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CHAPTER TWO

Once I closed the front door, I heard the crunching gravel as Jesse pulled out of the driveway. I dropped my book bag, hung up my coat, and went into the kitchen.

"Susie, you're home early," my mom commented absently as she went through the mail. "You usually don't come home from Jesse's until supper time." That is, an hour from now.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I have some things to do." That was when I noticed a huge bouquet of flowers set on the dining room table. "Whoa, what are those for?" I asked, examining one of the peach-colored pink sweetheart roses- my favorite flower.

"Oh, I forgot. They came for you this afternoon." My eyes bulged.

"For me? Who are they from?" I began searching for a card.

"I don't know. Why don't you bring them up to your room?" Mom suggested. I picked up the glass vase, and started up the stairs—carefully, because they were blocking my vision.

I set them down on my dresser, and began searching for a card. It took me a while to find, but eventually I produced a small envelope, with "Suze" written on it. Inside was a cardboard rectangle, with the florist's name on it and a simple message: "Happy Birthday, with love." No signature.

Hmm. They must have been from Jesse. That's odd, though. He didn't mention anything.

Pushing the flowers out of my mind, I went back downstairs to get my book bag, and then settled back in my bed again to do my homework.

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The next morning, my alarm went off, jarring me from my sleep. But then I realized, "Hey, I'm seventeen today."

I got out of bed and spotted the flowers from the day before. I took a whiff of them briefly before getting into the shower.

Since it was my birthday, I spent even more time than usual getting dressed. By the time Brad screamed for me to get my ass downstairs, I was looking more spiffy than usual in a garnet colored skirt and black tee-shirt with a denim jacket.

As we pulled into the Mission's student parking lot, I saw Jesse walking from his car, and I tensed up. He had called last night, but I had fallen asleep way earlier than I usually did.

I still wasn't sure about how he felt about me, and was a bit nervous about yesterday.

But when I approached him, and called his name tentatively, he turned around with a big grin and pulled me into a big hug, lifting me off the ground a bit.

"Happy Birthday, Querida," he whispered into my hair, and then kissed me on the lips.

"Thanks," I said, after we pulled apart. "Were those flowers from you?" He looked perplexed.

"Flowers?" I guess not.

"Never mind. They must have been from my Grandma or someone," I said easily, linking my arm around his waist. "So, where are you taking me tonight?" It was Friday, which meant that I could stay out until midnight, rather than ten on school nights.

"Bonita Vida," he said, naming a local Spanish restaurant that is very popular. "Then I convinced Jose to take Elena out for drinks after they get off work, so we can come back to the house without them hanging around." I grinned, and kissed him quickly.

"Sounds wonderful," I said. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Querida," he said.

And all of my fears and concerns from the day before melted away when he smiled.

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After school, I was forced to fend for myself to get a ride home. Jesse was very sorry, but he had somewhere to be 5 minutes after we got out of school—he would be pushing it without the extra trip up my hill. Brad had wrestling practice, and Adam was staying after to work on a project with some kids in his science class.

I started walking through the parking lot, towards the road that took me to my house, wrapping my scarf around my neck and face tightly to protect me from the stiff winter breeze. Suddenly, a voice came out of no where.

"Did you get the flowers?" I looked around, startled, for the source of the words. I stiffened when I saw the speaker.

It was Paul.

I hadn't seen him since the back to school dance in September, when he and Jesse and gotten into a fight, and Jesse and I got together. When I saw him, my pulse suddenly quickened—from fear, I told myself.

"What do you want?" I spat. He came over from his car.

"Did you get the flowers? For your birthday yesterday?" I rolled my eyes.

"My birthday's today." He cringed slightly.

"Sorry… I'm terrible with dates," he apologized flirtatiously. I eyed him warily.

"What do you want? Or are you banging some freshman and came to pick her up?" He looked scandalized, like I had just suggested that prospect to Mother Theresa or something, not the guy who broke up with me after I slept with him.

"Suze, I think I've made a mistake," he admitted. His face looked sincere, but I kept myself guarded. "I miss you, Suze."

I laughed. "Me? You miss me? Me, who you screwed and dumped and hit?" He cringed again, as if he had some sort of selective memory and he had forgotten about all that.

"Suze, I'm more sorry than I can say. I don't know why I ever did something like that."

