I arch my eyebrow.
“Thanks for”—he waves his hand—“trying to keep me calm.”
“Is it working?”
“Not really.” He flops onto the sofa. “I can’t believe Rufus did this.”
I walk to the sofa and lean over the back of it so my face is alongside his. “Is spending a couple of days away from your laptop really so bad?”
He grunts.
“Does work pay you overtime?” I’m clueless about what he does day to day.
“Not unless it’s authorised, and they only do that when we’ve got big deadlines coming up.”
“And the work you wanted to do this weekend, was that urgent enough for them to authorise overtime?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t need to work. But I guess you want to.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
“You’ve got Rufus and the rest of your arsehole friends.”
“I’m not sure I do after this stunt.”
I roll my eyes. “They have a lot of grovelling to do. You and Rufus have been friends for years. He’s out of line, but it’s not worth throwing your friendship away over.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“It’s not.” I pat his shoulder. “I’ll go make that coffee.” I wander to the door, pause, and turn back.
Jett is staring at the TV, arms folded, chin down, looking utterly fucking miserable. I rub my chest to erase the ache there. If only Jett would smile more. I lift my chin. Mission accepted. If we’re stuck here until tomorrow evening, I’m going to make it my mission to make him smile as much as possible.
Chapter3
Jett
I stare at the TV without looking at it as I visualise the coding I was working on last night before Rufus plied me with enough alcohol to pass out. I don’t remember drinking that much, but I guess the more I drank, the more I lost track. I’ve been working on a perplexing coding problem for weeks now. Last night, I was starting to make some progress. I was going to find a quiet corner today to work on it while the guys lazed around or went swimming in the lake. Now that plan has gone up in smoke. I can’t think of anything to do aside from watching our way through the stack of unappealing DVDs. I can’t even go for a walk to clear my head because Rufus—the dickhead—stole my fucking shoes and socks.
Kian’s offhand offer of a blow job floats into my head. He had to have been joking. If I was trapped here with any other guy, I might have let myself be curious enough to take them up on their offer. I do wonder sometimes what it would be like, normally, when I’m in the gym changing room after swimming, surrounded by semi-naked men. I push all thoughts of curiosity blow jobs out of my head. I’m not going there with my best friend’s kid brother. Probably my ex-best friend’s kid brother after this weekend.
Not that Kian is a kid anymore.
Somewhere along the line, he stopped being a kid and then a gangly, awkward teenager and became…gorgeous. No other description would do him justice. He has a radiance about him. He’s almost always smiling, and when he does, his pale green eyes light up and shimmer like emeralds. His light brown hair is cut into a mid-length, windswept style that makes him look like he’s stepped straight out of the pages of a manga.
I sweep my hand through my hair. I need to stop thinking about how beautiful my best friend’s younger brother is.
“Coffee.” He puts a tray on the table with two huge coffee mugs and two pint glasses of water. “I also figured more water would be a good plan. You take your coffee black, right? No sugar.”
I raise my eyebrows a fraction. How does he know how I take my coffee? He must’ve been paying attention, unlike me. I’ve been so internalised recently that life has been passing me by. I shake the thought loose. Yuk. Kian’s coffee is more milk than coffee.
“Thanks.” I pick up the giant mug of hot coffee and cradle it in my hands. The warmth is comforting, as is the smell, rich and bitter.
