Wilkin puts his feet flat on the ground and angles his body toward Jett. "Fine. If you really want to know, I got you the job."
"What?"
Oh, shit. Dark clouds aren't just forming in the sky overhead, there's one giant-ass motherfucker hanging over Jett right now.
Wilkin sighs. "I wanted to help you out, and I knew that if I came to you with a job offer, you'd tell me where to stick it. So I had an ad created, and you went through a process that was completely removed from me."
"Except for the fact that you set the whole thing up."
"I was trying to help you."
"I didn't need your help," Jett snaps, pushing to his feet.
"Actually, you did." Wilkin's on his feet now, too. Oh, boy, this is escalating. "Just like you needed help finding your apartment."
"What are you talking about?"
"I know the property manager."
"Bullshit you do."
"The name Phillip Martinez ring any bells?"
Jett's jaw drops. "Wow. So you're not only a smug bastard that steals everything I want from under my nose, you're also a condescending prick."
"Jett," I interject in a low tone, standing up and reaching out my arm toward him.
He pulls away from me sharply. "You don't understand, Reeve. This is what he does. All my life. When I want something, he takes it from me. It's what he does. So don't be fooled by his attempt at being nice, which is actually more creepy than anything else if you think about it. And that!" He points his finger directly at Wilkin's face. Specifically, that weird little smile thing he does. "I fucking hate that smug smile. He's loving this. He loves rubbing it in my face that he's the successful one, and I'm the loser."
"Jett, that's not it?—"
Before Wilkin can say anything else, Jett is already stomping off.
Wilkin looks distraught. I side hug him and say, "Let him cool off. You can talk it out when he gets back."
Wilkin turns to look up at me, tears in his eyes. "I was only trying to help him because…"
A tear falls down his cheek. I thumb it away. "Because you're in love with him. And that weird smile you do from time to time isn't a smug one, it's another tell. It's what happens when you get nervous, right? Your lips betray you."
"H-how did you know?"
I'm about to answer when we hear a loud, "Holy fuck."
Jett's on the ground, writhing in pain, clutching his knee.
We race over to him.
"What happened?" Wilkin asks.
Jett manages to point over his shoulder to a tree root jutting out of the ground.
"Stay still," I instruct. "Where does it hurt?"
"Here," Jett says, grimacing hard, tapping his knee. "And my ankle. Ow. It really fucking hurts."
"Help me carry him back inside?" I ask Wilkin who's nodding before I get the full question out.
"I don't need any more of his help," Jett grumbles, proving the male ego really is fucking stupid.
