Chapter 9: Mixes and Abs

Jesse is unsure what his juice pouch move earned him when he goes to work the next day. Although his insides are crawling with doubts, he remains emotionally cool, calm, and confident as he enters the station. At least, that's what he told himself in the mirror while checking his outfit for the umpteenth time before heading out.

I gave her a juice pouch. No big deal. He is expecting that she wouldn't be there yet, since he had left class extra early so he could greet her with a witty remark when she comes in. That would not be the case.

He sees her, already there, stacking vinyl, rolling her cart along. But instead of making his presence known, he sneaks up from behind the shelf, where his cart is, and picks out a nice cover.

A baby's face. This should work. He sneaks it up in front of her.

Beca is being her usual placidly cold self when she is greeted by a huge baby's face while stacking. He is such a dork. She gives him a plastic smile. You think you're really funny aren't you?

Alright, what's good in this pile, Jesse thinks. Ooh, Adam Lambert, can't go wrong with that.

This time, Jesse's face and arm fit the image so well, and Beca can't help but really grin at the picture. His smile wakes her up, and she wipes the grin from her face and raises her eyebrows. Shut up, Beca. Shut up. Don't encourage him.

Jesse can see the breaks through her armor. Oh, look, he thinks, as he feels her face mellow at his antics, causing his heart to do a little dance. He picks out a huge eyeball from the stack.

Beca can't help it. This guy is such a goofball. She keeps down a laugh, her eyes crinkling at the effort.

Jesse's pops out from the behind the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. He loves it when he gets to make Beca laugh in spite of herself. It's like winning the lottery every time, like being the only one to break Beca's secret pact against humanity to never be happy.

Beca's mind is temporarily distracted from Bella practices, mixes, and other thoughts, because of Jesse. Whatever, she thinks. He makes a silly face from behind Ted Nugen and she gives him another one of her patented looks. Dork.

(She loves it though, but her dignity meter is increasingly lowering around him, and she's not gonna admit that.)

Luke sees their little wordless banter and calls out. "Jesse?"

Great timing, man, Jesse thinks. "Yeah?"

"I'm starving so could you…"

"You want me to get you lunch?" Get it the fuck yourself.

Luke nods.

"You should probably lay off the burgers. You're not gonna be twenty-two forever, you know," Jesse comments. Also, go to hell.

Luke lifts up his shirt to reveal a nicely chiseled pack of six. "I think I'm good."

Beca can't help but admire the musculature. Damn son. "He's good. You're good."

"And the chess match continues," Jesse finally says, as he sets off to get Luke's fucking lunch. But not before he sneaks a juice pouch in Beca's bag.

Real clever, Luke. But I'm the one with the juice pouches. He consoles himself as he goes out to fetch food.

Coming back with Luke's lunch (which he messes up on purpose), Jesse feels his heart do a double take as he sees Beca sipping from the juice pouch that he had sneaked in her bag. Win.

"Hey," she greets while sorting.

"Hey." He gives Luke his lunch, and goes back to the shelves.

"Why do you have to always sneak these in my bag," she says, between sips, "Why don't you just give it to me?"

"Well," Jesse sits on the desk, a habit that he's acquired, "where's the romance in that?"

Eye-squint, plastic smile, eye-roll, and a little bit of laughter, Jesse figures.

Beca can't help it if Jesse looks at her with adoring eyes. She is suddenly aware of the funny feeling her stomach gets when his huge brown optic receptors (seriously, they are colossal) work their magic and make her feel all girly and gross...

Goddamnit Beca. Get your shit together. On to other thoughts…

She mentally sighs, looking at the booth. She's been giving Luke a lot of her mixes, it's becoming a real bum to have to keep on buying flash drives every time. She sighs again, this time audibly.

"That huff sounds ominous," Jesse comments after a Mariah Carey vinyl. When Beca keeps looking at the booth, Jesse ventures a little bit further.

"You know, if you really like him that much, I want you to know that you have my blessing," Jesse says. This is a complete and utter lie.

"I've given him some of my mixes," she replies.

"And?"

"And nothing. I don't think he's heard any of them. I mean, that's cool. He's busy. Whatever."

"Ouch, Beca."

"What?" Beca looks at him, and he's clutching his heart and doing a soap-operatic impression of a tortured soul.

"Do you mean he's heard your music before me?" His face is the perfect picture of faux disbelief.

She rolls her eyes. (Because Beca has run out of expressions to convey pleasant annoyance.)

"Beca," he does his best 'hurt' voice. "I can't believe this."

He jumps down from the desk and goes next to her with a fresh stack of CDs in his hands. "I really thought we were friends."

She hits him on the arm. The fact that she registers his stern muscles is nobody's business.

"Seriously though," he continues, "You should let me hear some of your work."

"Why is that?"

His expression softens at her. She's really picky about this, isn't she?

"So I can tell you the truth about how amazing you really are," he replies. While Beca is outwardly showing the coolest of cools about this, she finds that really sweet of him to say.

"But of course," he adds, "I mean, I'd understand if you don't wanna show it. If it really sucks then it should probably never see the light of—"

This garners him a punch to the gut. And while Beca would rather die than admit it, and she would rather die a thousand painful deaths than admit it, she's taken to considering him one of her closest friends. Maybe it is about time to share a bit more of herself.