"I do. Because you're a douche," I said maturely. (a/n: douche is my new favorite insult. I think it comes from sitting in front of two people in math class who call everyone douches.)

That was when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket, against my hip. (My parents finally got me one, once I started hanging out with Jesse so much. They never knew where I was or how they could get in touch with me). Thinking that it would make Paul leave, I pulled it out and saw "Jesse" on the screen.

"Hey Jesse," I cooed into the phone, more lovey-dovey than I can usually stand out of someone. But I was putting on a show. Paul's eyes narrowed when he heard the name—and the tone I said it in.

"Hi, Susannah. Listen, I just got confirmation for the reservation. I'll pick you up at 6:45, okay?"

"You'll pick me up at 6:45," I repeated. "Awesome. I can't wait." Jesse chuckled.

"Me either, Susannah. I'll see you later."

"Love you," I said, and hung up. Paul looked angry.

"You're going out with that jackass?" he spat.

"Please," I said sarcastically. "He's the jackass?" Paul sighed, and ran his hand through his golden hair. As big of a jerk he is, he's still really hot.

"Suze," he said, more softly, "Listen. This isn't going well. I came here to apologize for… what happened between us. But listen, I made a mistake. I still want you." My heart started beating more quickly as he stepped toward me and gently pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. I couldn't move, or breathe, or punch him. "We should be together," he whispered sensuously against the skin where the piece of hair had been laying.

Finally, I regained control of my body and shoved him away… just as he was moving his mouth down toward mine.

"Screw you, Paul," I growled, and started walking away.

"It isn't over," he called as I left the parking lot. "I'll be back for you."

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Even though I was still shaken and confused about my encounter with Paul, I took special care with my appearance. Bonita Vida is a nice restaurant, but not super-formal so I changed into a simple burgundy dress.

Even as I was putting in some earrings and I heard Jesse ring the doorbell, Paul was on my mind. Why had he approached me today? What did that even mean, that he decided he made a mistake? That he wanted to get back together?

And where did that leave me?

When I heard Jesse's voice, I forcibly shoved those thoughts out of my head and quickly pulled on my pumps and did one last glance in the mirror before going downstairs.

Jesse was standing in the living room with my mom, chatting casually. When he saw me, his face brightened. I came the rest of the way down the stairs, and he kissed me on the cheek, and handed me a rose. I smiled.

"Thank you."

"Why don't I put that in some water for you?" my mom offered. "You two go, have fun. Have her back by midnight, okay, Jesse?"

"Of course, Mrs. Ackerman." My mom took the flower, and I took Jesse's hand.

Once out in the car, Jesse gave me the long, deep kiss he had been wanting to give me—but with parents present, Jesse and I try not to put our tongues in each other's mouths.

As we drove, we talked a little bit, but I was other places. Paul was still on my mind, as hard as it was to get him out.

"Is everything okay? You're quiet," Jesse commented, "which is very unusual." I punched him in the arm jokingly.

"I'm fine," I said. Why didn't I tell him? I should have.

But I didn't want to cause another fight between the two of them.

Right?

Jesse took one hand from the wheel and squeezed mine gently, before pulling into the parking lot of Bonita Vida.

We continued chatting while we ate. We briefly discussed where Jesse was applying for college—all local, but respectable, universities. None were more than 2 hours away, and I liked that.

After dinner was cleared away, Jesse said, "Now, it's time for your present." I grinned expectantly, and he laughed. He dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a box, wrapped in the pink foil wrapping paper that is synonymous with Laura Lynn's, a local jewelry store; whenever anyone we know got their First Communion, graduated, had a birthday, or was confirmed, my mom dragged me there to pick out something nice. And they always had nice stuff.

I slid my finger under the meticulous folded edge, and tore apart the tape. Once it was completely unwrapped, I took off the top of the box and the cotton thing they put on top.

In the box was a fine gold chain, with an emerald pendant. Jesse quickly came around to put it around my neck. "It matches your eyes perfectly," he whispered.

I turned around and kissed him, briefly, since we were in a restaurant.

"Thank you," I whispered back.

"Happy birthday," he grinned.

After that, Jesse took the check—despite my offer to help pay. I mean, yea, it was my birthday, but he had also just given me an amazing present. He promised dessert back at his house.

