He gives me a half-smile and shrugs. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“Now I’m worried. Maybe you hit your head too hard.”
“Haha. Dick.”
“Jackass.”
He follows me into the kitchen, leans against the counter. His hair is wild, sticking up in every direction, and I reach out and ruffle it without thinking.
Jet’s mouth opens, closes.
I snatch back my hand.
Uh. “So you need help with something?”
I’m sure I’ve ruffled his hair before. I must have. Once or twice. We’re friends. Friends touch, even when they’re guys. So why does it feel different all of a sudden?
“Yeah.” He rakes one hand through his hair, and I watch his fingers disappear in the wild, black tangle, my mouth suddenly dry. “I need to write a resume. If I’m gonna be looking for a different kind of job.”
I lick my lips. “No prob. I can help you with that. Any specific kind of job in mind?”
“A store. I guess?”
A shop sounds good. Safer than a bar. Better hours. “Awesome, dude. Let me finish up here and you can show me what you got?”
“Sure you can handle it?” He arches a brow, and again I’m staring at him, this time having a what-the-fuck moment.
He saunters out of the kitchen, and I’m still staring after him, unsure as to what just happened.
***
“You sure you wanna put that bit in?” I ask him after three hours of tweaking his resume. Guy has lots of work experience, only it’s scattered all over the place, and most places probably won’t even care enough to answer if he asks for a reference.
“Yep.”
“Fine.” I click save on the document and frown at it. “Hey, you didn’t put any education. You didn’t go to college, but you could mention our high school.”
“Dude…” Jet pushes his chair back and wanders toward the window, shoving both hands in his hair. He’s a dark silhouette against the fading light.
“What?”
He’s now rubbing the back of his head, biceps bulging in his arms. Good to see all that wrestling and working out at the gym paid off. He’s such a strong guy, but right now his back is bowed forward, and he won’t look at me.
What am I missing? “Was it so bad?”
He laughs, a dry sound. “You don’t know, do you? Guess I never told you. I never officially finished school.”
I stand up, too, my mouth hanging open. “Son of a bitch. All these years we’ve been hanging out, and living together, for chrissakes, you didn’t think to tell me this? Are you serious right now?”
I just assumed things. That summer I was so wrapped up in sports I barely saw him anyway.
“What does it matter?” he snarls, and shit, he’s so angry his eyes burn like dark flames. “Told you there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Like what?” I challenge him.
He shakes his head and makes a beeline for the door. To run. To hide.
From me.