Is this a dream?
Probably, I decide, because there is a definite feel of arms locked around me, a jagged, muscular male body molded to my back.
Something flickers in the corner of my vision. The TV is on, the sound low. A documentary, I think fuzzily, the reel a grainy black and white. People running. An explosion.
Huh. That was the noise, I guess.
Slowly, carefully, I extricate myself from the arms holding me down. The body behind me shifts, the hold tightening for a moment before going slack.
I slide free and sit up, swinging my legs off the couch.
The couch in Jethro
and Joel’s apartment, my memory whispers as I wait for the room to stop spinning. Where I followed Jet, worried that he was dizzy and sick. Where he asked me to hold him, and to stay the night.
I wasn’t supposed to wake up to Joel sitting across from me, to meet his light blue gaze as he lifts his head and stares right back at me.
There’s a world of emotions packed in that look. A world of feels. Sadness. Anger. Curiosity. Heat. Amusement. Confusion. Hurt.
Then he blinks and it’s all gone, all that emotion. Poof. Joel grins at me, his eyes a blank mirror. “Sleep well, princess?”
His voice is low, a raspy whisper that sends a sudden bolt of heat down my center. “Didn’t hear you arrive.” I rub at my eyes. “Didn’t expect to fall asleep, either.”
He snorts softly. “It must have been damn good for both of you to pass out like that.”
I cock my head at him, trying to make sense of his words, but my brain is still sleep-addled. “Good?”
His mouth presses into a flat line, and he shrugs.
Wait, does he mean…? Wow, yes, he does.
“You told me I should date him,” I remind him as my brain starts playing catching up—and hey, I’m not at my best after waking up, not before I’ve had some coffee. “That he deserves to be happy.”
He looks away, jaw clenched. “Yeah, I did. Dammit.” He rises to his feet in one fluid movement, shoulders hunched. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Joel.” I’m on my feet so fast I almost fall over. I make a grab for his arm, ending up snagging his hand. “Nothing happened.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” His fingers curl around mine, and his whole body seems to be vibrating with tension—like he’s doing his best not to shake me off and take off running.
“Jet and I. He wasn’t feeling well. I drove him home, came up to make sure he was okay. We just fell asleep, that’s all.”
He glances down at my very dressed self, jaw working, then toward the sofa where Jet is now sitting up, giving us a dazed look, his hair sticking out in one side. He looks so cute like that. And hot.
And dressed from head to toe.
“You’re sick, dickhead?” Joel mutters, the tension seeping out of his tall body. “Coming down with something?”
“He said he had a bad headache,” I reply, before Jet opens his mouth. “He was dizzy. He said he hit his head yesterday.”
Jethro grunts and rubs a hand over his mouth.
“Fuck.” Joel drags me back to the couch and pushes me down to sit, then sinks down on his heels in front of Jethro. “Hey, Jet.”
“What’s up, mate?” Those pretty dark eyes are hooded, hazy.
“How you feeling?”
“Been better.”