Chapter 51 - Take a Picture

Chapter 51: Chapter 51 - Take a Picture

Something cold pressed against Jesse’s cheek.

He opened his eyes behind the tinted glasses. The light through the bedroom curtains had shifted from morning white to a softer afternoon gold. Carrie was sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, leaning over him with a dish towel wrapped around a handful of ice. She was holding it gently against the bandage under his right eye, her lips moving silently as she counted.

She’d taken off her uniform blouse at some point and was wearing a plain black camisole with her black work skirt. Her red curls were twisted up in a clip, a few loose strands falling around her face.

Jesse lay still and let her finish.

When she lifted the compress away and checked the clock on his nightstand, he spoke.

"You don’t need to do that."

Carrie jumped a little. "You’re awake."

"I’m awake. And you don’t need to do that."

"The nurse said every hour." She set the dripping towel on a saucer on the nightstand. "Twenty minutes, every hour, while you’re awake. I’ve been doing it while you were asleep too, since I figured it couldn’t hurt."

She didn’t mention the other thing she’d noticed.

The first time she’d held the ice to his face an hour ago, the skin around the edges of the dressing had been puffy and mottled dark purple. By the second time, the purple had faded to yellow. Just now, she’d looked closely at the strip of cheek showing beneath the tape and found it smooth and pale, with no bruising and no swelling at all.

She’d told herself she was imagining it. She’d told herself the light in the room had changed.

"The nurses were exaggerating," Jesse said. "They’re paid to be dramatic. I’m fine."

"You just got out of the hospital." Carrie folded her arms. "I don’t know what they did to you in there, but the nurse said every hour, so I’m following the instructions."

Jesse looked up at her for a moment.

He could tell she wasn’t going to budge. She’d sit on the edge of this bed with ice and dish towels all afternoon if he let her.

He sat up, reached up and took off the tinted glasses. Then he found the edge of the tape on his cheek and began peeling the dressing away.

"Jesse, don’t—" Carrie reached for his hand. "You’re not supposed to—"

The bandage came free. He dropped it onto the bed between them and looked at her.

Carrie froze with her hand still raised.

The face in front of her was clean and unmarked, without a trace of swelling or a single bruise. The bump on the bridge of his nose was gone. His nose ran straight and narrow now, cleanly shaped, and it changed the balance of everything around it. His cheekbones looked sharper and his jaw stronger. And his eyes, those pale blue-gray eyes that had always seemed to wander in two directions, sat level and steady, both of them fixed on her face.

He was handsome. He was devastatingly, unfairly handsome, and he was looking straight at her.

Carrie forgot to lower her hand. She forgot to breathe. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him, and the seconds stretched out until almost a full minute had gone by.

Jesse let her look.

Then the corner of his mouth curled.

"You can take a picture," he said. "I promise it’ll last longer."

Carrie snapped back to herself so fast she nearly fell off the bed. Her face flooded red from her collarbone to her hairline. She jerked her gaze away and stared hard at the curtains.

"What did you really do at that hospital?" she demanded. "And how did you heal so fast? Earlier you looked like you’d been hit by a truck, and now you’re... you’re handsome now than—"

"Hmm." Jesse tilted his head. "Handsome now."

Carrie stopped.

"So I was ugly before?"

"What? No! I didn’t..." Carrie stammered. "That’s not what I... I didn’t say that."

Jesse had known exactly how she’d react, which was why he’d asked.

"I-I-I didn’t say that," he mimicked, letting his voice wobble. "Come on, Carrie. Tell me how you really feel. Go on, say it. You thought I was ugly."

"I never said that!" She swung around to face him, flustered and furious. "You were never ugly. You were just..."

"Just what, Carrie? Don’t leave me hanging."

He said it before she could finish, calm and amused.

Something inside her snapped.

"Fuck you!"

She shot up off the bed, grabbed her blouse from the back of the chair and stormed toward the door.

She didn’t make it.

Jesse was up and across the room before her hand touched the knob. He caught her by the wrist, turned her around and pressed her back against the wall beside the door, one hand planted flat on the wall next to her head.

Carrie gasped. The blouse slipped from her fingers to the floor.

He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips.

"I like seeing you all riled up," he murmured.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it.

She could have pushed him away. Her hands were free and resting against his chest. She could have shoved him back and walked out that door, and they both knew it.

She didn’t move.

Jesse slid his other hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, and cupped her ass through her skirt. He squeezed.

A jolt shot through Carrie’s body, hotter and sharper than anything she’d felt in the boutique. It started where his fingers pressed into her and raced up her spine in a bright, molten wave, spreading through her belly and down between her thighs until her knees nearly buckled.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched her in a way she actually wanted, and this was something else entirely. It felt like every nerve in her body had been switched on at once.

A soft, broken sound escaped her lips.

Jesse kissed her.

For half a second she stayed rigid against the wall. Then her hands fisted in the front of his sweater and pulled him closer, and she kissed him back, hungry and desperate, like she’d been waiting to do it since the moment he sat down in her section at Marlowe’s.

She didn’t let go.