Sunsets. Kittens. That pun I wrote in my journal that will be hilarious on a birthday card.
But not my best friend’s older brother.
Please.
What would that say about me?
I mean, aside from the obvious—that I have excellent taste.
Jesse is just stupidly gorgeous, the kind of handsome that, once you’re no longer in his presence, your mind insists you must be remembering incorrectly. There’s no way sandy-brown hair, dark brown eyes, a chiseled jaw, and nicely sculpted arm muscles could combine to create the kind of sucker-punch to the ovaries women everywhere experience when they lock eyes with him.
Old or young, looking for love or happily coupled, no matter their race, color, or creed—one look at
Jesse and ladies melt into steamy lust puddles at his feet. Even my friend Lisa swore a few weeks ago that if a woman-killing meteor struck Earth, wiping out all womankind, Jesse is the only man who could tempt her to the straight side of the fence.
And I can’t argue with that.
The man sure as heck tempts me.
Lisa says it’s his “fuck me” eyes. Those eyes that imply that no matter what he’s doing, he’s also thinking about fucking, vividly imagining how he would pleasure any woman he met if they were naked and willing.
His eyes are incredible, but until that conversation, I’d only thought of them as soulful, expressive—fitting the artist’s heart behind his grease-streaked overalls.
But since Lisa said the “fuck-me” thing, every time I lock eyes with Jesse, it’s a struggle. A struggle not to think about him doing bad things to me. Or me doing bad things to him.
I’m equal opportunity when it comes to bad things.
At least, I think I am. Hard to say for sure, though, since it’s been a while. But no matter how long it’s been, friends with benefits isn’t an option when it comes to Jesse.
I’m his little sister’s best friend.
I am, because I refuse to put that part of what we were to each other in the past tense.
I will always be Claire’s friend, just like I’ll always be his friend.
I never expected Jesse to become someone who mattered so much to me. But when my life seismically shifted two years ago, Jesse and I shifted too.
We became friends, good friends, the kind who need each other to survive.
I’m not the kind of person who puts friendships like that at risk, or who crushes on guys who are out of my league.
Jesse is a masterpiece hanging in a museum. I’m a quirky mug someone’s grandmother picked up at a craft fair.
We don’t exist in the same more-than-friends universe.
Even when he gives me a treasure map I didn’t know I was looking for, one that promises to turn my confused, stagnant, shell-shocked life around, I refuse to let my mind go there.
Nope.
Jesse and me? It’s never going to happen.
We’re on two different paths, and that’s not going to change, no matter what happens this summer.
Even if all roads do seem to lead back to him.
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Jesse