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“Got a problem with guys loving other guys?” I ask.
“What? No, of course not!” Now he looks horrified, and I chide myself for pushing him.
Then I wonder if that was that what Jet did—pushed him into an uncomfortable zone. It sure seems like an easy feat with Joel.
Right on cue, an amused chuckle comes from the kitchen door.
“Talking about me?” Jethro leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side. He’s grinning like a wolf.
“Go get the bananas,” Joel snaps. “Cut them up.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Joel sure is bossy. And Jethro sure seems to enjoy it, judging by his easy grin and prompt response.
My mouth is dry. I lick my lips, wondering how that would translate in bed.
Oh for God’s sake.
I walk over to the drawings and study them, trying to take my mind off the two very sexy men trapped in the tiny kitchen with me.
They’re… pages from a comic. Or seem to be. Fight scenes between superheroes and chases through dark alleys. A cat with arched back stands against the full moon. A fanged mouth opens in a wordless cry.
“Holy shit, these are good.” I’ve read my fair share of comics—even more so since I started working at the bookshop, and the art of these ones is exceptional. “Which comic book were they taken from?”
“Doesn’t have a name,” Jet says. “Not published yet.”
I trace a female silhouette hurrying down a torch-lit corridor, the curve of her hips, the way her long hair flows. “Awesome artist. Friend of yours?”
“You could say that,” Joel says, laughter in his voice, and I turn to find them both smirking at me.
“What?” I’m obviously missing something.
“They’re signed,” Joel says, turning off the stove and placing a bottle of syrup beside the perfect stack of pancakes he’s made.
I raise my brows and turn back to the drawings, searching for the signature. There it is, at the right bottom corner. “JE. Or JC?”
Jet laughs. Joel curses.
“Told you it wasn’t clear,” he hisses, trying to elbow Jethro who makes a face at him.
Wait a minute… “JC? As in Jethro Connors? You made these?”
“He’s the best,” Joel says fondly. “Asshole just won’t believe it.”
“And it’s a comic?” Excitement bubbles inside me. “Is it done? Can I read it?”
Jet pauses in the process of chopping up bananas into thin slices. “It’s almost done.”
I’m practically jumping from foot to foot, my hands fluttering at my sides. “Oh my God, you are making a comic! Can I read it? Pleasepleaseplease?”
“Joel wrote the story,” Jet says. “Ask him.”
Joel writes stories? And Jet draws.
This is too much. “You’re kidding me. You’re both screwing with me, right?”
Joel puts the pancakes on the small kitchen table, his cheeks a bright crimson. “I haven’t found a fitting ending for it yet.”
