Free Jesse's Girl (Hundred Oaks #6) by Miranda Kenneally Page A

red GT, and then we break it to him: we aren’t buying a car today.
    “I’ll come back to check out the red car again real soon,” Jesse announces, which somewhat placates the snobby sales guy. “Now what?” he asks me as we climb on his bike.
    “Can we go back to your place and play guitar?” I ask. I’m itching to try that double-neck Fender I saw on his wall this morning.
    “You got it. But first I have to pick up something for my concert in Atlanta tomorrow night.”
    “Fine,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. But just before we take off, Jesse’s phone dings. He swipes the screen to answer it. “Hey, Uncle Bob! No, no, everything’s fine… No, we are not gonna do some stupid tour. I’m teaching Maya all about the business. We spent a whole hour talking about contract law. I even did a PowerPoint presentation… You’re gonna give Maya detention unless she ‘adheres to the schedule’?” Jesse rolls his eyes at his phone.
    “We’re fine, Dr. Salter,” I yell over Jesse’s shoulder into the cell.
    “Maya, I’m going out on a limb here by letting you shadow Jesse,” Dr. Salter warns loudly. “Don’t make me regret it. You need to get back on the schedule.”
    “I want to stay with you,” I quietly tell Jesse.
    He looks into my eyes, and that’s when he says to his uncle, “We’ll catch you later, Uncle Bob!” and he turns off the phone and stows it in his pocket.
    I groan. “What if I get detention? Or suspended?”
    “If you want to go back to school, just say the word.” Jesse says it matter-of-factly, but I can hear an edge in his voice. I know he’d be disappointed if I left, and at this point, I’d be disappointed too. Dr. Salter said he thought we could help each other, and I’m not gonna give up on Jesse just because I might get detention. When you think about how big this world is, how big this life is, detention is nothing. In ten years, I won’t look back on this day and be pissed that I got detention.
    I’d be pissed that I gave up the day.
    “Let’s go.”
    He gives me that famous half-cocked Jesse Scott smirk. “All right, put your helmet back on.”
    We take off on the Harley, zooming down the back roads surrounding Music Row, passing all the rustic mansions with their iron gates and green ivy.
    I burst out laughing when Jesse kills the engine outside the Nashville Spur Emporium. The sign on the window reads, Your One-Stop Shop for Your Cowboy’s Needs!
    He must be kidding me. I can’t go in here. I’ll lose all my street cred.
    Jesse and I climb off the bike, and I gaze through the window at a pair of green cowboy boots. “Oh my God, were those boots made from a snake?”
    “Crocodile, I think.” He leads me inside, a little bell dinging, and a small Asian woman comes rushing up.
    She takes a deep breath. “Mr. Scott. They are here and they are gorgeous .”
    “Knew you could get them, Rosie.”
    The tiny woman goes to the back of the store, leaving me and Jesse to browse. “Jolene,” that Dolly Parton song I hate, is playing, and there must be thousands of cowboy boots. Horrifying.
    I pick up a black leather boot covered by flames. “You need these.”
    “You think?”
    “Yes. They’ll match your Harley.”
    “We could get matching boots.”
    “Like those old people who wear matching clothes on vacation?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not getting married anytime soon.”
    He picks up a hot pink boot and studies the sole. “You got a boyfriend?”
    “No boyfriend…I was into this one guy, but it didn’t work out.”
    “How come?”
    “He liked another girl more.”
    Jesse studies my face so hard it makes my cheeks burn. “He sounds like an idiot.”
    More like I was the idiot. Back in middle school when I had my first crush, Mom gave me a piece of advice that I listened to but never actually followed. She said that I should never waste my time pining for a boy, because the boy I’m meant to be with will