re you doing?

Admiring Chris Pine’s hotness.

He’s older than I am!

Like I care. Or as if age would stop me. What’s your point?

Mentally, I hear him sighing. Never mind. I wish you were here. Texts and emails are fine, but I want to talk.

About what?

I just miss you, that’s all.

This feels like a huge admission. So I stand up and say to Maria, who’s been watching me text, “I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Sure. It was fun. We should do it again.”

“Chris Evans next time?” I suggest.

“Deal.”

Once I’m in my room with the door shut behind me, I dial Jesse’s number. I’m not a phone talker, you understand, but I’ll make an exception to capitalize on this emotional confession. It rings twice before