interior. I lean over her body. "Leather seats," I murmur. "Super convenient for when I pick up sweaty strays."
"Cute." She ducks in without sitting. "Shirt’s in the backseat?" she asks, twisting around and up on her knees.
"Yeah, in the duffle. Let me—"
"Nope, I got it." Her ass props into the air, her glorious running shorts leaving nothing to my imagination, as she leans between the front seats and helps herself to my gym bag.
"After lunch, Coop!" Owen shouts, snapping my attention from the bare thighs on display five feet from my watering mouth to where he's climbing into the Nova. Jackass has my dirty thoughts figured out, his full smile visible from across the front yard.
Jess flips around, her head swinging from Owen to me, her face scrunched in confusion. "Ignore the bastard," I say.
"That's one hour!" Owen shouts.
I close the door as Jess fights to suppress a giggle and flash him my middle finger.
Riding under the assumption she hasn't eaten, I turn onto the highway and head for The Coop. Lunch and a hot fudge sundae equal extended time with Jess. Owen can shove his one-hour bullshit.
Checking her out sitting beside me in her running outfit, I ask, "Is something wrong with my shirt? I'm sure I threw a clean one in the bag."
Jess glances at the shirt on her lap. "Oh, no, I'm sure the shirt is fine." She brings the light blue tee to her nose, and I suppress a laugh when she sniffs.
"Mmm, fresh," she confirms. "I figured it'd be best to wait to keep it from getting sweaty and damp before we arrive."
My grip tightens on the gear shift at the visions this girl conjures.
"So, thanks again."
I lower the air temperature and give her a side glance. "For what?"
"For coming to my rescue." She unlatches the Velcro from around her upper arm. "It's my dad … he's…"
"Hey." I touch her thigh to grab her attention before forcing my hand back to the gear shift. "You said you were having a bad day. You don't have to explain."
She bobs her head. "Our private life isn’t exactly a secret."
That doesn't mean I'll force her to talk if she doesn't want to. I prefer being a distraction from the shit going on in her life.
"What do you listen to?" I ask when she wraps the earbuds cord around her phone. "While you jog?"
She releases a breathy chuckle. "Um, Panic! At the Disco?" She phrases her answer like a question. Like I'm unaware who Panic! is.
"A pop-rock type of girl?" Workout music says a lot about a person. What fuels their ability to dig in when their lungs are empty and their muscles on fire. I listen to a lot of weird shit at the gym.
"I guess I am today."
"And on other days?" I press when she doesn't seem inclined to share.
"Other days I listen to classic rock or top forty, movie soundtracks, or eighties one-hit wonders. Music is music. I enjoy running and play whatever I'm in the mood for."
I consider her answer as she turns her head toward the window and tugs the band from her ponytail. She combs her fingers through her hair, and I return to high school in my mind. To when Jessica Womick was a cheerleader, when she hung with Aubrey daily. Aubrey was a bitch. THE bitch. Jess was never that girl, not that I saw. She was fun and friendly, a little shy, and a little fearless, but we were surface friends, thanks to Aubrey's obsessive nature. Senior year they fell out because of Jules Blacklin. I imagine Jules arriving at Rossview was the tip of the iceberg, but that's when it started. Seeing Jess outside of school and games was rare after that.
"How is Jules and—" My cell phone goes off in the console between us.
Frey's name flashes on the screen, and I answer, "Hey."
"Hey, asshole, does it take all day to look at a car?"
"If I want it to, it does. What do you need?"
"Chase left for that doctor's appointment she had, you two are missing, and Finn is zoned in on the fender work for the Benz, which leaves me as the office bitch, and damn, I'm hungry."
"Chill, dude." Downshifting, I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder and turn into The Coop's parking lot. "One, you let Chase hear you use the phrase ‘office bitch’ and she'll cut off your balls."
Jess's head swings like a scene from The Exorcist, her eyes round. Grimacing, I mouth 'sorry'—though,