We left the restaurant, and drove back. It was only about quarter to ten at that point, and I had another 2 hours before I had to be home.

Since Elena and Jose were out, the place was empty and dark when Jesse pulled into the driveway. He unlocked the door, flipped on the lights, and took off his jacket.

"Make yourself at home," he said. "I'll be out with dessert in the minute." I slipped out of my shoes and hung my jacket on the hook. I ventured into the living room, and lounged on the couch. A moment later, he reappeared, with two individual tarts.

"Mmm," I said, sitting up and taking the plate from him. "This looks delicious." He grinned.

"I baked them last night." I gave him a long, slow kiss before taking a bite.

"You spoil me," I told him. He just smiled.

We ate, not really talking at all, just looking at each other. He had taken off his tie, and undone the first few buttons of his shirt, giving me just the smallest peek at his amazing chest. He had rolled up his sleeves, too, giving him just an all-around appearance of being hot.

As I took in the surroundings…the two of us, alone, after a romantic dinner, at night… with the house to ourselves. Not to mention my birthday.

A little voice came into my head. He's been so great to you, it whispered. Maybe why he was so reluctant yesterday was because the timing wasn't right. He wanted to wait until your birthday. That's why he sent his aunt and uncle away.

It made sense to me. Hey, I wanted to have sex with him. ('Making love' is such a terrible phrase. I hate it. I equate it with bad romance novels and clichéd love scenes.)

After he set his plate down, I crawled closer to him on the couch. Then I took his face in my hands, and kissed him.

He responded accordingly, kissing me back and holding my hips with his hands. He deepened the kiss, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

Eventually he leaned into me, and pushed me against the couch. Mmm. I started unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, and I felt his fingers go to the zipper at the back of my dress.

But again, suddenly, he stopped. He just picked his head up off of mine, removed his hands from my back and pulled my hands from his chest, and simply said, "No."

"Why not?" I asked, breathless. There seemed to be some inner turmoil again. He got off of me the rest of the way.

"I don't want to," he said shortly. My eyes widened.

"You don't want to?" I repeated.

"No," he said, as curt as he was before.

I couldn't believe my ears. He didn't want to be with me physically. Maybe emotionally.

But I guess I did nothing to attract him physically.

People always say that they want someone for their personality, and they want people to love them for THEIR personality.

But you know what?

I want to think the guy I'm with is hot.

And I want them to think I'm hot.

Because there is no "relationship" if there is no attraction.

Which, apparently, there wasn't in this one.

Or, if there was, it was one sided.

Upset and confused, I quickly got off the couch, straightened my dress out, and started heading for the door.

"Susannah?" he called, confused, and followed me.

"I'm going home," I said, putting my shoes back on and grabbing my jacket.

"Susannah, what--" he began, but I was already opening the door and stalking out of the house. "Stop!" He groaned. "Let me drive you home. It's dark out. Wait."

"I don't want to," I said acidly.

He stopped protesting, and let me leave.

Once I was around the corner from his house, I let the tears fall. Jesse was a great guy and everything, but what he had just said to me just then?

Basically, "I think you're cool, but you're ugly as shit and I don't want to touch you." Paraphrased, of course.

I would hate to think that I'm becoming what Paul was to me… the one who pressured the significant other into sex.

But it's not that he said "I don't feel ready," or "I think we should wait until we've been together longer."

He just didn't want to. He wasn't interested. In me.

He wasn't yesterday, either, was he? God, I'm so stupid.

It was dark, and I could barely see the roads that I was walking on. It was almost eleven, and there were hardly any cars on the road.

It was cold out, being December, and I shivered in my wool coat. I hugged it tighter to me, and tried to control my tears.

By the time I got home, I was sure that my face was dry, albeit red and probably puffy. When I opened the door, the house was quiet. Good. I hung up my jacket, pulled my shoes off of my aching feet—I had just walked a good two miles in heels—and started up the stairs.

"Susie?" Damn.

"Yea?"

"Are you home already? I didn't expect you for another hour. I didn't hear Jesse's car." My mom came out of her room.

"We had a change of plans," I said shortly.

"Oh… okay," she said uncertainly, and though she likely noticed my red eyes, she didn't say anything. "If you need to talk, let me know." I nodded grimly, and went into my room and closed the door.

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Ho hum… so the plot thickens.

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