Candy Ever After (Hot Candy Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  Not just any men. Two men in particular, two men I have now met and hot damn… I’m throbbing, excited just from the mental image.

  Okay… Time out.

  Chapter Five

  JOEL

  I glance at Jet as we run along the park.

  The tradition of running together started back when we first met. I was on the track team of the school, and he said he wanted to give it a go, so we began running together two, three times a week.

  That’s also the time we started wrestling. I was into all sorts of sports.

  He said he wanted to be stronger. He was kinda scrawny back then, way too thin and gangly, all limbs and joints.

  Not anymore. I glance at him as we round a corner and cross the street to enter the park where we often end up in our evening jogs. He’s filled out, his shoulders wide, his frame muscled, his legs strong. He’s as tall as me now, too, and can take me out at least one time in two on the wrestling mat.

  The thought makes me grin and give him a shove as we jog into the park. He gives me the finger, and I only grin wider. He’s always been a prickly motherfucker, but he seems more confident now than ever before. I got to see that transformation from awkward boy to a damn strong man, and I’m proud of him.

  If only he told me what happened to him before I met him…

  “You okay now?” I ask for the third time, and Jethro sends me a pissed-off look.

  “I’m fucking fine.”

  “Need help?”

  “Fuck you.”

  I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze away from Jethro who’s limping beside me down the street toward my car, away from the bruise darkening his jaw and his split lip.

  “Didn’t know you changed jobs,” I mutter. From a bad and seedy bar, to an even worse and seedier one.

  “You don’t know everything about me.”

  “Don’t make me punch you, you assface. You want me to pick up where those guys left off?”

  He stops, fists clenching, eyes flashing. “Try it.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” I grab his arm and haul him toward my car, scowling at everyone unlucky enough to step in our path. “Tell me you started the fight. Tell me you wanted the pain.”

  “And if I said yes?”

  I let go of him to unlock the car. “I’d call bullshit.” He may be brash and moody, but Jet’s not an asshole. “What happened to the previous job?”

  “Got fired, what did you think?”

  “Why?”

  A silent beat. “Freaked out.”

  Shit. It’s been a while since he had an episode. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “No, I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

  Heh, right. That’s the Jet I know. Farting rainbows.

  The ride home is too damn quiet. I should have punched him for not telling me he was fired. Damn, that bar where he’s working now seems far worse than the previous one. For one, it appeared full of junkies and psychopaths. And for another, he was beaten up.

  “You should quit.” I’m driving on autopilot, stealing glances at his still profile. “Find something else.”

  “This is what I know.”

  Not sure whether he means the job or the violence, and it makes me wanna slam my head against the wheel.

  “You worked other jobs. You can change again.”

  “Not everyone has your confidence, Joel Dickinson.”

  “Shut up.” I elbow him and he lets out a startled huff. “Jethro Jackasson.”

  He snorts. “Jackasson?”

  “You don’t like it? How about Fuckwittison?”

  “Fuck off.”

  But he’s grinning, and it eases the tension in my chest, although his split lip is bleeding again. He elbows me back and wipes at the blood on his chin with the back of his hand.

  “You’re not really a dick,” he says. “Not all the time.”

  “And you’re not always a motherfucking pain in the ass. Like, not every single minute of every hour.”

  “I’m so fucking touched.”

  “You should be. I’m being magnanimous.” I turn into our street. “Wanna work on the comic tonight? I got some cool ideas from this Viking history book I’ve been reading. Man, you should see the descriptions of the armor!”

  But he shakes his head. It’s not often he’s not in the mood to work on the comic we’re putting together. He loves that project, and he’s an amazing artist.

  Then again, he looks really tired.

  Change of track.

  “How about we chill out, watch a movie tonight?” I glance at him.

  “Sure.” He chews on his lip, and I wince when fresh blood wells. “Will you help me out with something?”

  I nod.

  Dammit, I’d do anything for this guy, doesn’t he know that? Him and my sis, they’re the two people I’d fight anyone for. I have no secrets from him.

  Well, apart from one. Could I tell him, ask him for advice, too? Would it be weird? Could I tell him I’m dying to ask this girl, Candy, out, but I’m not sure it will work out?

  Can I confess to him that I’m hesitating to ask a pretty girl out because nothing seems to get me off anymore?

