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“That was a good hit, huh? Nearly cracked your thick skull?”
Jethro grins faintly, crookedly. “You wish.”
“Have you eaten today?”
Jethro shrugs, mouth twisting.
I realize I’m holding my breath. It’s so… intimate, the way they interact, the way the one cares for the other. Makes me feel like an intruder. Like the third wheel, even if what they have doesn’t seem sexual.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” Joel says, still making no move to get up, his hands resting on Jethro’s knees.
“Something with bananas in it?” Jethro asks, his voice holding laughter, and God, I should go. Now Joel is back, I’m not needed. Jet will be fine.
But the moment I start getting up, Joel stops me with a hand on my leg—the exact moment Jet throws an arm around my shoulders.
“Pancakes,” Joel says firmly. “With chocolate syrup and bananas. What do you think, Candy?”
My stomach gurgles, and I duck my head. “Yeah. Sounds great. But you guys—”
“Then it’s set,” Joel says and stands up.
“Don’t you guys want to talk and eat and rest—”
“Stay,” Jethro says, and I dip my chin.
Why can’t I ever say no to him?
“Then I’ll help,” I declare and scramble to my feet. “With the cooking. And everything.”
Jet huffs and lies back, stretching his arms over his head, and my gaze snags on his bare midriff and the thin trail of hair leading into his waistband.
Hey, I’m human. Can’t help it.
“Right this way, then,” Joel says, giving me his blinding smile, flashing that dimple, and I follow him to the kitchen like a puppy.
Oh God, is this normal? Despite my years of drooling after these two guys and building a whole fantasy world with them for everyone to read on my blog, can I really be equally attracted to both of them—and not just that, but falling for them hook, line and sinker?
***
The kitchen is small and clean, with what look like drawings taped to the far wall, and chrome cupboards and dark counters. Very masculine somehow.
Just like the sight of Joel making pancakes.
Oh my God. Hottest pancakes, hottest chef ever. The way he’s rolled up his sleeves to whip up the ingredients, revealing ropey, muscular forearms, and the look of concentration on his face… I’m staring, standing there all useless and drooling at him.
He sends a distracted smile my way as he reaches for a pan, and I lean back against the counter, my knees weak.
“Thanks for bringing him home.” He puts the pan on the fire, pours the pancake mixture in it, his movements sure and fluid. Experienced. “I wish he’d told me he needed a ride.”
“Why didn’t he? You two are tight.”
His smile slips a little. “I dunno. Sometimes he gets this strange idea that he’s imposing on me. That he’s a nuisance.”
“Why would he think that?”
Joel takes out one perfect, golden pancake and pours in another. “Hell if I know. He’s my best friend. He’s pain in the ass sometimes, but I love him.” He swallows hard. “Not that way. As a friend. Fuck.”
He almost burns the pancake, and I watch, fascinated, as color seeps into his cheeks.
