Chapter 17
Wilkin
Jett's face freezes like he's in the middle of a Zoom call and the Wi-Fi has gone wonky. I put my cup of tea down, my hands trembling.
I don't know why I said that and didn't make up something about wanting him to do well or, heck, feeling guilty about beating him so often. He probably would have liked either of those responses a lot more.
But I said what I said, and there's no going back now.
"Are you sure you guys don't want me to leave?" Reeve asks.
"No, stay. Please. I need you here." I really do.
Maybe it's the fact that he's here that made me feel safe to tell Jett the truth as opposed to making up some lame-ass lie. I'm not sure, but all I know is he cannot leave.
"Stay," Jett says, backing me up. "In case one of us gets murdered, it might be useful to have a witness."
Reeve sort of smiles, but I wouldn't be surprised if in the back of his mind, he's thinking we're both LA nutjobs.
Jett turns to face me, chewing his bottom lip. "You…love me?"
"I do." I drop my head, hit by the sudden realization of what I've said and how my admission is about to change everything between us forever.
"Love as in the way we used to love Snapchat filters back in high school or, like, love-love?"
"Love-love," I reply quietly, still staring at the floor.
Jett leans over as far as he can in his condition and slides his hand up and down my bicep. I turn sideways. Our eyes meet.
He grins. "Of all the things I've said and thought about you, I've never once doubted your taste levels."
My lips stretch. "That all you have to say?"
"I'm still at the needs to use humor to process what's going on stage."
"I see." My eyes drift over to Reeve who's leaning forward, his cheeks a little redder than they were a moment ago, his eyes fixated on…the spot where Jett is touching me.
Emboldened in a way that's new yet feels oddly comfortable, I lift my hand and brush my thumb under Jett's chin. "I really liked kissing you."
His eyes widen, and for someone who accuses me of having a smug smirk, his own version isn't half bad. "That's because I'm a really good kisser."
I chuckle at his oh-so-Jett response. Then I glance over at Reeve. "I think Reeve liked it, too."
"Can confirm," he says, his voice deep and low.
"Want to go again?" I ask Jett.
"You got a fetish for injured guys who can't move?"
"If it weren't for injured guys who can't move, I wouldn't get laid at all."
My comment produces the exact reaction I was hoping it would. Shock followed by a surprised laugh. Yeah, I can be funny, Jett. You've just never let me show you this side of myself.
"If you want to kiss me, kiss me. Just take off your shirt, please."
"Okay, this is definitely my cue to leave," Reeve says, getting up off the floor.
"Like hell it is," I say gruffly, in a way that sounds foreign to my own ears. "It's because of you we're here, doing this. Talking so openly like this. I want you here. Preferably a lot closer. And involved. If that's okay with you?" I check with Jett.
"Of course it's okay with me. I like you, Reeve. And you're a part of this, whether you like it or not."
"You sure?" His eyes dart between us as he approaches.
My eyes fall to his erection, visible through the denim.
"I am," Jett confirms.
"One thousand percent," I say, pulling him in by his wrist once he's within range.
"You're hurt, though," he says, taking in Jett's leg, which, yes, does pose a logistical problem.
But who's got time for logistics?
"It's fine," Jett says, waving Reeve's concern away, clearly on the same horny page as me. "Besides…" Jett smiles sweetly at the two of us. "My legs have nothing to do with my ability to suck cock."