Read Online Jesse's Girl (Hundred Oaks #6) by Miranda Kenneally - Free Book Online
Authors: Miranda Kenneally
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chooses the brown crayon and starts drawing a horse.
“So why’d you pretend to be the owner of the Titans?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s something to do, you know?”
No, I don’t know.
He switches to a blue crayon, and I scan my menu. Should I get ribs or brisket? “So who’s Ferris Bueller?”
He looks up from doodling a truck. “ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a great movie. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it since you’re so into eighties music. It’s about this guy who skips school and does all these crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“He, like, commandeers a float during a parade in Chicago and sings ‘Twist and Shout.’ You know, by the Beatles?”
“I know who the Beatles are. I wasn’t born in a barn.”
“Oh, do they not have barns in Antarctica?”
“Stop.” I laugh again. Jesse hasn’t truly smiled once, but I haven’t laughed this much in a while. “So what else did Ferris do?”
“He went to a fancy restaurant and stole somebody else’s reservation like we just did. Oh, and he convinced his best friend to steal his dad’s hot red car for the day.”
“What kind of car?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!” I exclaim.
A server drops off a bread basket, and Jesse digs in. “I think it was a Ferrari.”
“Nice. Go on then. What else?”
He rips into a roll with his teeth. “Um, Ferris went to a Cubs game and to an art museum.”
“Sounds like a nice day.”
He speaks as he chews. “You having a nice day so far?”
I loved sitting at the piano with him and just singing my heart out. And don’t even get me started on how great it was to ride that Harley. But he’s so guarded and on edge, I don’t feel completely comfortable around him. He seemed so much happier in the studio, surrounded by music.
“It’s been good,” I say.
Jesse picks up a straw, tears off the paper from one end of it, puts it in his mouth, then blows the paper at me. I snatch the paper in midair and wad it up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see an older man glaring at Jesse’s straw paper antics. Is this why Mr. Logan wanted the publicists to come? To make sure Jesse doesn’t play with his food?
Two ladies wearing Easter-colored dress suits, pearls, and heels saunter over and ask for Jesse’s autograph. He tips his hat and fishes a black Sharpie out of his jeans pocket. “Who do I make them out to?”
The first woman speaks so quickly it comes out garbled and she has to repeat herself. “To Nicole. My daughter.” The other woman wants an autograph for her niece. He reaches over to an empty table near us, snatches two white napkins, unfolds them with a flourish, and starts signing.
He seems completely bored by it all but acts like a gentleman the entire time, including when a waitress gets our drink order and the Finger Licking Good manager comes over to thank Jesse for “dining with us.” Everything feels like a production, as if his life is stage-managed. Then he excuses himself to go to the restroom.
While he’s gone, the two paparazzi guys from outside Jesse’s house rush up and snap pictures of me. Where did they come from? Have they been following Jesse this entire time? I cover my face with a hand.
One of them rushes to ask, “Are you sleeping with Jesse?”
I shake my head and focus on the napkin in my lap. When my mother signed the permission slip for shadow day, she also had to sign nondisclosure agreements, stating that I would keep everything I learn about Jesse a secret. Confidentiality agreement or not, no way in hell would I hurt him. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but I know what it’s like to be betrayed.
“You’re friends with him then? Do you know why he’s quitting the business?”
My breathing speeds up, and I can’t catch it. Where is the manager? Why hasn’t he thrown these jerks out? Flash, flash, flash, flash. Click, click, click.
“Give us something,” the other guy says.
“I’ve got no comment,” I
“So why’d you pretend to be the owner of the Titans?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s something to do, you know?”
No, I don’t know.
He switches to a blue crayon, and I scan my menu. Should I get ribs or brisket? “So who’s Ferris Bueller?”
He looks up from doodling a truck. “ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a great movie. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it since you’re so into eighties music. It’s about this guy who skips school and does all these crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“He, like, commandeers a float during a parade in Chicago and sings ‘Twist and Shout.’ You know, by the Beatles?”
“I know who the Beatles are. I wasn’t born in a barn.”
“Oh, do they not have barns in Antarctica?”
“Stop.” I laugh again. Jesse hasn’t truly smiled once, but I haven’t laughed this much in a while. “So what else did Ferris do?”
“He went to a fancy restaurant and stole somebody else’s reservation like we just did. Oh, and he convinced his best friend to steal his dad’s hot red car for the day.”
“What kind of car?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!” I exclaim.
A server drops off a bread basket, and Jesse digs in. “I think it was a Ferrari.”
“Nice. Go on then. What else?”
He rips into a roll with his teeth. “Um, Ferris went to a Cubs game and to an art museum.”
“Sounds like a nice day.”
He speaks as he chews. “You having a nice day so far?”
I loved sitting at the piano with him and just singing my heart out. And don’t even get me started on how great it was to ride that Harley. But he’s so guarded and on edge, I don’t feel completely comfortable around him. He seemed so much happier in the studio, surrounded by music.
“It’s been good,” I say.
Jesse picks up a straw, tears off the paper from one end of it, puts it in his mouth, then blows the paper at me. I snatch the paper in midair and wad it up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see an older man glaring at Jesse’s straw paper antics. Is this why Mr. Logan wanted the publicists to come? To make sure Jesse doesn’t play with his food?
Two ladies wearing Easter-colored dress suits, pearls, and heels saunter over and ask for Jesse’s autograph. He tips his hat and fishes a black Sharpie out of his jeans pocket. “Who do I make them out to?”
The first woman speaks so quickly it comes out garbled and she has to repeat herself. “To Nicole. My daughter.” The other woman wants an autograph for her niece. He reaches over to an empty table near us, snatches two white napkins, unfolds them with a flourish, and starts signing.
He seems completely bored by it all but acts like a gentleman the entire time, including when a waitress gets our drink order and the Finger Licking Good manager comes over to thank Jesse for “dining with us.” Everything feels like a production, as if his life is stage-managed. Then he excuses himself to go to the restroom.
While he’s gone, the two paparazzi guys from outside Jesse’s house rush up and snap pictures of me. Where did they come from? Have they been following Jesse this entire time? I cover my face with a hand.
One of them rushes to ask, “Are you sleeping with Jesse?”
I shake my head and focus on the napkin in my lap. When my mother signed the permission slip for shadow day, she also had to sign nondisclosure agreements, stating that I would keep everything I learn about Jesse a secret. Confidentiality agreement or not, no way in hell would I hurt him. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but I know what it’s like to be betrayed.
“You’re friends with him then? Do you know why he’s quitting the business?”
My breathing speeds up, and I can’t catch it. Where is the manager? Why hasn’t he thrown these jerks out? Flash, flash, flash, flash. Click, click, click.
“Give us something,” the other guy says.
“I’ve got no comment,” I
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