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He shoves me. I shove him back, sending him stumbling sideways. “We’ll see about that.”
Jet’s more slender than me, always was, though he’s caught up with me in height. And I’ve always felt oddly protective of him, although Jethro can certainly kick ass, even better than I can. He's firecracker. Spitfire. Touch him, and he’ll knock you out faster than you can say motherfucker.
So I don’t worry too much, even if he looks tired tonight.
I wag my brows at him as I whip my cell out of my back pocket and hit the speed dial for our pizza delivery place. “Gonna lick you good. Flog you. You’re so screwed, my man, you’ll wish for—”
Jethro does a complete about-face and heads back to his room. His door clicks shut.
Whoa, dude. What in the world?
The call connects, and I put through our standard order, then disconnect and go after him. Without ceremony, I open his door and march inside. Screw not worrying. The fucker had better tell me what’s wrong, or he won’t know what hit him.
***
“Talk.” I’m looming over Jethro who’s sitting on the bed, hands hanging between his knees. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, mate.” Again that faint accent, drilling under my skin, a strange little itch. “Did you order the pizza?”
“Yeah, I ordered the damn pizza. Why’re you hiding in here?” I gesture at the familiar room—black drapes, black bedspread with white skulls. “What’s gotten up your ass?”
“Interested in my ass suddenly, are you?” He shoots a crooked grin at me, and I’m momentarily speechless. He didn’t notice me watching today, did he?
I mean, whatever. Dudes stare at each other all the time. Comparing dicks and shit.
“I’m interested in your ass planted in the chair in front of the TV so that I can kick it playing,” I clarify. “Wasn’t that what we said we’d do?”
“Sure.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I was just gonna grab a sweater. It’s chilly in there.”
Chilly? Is he fucking with me? It’s summer. We’re in T-shirts. I have no fucking clue what’s going on here, but I let it slide for now, because it’s Jet, and sooner or later he’ll spill.
Has to. We’re like brothers, dammit. Fucker will let me in all the fucking way someday, I just know it. I only need to be patient.
Like now.
So I don’t push him more. Instead, I grab his arm and yank him to his feet. “Pizza. Video game. Beer.”
“Now we’re talking,” he mutters and gamely lets me haul him out of his room and drop him on our worn couch. “Where’s the pizza?”
Have I mentioned that occasionally I want to strangle the idiot?
“I literally just called. Give it a fucking minute, will ya?”
“Did you get the one with the anchovies that I—”
“Yes, Jesus fuck, Jet, I know what you like, okay? Sit tight, pizza’s on its way.”
He relaxes marginally into the cushions, that crooked grin making another appearance, and something inside my chest unwinds.
Everything’s fine. A usual evening in the J&J household. This is my home, even more so than the one I grew up in. Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents, and my sister, but I never felt at ease there.
Here, with Jet, I do. With pizza on the way, video games to be played, Jet’s eyes lighting up with mischief as he grabs the controls, and despite the sharp sliver of the memory of her—the sexy girl at the bookstore—this is gonna be a damn good evening.
***
I want to see her again.
The thought fills up my mind, expands and contracts, randomly flashes through my thoughts like a light saber randomly as I go through my day at work.
