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I’m so worked up, I’m glad we’re about to close shop and go home. I need relief, and if the two hunks I’m lusting over won’t give it to me, I’ll have to take things into my own hands.
Again.
Depressing as the thought might be, a tiny spark of warmth blooms in my chest. Jethro is opening up to me. Telling me truths about him. It was a shock to find out he hasn’t finished school, and somehow even worse to find out he has problems with reading—but it fits. With his black clothes, his tattoos, his unreadable gaze, his mystery.
It’s like his past is an invisible thorn tearing him apart, and although I know that people fail school for various reasons, I trust my gut.
There’s so much more behind those dark eyes than he lets on.
And he’s fighting it. Fighting to move on, to get ahead. Before I even digested the fact he never finished school, he’s telling me he’s preparing for his GED.
And before I finish offering to help, he tells me he took this job to see me again.
If only he knew… if he knew I approached him aware of who he is. Of the fantasies I’ve entertained over the years with him and Joel starring…
Donna waves goodbye—she has a charity event to attend, and Jethro and I are closing shop tonight—and walks out quickly. I make a mental note to talk to her about Jethro and convince her that he lost his diploma, to give him some time to locate it.
Then I start when the door of the shop opens again, and he stalks inside, his face set in impassive line
s once more.
Not impassive, I realize when I take a better look. He’s frowning. He rubs a hand over his eyes, pressing into the sockets, as he staggers toward the back of the shop.
I’m walking after him before I can stop myself. Crap, I should hold back, give him space, after dragging him out for that little talk during which he told me things he may have regretted. But he looks like he’s in pain.
“Jethro?” I walk among tall rows of books, promising myself this is the last time I’m pushing my way into his privacy. That if he as much as glares at me for seeking him out again, I’m done and won’t bother him again. “Are you okay?”
No reply, and I glance cautiously around a row.
“Sorry if I pushed you to tell me stuff,” I try again, and maybe it’s time I took a hint and left him alone. “Listen, I’ll just—”
He’s leaning back against a shelf, a hand splayed over his face. It drops as I approach him and he blinks, his brow creased. Does he look pale or is it the light in the shop?
“What’s wrong?” I hesitate.
“Just a headache.”
I nod, worry my lip between my teeth. “Get them often?”
“Sometimes.” He winces, eyes fluttering closed. “When I’m tense.”
“Is it because of what you told me? Or did I do something?”
“What?” He blinks at me again. “S’not you. I hit my head last night. Joel startled me. I fell.”
“Holy crap. How did that happen?” I take a step closer. “Are you dizzy?”
He starts to shake his head and winces. “Not much.”
Man… “Tell me Joel is driving you home tonight?”
“Nah. I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Something like sadness passes over his features, and it makes my own heart heavy. “It’s fucking complicated.”
“What is?”
“Joel and me.”
My pulse is deafening in my ears. What does he mean? I approach him, and he grabs my hand, pulls me to him.
