Why did he have to be funny? And smart? This would have been so much easier if he were some himbo with the personality of a dirt clod.
“I’m not ignoring you,” I said.
“Denial is the first step to acceptance.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Ah, so you’re playing hard to get. Did Roux tell you to do that? Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I slung my bag onto my shoulder and looked at him. vHis eyes were (God help me, I swore I would never use this word) twinkling, but there was fear behind them. He had told me a lot about himself, his family, his sadness, probably more than he had ever told anyone else before.
We both had a lot riding on this relationship.
“Look,” I said. “I like you. Like, like like you. Like, a lot.”
“That’s a lot of ‘likes.’”
“Yes, it is.” Angelo was right about the West Coast ruining my grammar. “But don’t you feel like it’s happening kind of fast? Shouldn’t we just slow down a little?” Slow down long enough so I can ruin your dad’s magazine empire and save my family’s professional and personal lives without breaking your heart at the same time.
“Slow down? We’ve already made out. Oh my God, wait. I’m a bad kisser.” He feigned shock, putting his hand over his heart. “Is that was this is about? What, too much tongue? Not enough tongue? Did I do that thing where I get overeager and almost knock your teeth out? ‘Cause I do that sometimes. Sorry.”
I smiled despite myself. “You’re so weird.”
“I’ll take weird if it means I’m a good kisser.”
“Yes, you’re a great kisser. I don’t have a ton of experience in that area, as you know—”
“I’m flattered.”
“But, yes, you’re a great kisser. Gold star for you.”
He sat down on the edge of the desk, his hair curling into his eyes and making me want to reach out and brush it back. “So what’s the deal then?”
“I told you, I just think we should slow down. I mean, we haven’t even had a real date yet and I—”
“Ohhhh.” Jesse nodded to himself. “That’s what this is. I get it.”
“What?”
“First date. Girls like dates. I’m such an idiot, I should have thought of that.”
This was backfiring spectacularly.
“Maggie.” He got up and came over to stand next to me, taking my hand in his. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”
At that point, I would have run away to Zimbabwe and raised herds of elephants with him.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”
“Are you kidding? I’m going to show you how it’s done. I’m going to date you like you’ve never been dated before.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, not able to stop a smile from escaping. “You think you got what it takes?”
“We’re talking fireworks, okay? Literal fireworks. None of this ‘let’s eat ice cream in the freezing cold while we sit on a dirty stoop’ shit. I’m pulling out all the stops. Call me LL Cool Jess.”
“You are ridiculous!” I cried, shoving his shoulder even as he grabbed my hand again. “Are you serious about the fireworks?”
“Well, first things first. You haven’t said if you want to go out with me or not.”
Bad idea, my inner voice said. Bad, bad, baaaaad—
“Of course,” I told him. “I would love to.”
“Then fireworks it is!” He leaned forward and kissed me before I could say anything, and I immediately sat back down on the desk, wrapping my hand around his neck to pull him closer.
“Monsieur! Mademoiselle!”
We flew apart to see Monsieur McPhulty glaring at us. “Are you both aware of the school rules? No public displays of affection during school hours?”
“Je suis désolé,” Jesse said, even as he held on to my hand. His hands were cold and rough but surprisingly soft at the same time. “You know how it is, Monsieur McPhulty.”
“French is one of the romance languages, after all,” I pointed out.
It was worth getting detention just to hear Jesse’s laugh.
Chapter 20
Both my parents were waiting for me by the time I got home on Monday afternoon. “Where have you been?” my mom said. “You’re late. School gets out at three.”
“Wow, calm down,” I said, dropping my bag down on a chair. “I had detention. I would have called but they take your phones. It’s really draconian.”
“I don’t think ‘draconian’ means what you think it means,” my dad said just as my mom said, “Detention? What did you do?”
Clearly I wasn’t going to say that I had made out with Jesse Oliver, son of the prime target in a major espionage case, in the middle of our French classroom. (Which would kind of make it “french kissing,” but I digress.) “Um, nothing?”
My mother just shook her head. “Your lying skills are terrible.”
“You raised a moral spy, what can I say? Is there any food? I’m starving. I could eat my body weight in peanut butter.”
“Let’s save that experiment for another day,” my dad said, but he pulled out the bread and the peanut butter anyway.