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“And?”
“And. He just hired a certain Jethro Connors to man one of them. I found out by chance.”
“You’re not serious.” Because, Holy Athlete Buns! “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious as a heart attack, woman. If I could go to this concert, trust me, I would, and I wouldn’t be taking you with. I’d have him all to myself to lick and wow with my mad tongue skillz.”
I can’t even. I’m snorting coffee through my nose. But through it all, one thought shines like a nuclear blast.
Holy shit, I could meet Jethro Connors!
Chapter Two
JOEL
Jet comes at me with his fists raised, and I jump out of reach of his right hook. I know his style. And he knows mine. Years of doing this—dancing around each other, exchanging punches and kicks and insults, afterward showering and getting dressed in the gym lockers before heading out for a drink.
He kicks out. I knock his foot aside and grapple him. He grunts, his taped hands still curled into fists, thumping on my back. I twist us and throw him down on his back, locking my knees on either side of him to keep him down. He bucks against me, trying to get a hit in, but I pin his hands against the mat.
“Give up,” I tell him, wheezing. “You’re done here.”
“Get off me.”
“Not until you say you give up. I win. You owe me a drink.”
“You arrogant bastard,” he writhes like an eel, almost throwing me off, his face red with exertion, “just get off—”
“Say it.”
His gaze darkens, and he turns his face away. “Fuck you. You win.” Not for the first time I notice that he has ridiculously long lashes for a guy. Long and thick and dark.
“Good.” I blink, the heat pooling in my chest flowing lower, and I fling myself off him with a silent curse. “Race you to the showers.”
“Go ahead, J. Show off.”
Flipping him the bird, I stalk to the showers, shaking my head at myself. It’s just the thrill of winning over Jet, not an easy victory on any given day. And the exercise, all this rolling together and—
I turn on the cold water and hiss as it hits me, finally driving all these strange thoughts from my head.
“Jet!” I close the apartment door behind me and peek into the kitchen. Where the hell is that motherfucker? “Jethry-boy.”
“You called?”
A door inside the apartment bangs open, and a cloud of steam billows out of the bathroom. Haloed in that steam is my roommate and best buddy, Jethro the-Pain-in-the-Ass-crack Connors. Clad in a tiny black towel, he saunters past me and into his bedroom, giving me a very clear view of his muscular back and ass.
And why am I staring at Jethro’s ass?
Motherfucker.
“Where were you? I waited for you for ages.” I stomp after him and focus my gaze on his drawings decorating the wall instead. “Hey, assface.”
“Me? You were with a chick, in a fucking bookstore. And you were supposed to meet Ellen. Which I don’t really get. I thought the only thing you two shared was a scandal.”
Yeah, and he doesn’t know the details, thank fuck.
He doesn’t need to know how fucking scared I am that photo might be splashed all over the internet one day after all. If my parents ever found out…
He sniffs. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get under Ellen’s skirt again? I thought you were over her.”