  ***

  Jet is quiet as we enter the apartment. He doesn’t vanish in his room like usual, but hangs around and even allows me to clean up the blood from his face.

  Does he realize it eases my worry for him when he lets me take care of him once in a while? Is it weird that I want to? Is it not manly enough?

  Fuck that. I don’t fucking care. He needs this, and so do I.

  He says nothing when I march to the kitchen and whip up some pancakes with maple syrup and fry some crisp bacon.

  Jet’s favorite food, besides banana dishes. Need to buy some. Maybe that will lift his black mood.

  He lets me do my thing. I set up the table in front of the TV, place the stack of pancakes, the syrup and bacon and cold beers, and he sinks down beside me on the couch.

  We stuff ourselves with the food, and I put on the first Matrix movie, because it’s something light. We pull some Neo combat moves at each other, snickering like mad, and Jet offers me a piece of bacon and asks me if I want the truth or if I want to keep living in an illusion.

  It should be funny, but for some reason it’s not.

  We finish the movie in silence, and I pick up the dishes to carry them to the kitchen.

  “Hey, J.”

  I turn around, balancing the dishes and beer bottles. “What?”

  “Thanks. For this.” He waves a hand at what I’m carrying. “I know I’m a pain in the ass and I own it, but—”

  “Shut up,” I say gruffly. “You’re not. I was dicking around.”

  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, a
nd 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.

  No fucking way. I block his path and grab his arm. He doesn’t fight it, which throws me off a bit, only lets his head drop forward until his chin hits his chest.

  “I’m studying,” he whispers. “To get my GED. So fuck off with your judgment.”

  “I’m not judging.”

  “Sure, you’re not. You—”

  I pull him to me and give him a one-armed hug. “Get that GED. It will open more doors. You’re a bright guy, Jet Jackasson.”

  I mean it.

  He punches me in the arm and snorts. “Fuck off.”

  I let him go, change the topic.

  Slowly. One day at a time. I’m wearing him down, finding out more and more about him. But one thing is for certain, and always was:

  Jethro is my bro, and I’ve got his back, always.

  ***

  Jethro and I have been friends for the past four years—since my last year at high school. He was the new kid on the block, quiet and sullen. I was the rising track star athlete, president of my class, surrounded by friends.

  Not real friends, though. And he was the real thing. Genuine. Trustworthy. Not kissing my ass like everyone else, but looking for something true to say. To connect. And we did—over martial arts and video games, talks about chicks, violent Japanese comics and historical battles.

  But above all, he stood by me when everyone else didn’t. When nobody could. When nobody else understood. He never turned his back. And I’ll never forget it, though he never opened up to me, even after that. Even after all these years.

  There’s a mystery about him. There always has been. I’ve realized time after time how little I know about him. But he’s opening up, month after month, year after year.

  After what he’s been through in his life, what he hinted at about his past, I can understand he needs the time to trust again. I’ll be by his side when he does. I’ve been working on making him accept I’m not going anywhere since we met. He was very skittish then when it came to talking about himself. About what he needed, what he wanted. He’s much better now.

  And what do you want? a tiny voice whispers in the back of my mind.

  Same as always. My best friend by my side, and a girl who gets me and turns me on in my arms. The latter is proving harder to find, but nerdy girl has given me hope.

  I’m hard every damn time I’m around her. Every time I imagine things I’d do to her, her cries of pleasure.

  Yeah, maybe this time it will work out.

  I still haven’t told Jet about this. Still not sure I fucking should. He’s a pretty laid back guy—I mean he knows all about what happened at college, things nobody else knows—but I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries and make things awkward. Don’t wanna jinx our friendship.

  So I’m at work, my mind working overtime—and I still haven’t heard from my boss about the incident in the copier room.

  Now every fucking time I go in there, I feel watched, and jumpy, and I keep my hands so far away from my crotch I keep hitting things. Broke a crystal clip jar this morning.

  I mean, who in their sane mind keeps crystal clip jars on their desks in this time and day, huh?

  Fuck, boss is staring at me again through the window. What the fuck does he want from my life?

  I grab the copies from the printer and hurry back to the office I share with two other guys—both BA majors, like me. Both bored with their lives and trying to hide it.

  I’m not feeling bored. I’m fucking pissed at the world, at my goddamn bad luck, at the boss for not calling me to get it over with, and at myself for being so paranoid.

