with the tip of my head.
"Guess it's a done deal."
"Done deal?" Her curved brows knit over bloodshot eyes. "You two bought that car to restore?"
"Right this minute, yeah. That’s what we do at the shop." I remain vague while studying her. The skin under her eyes is swollen, her cheeks streaked with what I assumed was sweat, but coupled with the redness, I'm second-guessing. "Is everything okay?"
Jess feathers the loose hair around her temple. "Sure, everything's great." She backs off one step and another. "Um, Sonny and his friends haven't been to Bleachers, sooo … that's … great."
"Jess?"
"You're working with Owen at the garage, then? At Henry and Sons? What about school and football? Aren't you—"
"Jess?" I cut her off for her benefit and mine. No good will come out of delving into my issues. Plus, I'm more interested in hers. "Why were you crying?"
Her fingers worry the band on her arm while she peers at the nearby homes; she’s fooling nobody. I cross my arms over my chest and wait her out. Her personal life is none of my business. She could pop her music in her ears and jog off, and I wouldn't blame her. Hell, that’s what I'd do. When her bottom lip quivers, my tune changes.
After what happened Friday night with Sonny, I'm hesitant to touch her without permission, but I'm drawn in. Drawn by the tremble of her chin. By the red marks left as she scratches her forearm like it's an obsession. By the lies swimming in those dark eyes of hers. I have a close and personal relationship with lying eyes; they greet me in the mirror every morning.
"I’m fine." She swipes the knuckle of her thumb across her cheekbone. "Nothing but a bad day."
"A bad day? Sure, I'm familiar with those." Shoot me, I'm lame. We're standing in the middle of the street, hemming and hawing like two middle schoolers who have no idea how members of the opposite sex speak to one another. She blushes, I smile. I smile, she bites her lip. You've got no game, Carter Cooper. No damn game.
"You know, I should get going. I'm sure you have…" She motions toward Ricky's house, her running shoes shuffling on the asphalt.
"Let me give you a ride home." The offer flies from my lips without thought.
"My house is around the corner."
"True, but speaking from personal experience, when my momentum during a workout is killed, my energy fades. You can't tell me you feel like walking a few steps in this heat, let alone a mile down the road?"
She smooths over her forehead to the crown of her head where she tugs her ponytail through her fist. "You're not wrong, but I feel like going home even less than running. Sooo…"
Ahhh, home is the problem. Jess's mom leaving her father a few months back isn’t a secret. Nor is the fistfight he had with his coworker, his subsequent job loss, or his drinking problem. Rossview doesn't like secrets.
"So, let me take you someplace." I glance up the driveway. Owen and Ricky have disappeared. "A gallon of water and ice cream."
"Ice cream?" Jess tugs at the band of her sports bra like she can magically cover her exposed skin. "On a Monday afternoon?"
An unconventional suggestion, but since the offer is on the table, I commit. "Are there rules about eating ice cream on Monday afternoons I'm unaware of?" I walk backward and jerk my head toward my car. "C'mon. You need to not go home, and I need to atone for distracting you from your jog."
Her lips twist, preventing a smile, and she follows with slow steps. "I hate to break it to you, but Owen was the one who distracted me."
"Owen? You're dumping me for my best friend after one weekend?" I stop my backward retreat and frown. "That's harsh, Jess."
With an arched brow, she holds her chin high and saunters into my space, stopping when the toes of her running shoes kiss the tips of my work boots. "I mean, he did call me gorgeous," she says, employing the same brand of sass she wielded on Finn Friday night.
Unspoken challenge floats between us, and I give in to the urge to do what I've kept from doing since she appeared. I admire every inch of flesh she has on display. Every creamy contour and flushed curve from the valley between her breasts to the dips in her stomach, and the capable muscles in her calves.
"He's not wrong," I say, my