3
Jesse
I don’t discriminate much when it comes to fruit. Especially on a pretty woman who needs it wiped from her face.
Though I’m glad Ruby’s not wearing a banana cream pie or something gross like melons—is melon pie a thing?
I fucking hate melons.
Peach is my favorite fruit.
Raspberry is a close second.
But I don’t object to strawberry.
I don’t object to Ruby either.
Damn, she’s looking good this afternoon. But then, she’s always looking good—great, with her dark, nearly black hair and sweet, tight curves, which is exactly how I like curves to be.
But more importantly, she has a pretty heart. She cares about being a good person, loves to laugh, and goes out of her way to show people she cares. Ruby is a people pleaser in the best way, with a gift for spreading happiness.
Trouble is, she doesn’t look happy, and she hasn’t for a long time. Not deep-down happy. Not the way she used to look.
Before.
I don’t know if that has to do with the lingering effects of the accident or something else. All I know is her big brown eyes look lost a lot of the time, like she’s trying to remember something she’s forgotten. But whatever it is, she never seems to be able to settle on an answer.
Which is why it’s time to help her. Because friends don’t let friends get lost in their own lives.
“I see you brought dessert,” I observe dryly as I cross to meet her by the front desk.
She gives a cute shrug, a little coy, a little winsome. “I thought you might want some pie.”
I grin. “I was hoping you’d bring one with you.”
She swipes her hand across her cheek. Lifts her finger. Shows a smear of red. “Just . . . not on my face?”
“Generally, I prefer a plate. Or a jar.” I nod to the hallway by my private office. “The restroom is clean if you need a sink. I just put fresh towels in the dispenser.”
She gives me a flat expression. “So you don’t think I should leave it there all night?”
“Rehab’s been good for you. Sharpened that finely tuned wit.”
She laughs, but it fades quickly, and that far-away look returns for another moment, infecting her voice as she says, “Yeah. I’ve got that going for me.”
Hmmmm . . . she seems more off than usual.
All the more reason to invoke the One List to Rule Them All.
But first things first. “We can get pie-free going for you too. Come on.”
I take her to the bathroom in the back, dampen a few paper towels, and wipe off her cheek. Which is a gorgeous cheek, by all measures of cheeks.
But it’s also hers, which makes it precious.
What am I going to do with this woman? With her moody eyes and full lips and all the things she makes me feel? The off-limits things. The stupid things—because even if it was all right to lust over my little sister’s best friend, especially when my sister can’t ever give her permission for me to cross that line, our lives are headed in opposite directions.
I run the thick towel under the faucet once more then turn off the tap, sliding the damp paper along her jaw. Her very kissable jaw. Hmm. Why did I offer to do this? Oh, because it gives me the chance to get close to her.