  I pretend to be working, waiting for the boss to call and tell me to step into his office for a little talk. I read and reread the company policy book that I’m supposed to know by heart, my gaze rolling over the words, grasping nothing. I tidy up my desk, check my emails, start replying to one and then stop, realizing I have no clue what to say.

  I glare at my phone. Call already. Call me and get it over with.

  Nothing.

  It’s a war of nerves, I decide, and grit my teeth. Is he waiting to see if I do it again? If I show any other signs of inappropriate behavior? Maybe some photographic evidence?

  I glance around uneasily, wondering if there are hidden cameras.

  If there is anything mentioned about the college incident in my personnel file.

  If the boss is waiting for a staff meeting to out me.

  If I get a reprimand and Jethro finds out about it, a reprimand of this nature, he’ll never talk to me ever again. Fucker.

  So when the boss finally calls me to his office in the early afternoon, I go in guns blazing.

  “Mr. Kingsley,” he greets me.

  “It’s a misunderstanding,” I reply, standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding. “It’s not true. All lies.”

  He looks confused. “Your name isn’t Kingsley?”

  “It is, as I’m sure you know.” Now he’s mocking me, on top of everything.

  I wait for him to tell me about the college scandal, and the copier room, but he just frowns at me. “Are you all right, Mr. Kingsley?”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I say with a savage snarl and swing my ass into the chair across from his desk.

  Silence spreads. He’s observing me with a funny expression on his bearded face, something like amusement that pisses me off more.

  Damn this charade.

  “Did something happen that I should know about?” he eventually asks, steepling his fingers together on the desk.

  “Isn’t this about the copier room?”

  “And what happened in the copier room?”

  Fuck, is he gonna make me spell it out for him? “You saw me from the window.”

  “I see many things, Mr. Kingsley, but what is it you think I saw?”

  Shit, is he kidding me? “Why did you call me to your office?”

  “To talk to you about a new project that might interest you. A sports-related one.”

  “That sounds… great,” I say in a strangled voice. “Thank you, sir.” I clear my throat. “I’m all ears.”

  Holy shit. Holy goddamn shit.

  If paranoia doesn’t kill you, it sure fucks you five ways to Sunday.

  Chapter Six

  JETHRO

  I had no one. I wasn’t e
ven sure I was sane anymore. I was alone against the world, and the world was full of teeth and claws and flashing knives.

  And then there was Joel.

  I can’t. Can’t do this anymore. Can’t fight it. It’s getting harder by the day.

  Harder in every sense.

  Fantasies don’t cut it anymore. I need the real thing. Need more. But that’s never gonna happen. Not the way I want it.

  Stripping, I step into the shower stall and turn on the water on warm. It rains down on me and I turn my face up, letting it run into my mouth. The ache between my legs is too insistent to ignore today, though, so I reach down and wrap my hand around my hard dick.

  Ah hell, yeah. I squeeze hard, my breath stuttering, and brace one hand against the wall as I work my hand up and down my length. This is good. Not nearly enough, but good nevertheless. I press my forehead to the tiles and close my eyes, imagining how it could be.

  The heat of a naked body behind me. Hands gripping my hips, my ass. A mouth around my dick, hot and tight.

  Damn. My hand is flying over my cock. Need to come. Have needed it for weeks, but my body isn’t co-operating. Which is why I gave in and made a strategic purchase, one that Joel almost discovered—

  Fuck, Joel.

  I bite the inside of my cheek, my balls suddenly tightening, my cock swelling more. Yeah, this, now, this—

  “Jet? You here—oh shit, sorry.”

  I look up. The door is open, Joel standing at the opening, his gaze fixed on my dick, his eyes wide…

  And I come with a strangled moan, splashing my cum on the tiled walls of the shower, my hips jerking.

  Holy shit.

  Spent, I slump against the wall, my deflating dick still held in one hand, unable to look away from my roommate and best friend who’s still gaping at me.

  Still dazed with pleasure, I grin at him and blink. “Like what you saw?”

  Of course he slams the door shut and takes off.

  Ah fuck.

  ***

  I’m pacing the living room like a trapped animal.

  My resume has been sent, but I’m not holding my breath. Just because I took the decision to expand my work horizons from dank, filthy bars to something else doesn’t mean I’m gonna get the position.