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“You guess.”
“Yeah. If you like the nerdy, pigtailed type.”
“You do like that kind, mate.”
That’s right, I do. No one knows me like Jethro.
And… he said “mate.”
Yeah, something’s off. I squint at him. He grew up in Australia as a child, and although he moved to the States with his family when he was ten, his accent sometimes comes through, especially when he’s tired or nervous. Okay, seriously, what the hell’s going on today with him?
“So what’s your plan?”
“Huh?”
“To win over this girl.”
“I need a plan?”
“Well, flashing your baby blues didn’t do the trick this time, did it? Not all chicks will drop their panties and lie on their backs when you enter the room, you know, no matter how good you look. Some girls like guys who give a fuck. Who bring them coffee, and ask them how their day has been.”
“I know that,” I say, irritated.
Because I sort of know all this, but I also did sort of expect her to drop her panties and, well. Bend over, maybe. Or wrap her legs around me.
Why the hell not? We’d both have had a good time. And this time it would work. I know it in my gut. I would let go, and I’d co—
“Unless you don’t care,” Jethro says, “any more than you did for any other chick.”
I probably don’t. Why should I? I don’t really know her.
So I get up, run my hands through my hair, refusing to think about it any longer. “How about we order pizza and play Call of Duty?”
A grin breaks out on Jet’s face. “You need to ask, fucktwat?”
Right. “I’m gonna kick your ass, buddy. Gonna make you my bitch.”
He flinches, and a strangled noise escapes him. “You wish.”
Okay, what the fuck? He sure is acting weird today. “It’s a fact, man.”
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?”
