Free Bladed Wings by Jarod Davis Page B

“You look happy. Suspiciously happy.”
    “How can you be suspiciously happy?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe you killed someone you really didn’t like. Uh, you could have stolen some diamond somewhere. That or you could have gotten some very nice drugs. All of which are illegal and all of which I have a right to know about.”
    “Why?”
    “Simple,” Jeremiah said. “Any of those reasons and you pose a threat to me. If you were a good friend, you’d be willing to tell me why I shouldn’t trust you. That’s real honesty. There’s no one worse than a guy who says he’s honest because he’s probably lying because he’s probably lied at some point. But then you get a liar who admits it, and hey, you know who you’re dealing with and you can plan accordingly. Which brings us back to that first question, why are you so happy?”
    “No reason,” Timothy said.
    “C’mon.”
    “Really,” Timothy said, “I’m not that happy.” And if he thought about it, there wasn’t a reason for it. The glow of excitement shouldn’t have simmered in his chest. He shouldn’t have moved like he was on the edge of singing. They talked, sure, but it wasn’t supposed to be special. Billions of guys talked to billions of girls every day. Nothing special there. It shouldn’t have mattered.
    But it did. It so totally did.
    And she still had her boyfriend—that evaporated some of the fun and joy of knowledge, but not enough of it. He talked to her. They had a conversation and she was nice, and maybe he helped her. Timothy leaned back, basking in the fantastic accomplishment of not running away.
    “You’re a liar. Worse than a liar, you’re a bad liar.”
    “Thanks.”
    “I’m honest,” Jeremiah smirked.
    “So I shouldn’t trust you?”
    “Never.” Setting his book on their coffee table, “So what happened?”
    “I talked to her.”
    “Hot neighbor girl? I’d ask how it went, but your lover’s grin says you’re about to score.” Jeremiah crossed his arms over his chest like there were no other possibilities.
    “No.”
    “But you talked to her? Your first step.”
    “She has a boyfriend.”
    “So?” Jeremiah asked, “She’s what, nineteen?”
    “Somewhere around there.”
    “Most marriages don’t last. What makes you think her relationship will? Dude, they’re not even sharing bank accounts yet. They’ll break up when he forgets Valentine’s Day or when she decides she needs someone different. People are fickle. They change their minds.”
    “So you think I should just wait?”
    “Well, I’d suggest you do something more aggressive, but you’re too good for that.”
    “Right. You know you just totally wrecked my mood?”
    “What’d I do?” Jeremiah demanded. “Make you remember that she has someone else in her life?”
    “Yes.”
    “Not my fault.”
    “Then whose is it?” Timothy wanted to know.
    “His. But if it makes you feel any better, he’s probably a jerk.”
    “I doubt it. We talked about him. She sounded pretty happy.”
    “You talked about him? That must’ve been fun.”
    “The best.”
    “What’d you discover? Anything valuable?”
    “I helped her.”
    “How?” Jeremiah asked, suspicious. “Tell me it’s not something you’re going to regret.”
    “No,” Timothy shook his head. “I won’t regret it. I helped her with her relationship. They were having a problem, and I gave her some advice.”
    “I’d hit you if I had a rolled up newspaper, you realize that, right?”
    “It’s not that bad.”
    “It’s terrible. You want the girl so you offer relationship advice?” Then something occurred to him, “Wait, are you actually this bad with women? Because if you gave her bad advice, then you’re brilliant.”
    “I tried to help her.”
    “Terrible.”
    “I care about her.”
                  “And that makes you stupid?”
                  Timothy guessed, “Sometimes.”
     
                  On Sunday, Timothy drove to