Page 12 of The Last Guy On Earth
“No, thank God.”That’s only me. “She’s a med student at Stanford.”
“A med student.” Jethro pronounces this like it’s in a foreign language. “Christ, your family. Bunch of overachievers.”
“You’re telling me.”
Jethro rests his lazy gaze on Clay again, and Clay takes the opportunity to study his eyes. They’re a green-gray color at the center, with the most amazing dark green ring around the iris. They’re framed by long, sandy lashes with pale tips. Clay studies them way too often.
“You know whatmysister is up to?” Jethro asks, and Clay shakes his head. “Getting slapped around by some dickwad who deals pot to high school students.”
“Fuck,” Clay whispers.
“Used to be able to keep an eye on her, but now I’m trapped out here in Shitsville. Last night a friend texted me a picture of Shelby’s boyfriend screaming at her in a parking lot.”
“You’re worried about her.”
“Constantly. She’s nineteen and clueless, but thinks she knows everything.” He closes his eyes. “She ran off the rails after our mother died. I’ve been trying to convince her to figure out her life. I sent her some money so she could go back to school, but she spent it onhim.”
And here Clay thought he was stressed out. “That blows. I’m sorry.”
“Couldn’t sleep last night.” He reaches back and grips the base of his skull. “Feel like you. All tight and angsty.”
“Hey, lift up a sec.” Clay nudges Jethro’s legs out of the way. Then he stands and moves to the back of the couch. After setting his hands onto Jethro’s shoulders, he digs his thumbs into the muscles there.
Jethro sighs, relaxing into his touch. And Clay goes to town, giving him a major-league massage and ignoring the way his own body hums at their proximity.
Until Jethro suddenly clasps Clay’s wrist, stopping him.
Clay’s heart stutters when Jethro turns to meet his gaze. “Thanks,” he says gruffly.
“You’re welcome,” he whispers, unable to tug his eyes away.
Jethro doesn’t look away, either. “Hey. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“W-what?” Clay’s breath leaves his body.
“The grocery bill,” Jethro says. “You’ve been lowballing it for me.”
“Oh.” He lets out a slow breath. “I buy organic, and it’s spendy. Not your problem.”
“Appreciate it,” he says gruffly, releasing Clay’s wrist.
With his heart galloping, Clay crosses to the kitchen to check the chicken.
SEVEN
Jethro
“But I don’twantto move,” Toby insists, his young voice radiating panic from my rental car’s speakers. “I like my room the way it is.”
My blood pressure climbs another notch. “I hear you, bud. But your room at Grandpa’s house isn’t going anywhere. You can visit in the summer. In the meantime, you’ll also have a nice room here. It’s a great townhouse. There’s even a fireplace, so Santa can find you.”
That last tip is courtesy of the real estate agent.That’s what my kids would worry about, she’d said.
But not Toby, apparently. “Jeez, I’m not ababy,” he scoffs.
I hold back a sigh. “Just keep an open mind,” I beg. “There’s a killer playground at the complex. That’s why they showed this place to me. Lots of kids live around there. You can see it tomorrow.”
“They can have it. I’m not coming!” he insists. “There’s no reason I should have to!”
