Kian
Jett crumples the letter in his hand. “Bastard.” He clenches his teeth, and his face fills with colour as though he’s about to combust.
Hopefully, he won’t.
I look around.
“What?” Jett grumbles.
“How come I didn’t get a letter?”
Where’s my explanation for why I’ve been handcuffed to the guy who’s been my brother’s best friend for as long as I can remember? The guy I’ve had a crush on since I realised I was gay in high school. The guy Rufus teases me about fancying.
Oh.
Okay. Yeah. My brother is a bastard.
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. My head throbs, and the light is far too bright. “Turn the light off?”
“You still want to sleep?”
“Uh, yeah. I want to sleep this hangover off. Don’t you?” I press my left hand over my eyes. “Why did I drink so much?”
“Why did you drink so much?”
It’s a good question. Jett and I have been in the same orbit for years. He’s never seen me drink to excess because, as a rule, I don’t. I’ve never seen the point in getting so drunk I end up spewing my guts up or forgetting what’s happened. Or, worse, both.
I part my fingers and peek at him. He’s lying beside me, propped up on his right elbow.
“Archer kept filling my glass up,” I reply. “I guess I didn’t realise how drunk I was getting, and then once I was drunk, it was harder to say no.”
“Rufus kept filling mine up.”
“They were in it together?”
“They must have all been involved,” Jett grunts.
“This might be the first and last time I come on one of Rufus’s bender weekends.”
I normally leave my brother to it, but he was so persuasive I couldn’t refuse. Knowing Jett was going to be here might have helped my decision-making process. He’s gorgeous, especially now, while his dark, wavy hair is dishevelled from sleep and grumpiness.
He’s a good-looking guy. He has heavy eyebrows, which curve up slightly in the middle. His nose is hooked and a bit too large for his face, but his dark beard and moustache somehow offset it. Although I fancied him before he grew a beard. I like the way the tops of his ears have a slight downward bend to them. I might have dreamt about kissing his plump lips on multiple occasions. He’s slim but not ‘snap like a twig if the wind blows’ thin like I am.
Whoever put us into bed together didn’t bother to remove Jett’s signet rings and bracelets. He wears three rings on his right hand and two on his left, all different. My favourite is the horseshoe ring. I’d like to think it brings him luck. But I’m not sure it does. Somewhere along the line, Jett changed from the guy with the perpetual smile I fell for to someone with a permanent scowl. Same orbit or not, I’m not close enough to know why, let alone how to help his amazing smile return.
“It was reckless.” Jett’s words break me out of my thoughts. “We could have choked on our vomit or something.”
I grimace. “Cheerful thought.”
“Sorry.”
I wave my hand and put it back over my eyes. “You have a point. I don’t think Rufus will have meant any harm, though.”
He lifts his hand, jangling the cuff and pulling my hand away from my face. He frowns. “He handcuffed us together. I heard someone leaving as I woke up.”
I tug and cover my eyes again. “Maybe someone stayed to keep an eye on us while we were passed out from drinking too much.”
“That’s something,” he mutters.
