Candy Ever After (Hot Candy Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “Yeah, I enjoyed it,” he says, his voice gravelly, and it sends a bolt of lust through me. “I want… I want to try more.”

  ‘More.’

  That word. The word that’s been on my mind all this time, with all its implications.

  “So we’ll do that,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, soft. “One of these days.”

  “Yeah.” He exhales, his breath warm on my bare shoulder. God, he’s so damn close. I close my eyes, resisting the urge to turn and kiss him, grab him and slam him against the wall while I devour his mouth. “Catch ya later, fuckwit.”

  He ruffles my hair and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me torn between frustration and laughter.

  Grinning, I turn around and watch him go. I hear the apartment door click shut a moment later, and all I can think of is, he wants more.

  And God help me, so do I.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CANDY

  Title: Where Are the Fairies?

  From Candy Boys (Blog serial)

  “This ain’t no fairytale,” J-One drawls. “Betcha people in fairytales don’t fuck all the time.”

  “Stop being a caveman for a minute,” J-Two mutters. “We don’t fuck all the time. What about that kiss we shared last night, huh?”

  I lift my hand. “That kiss totally counts.”

  But if it was a fairytale, wouldn’t the kiss mean we’ve reached a happy ending?

  Brylee was drunk when I got home last night, and her rambling didn’t really make any sense—except for this: Ryan told her he wasn’t interested, and it was clearly the end of the world.

  Now it’s morning time, and she’s avoiding me. When I knock on her bedroom door, she doesn’t respond.

  I push it open and enter anyway. I know she’s up—I saw her earlier with a cup of tea and her cell phone in her hand.

  “Bry.”

  She’s curled up on her bed, ginger locks messy. “I don’t want to talk,” she mutters.

  “Well, I do. You said very little last night.” And you pulled me away from my fantasy boyfriends before anything much happened, which sucks balls, but I’m not telling her this when she’s down already.

  Plus, I’m confused enough as it is. They both kissed me. Was it a contest? Was it a test? Did it mean anything at all—or were they as tipsy as I was and fooling around?

  Strange how I want it to mean something. Fantasy or not, I like these boys. I love how they care for each other. And they’re both so hot… God, it’s enough to make a girl stupid with lust.

  Stupid, period.

  “I’m so angry with him,” she whispers. She’s checking messages on her phone, and she’s made up like she’s about to head to a club—but her eyes are red-rimmed.

  Oh, Bry…

  I sit down beside her and squeeze her shoulder. “Talk to me. I’m your friend. I’m supposed to suffer from your incessant chatter and hold your hair back from your face when you puke your drunken ass off after parties. Don’t make me lose my job.”

  She sniffs, but her mouth quirks. “I didn’t puke last night.”

  “There will be another time, don’t worry.” I pat her back. “Now… Ryan. What the hell happened?”

  “He’s an ass.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He won’t go out with me.”

  “You asked him?” Sometimes she’s so conservative I never thought she’d break tradition and be the one to do the asking.

  “Couldn’t wait forever, could I?” She turns toward me, shutting off her phone and shaking it at me. “He should have asked me out already. I was only speeding things up a little.”

  “He just said no?”

  “He said he’s not interested.”

  Given that Brylee has been after him for God knows how long—a year?—and he never showed any hint of interest, well… That should have been a clue.

  Then again, who am I to talk, huh?

  Fresh tears well in her eyes. “Why is he fighting it? It’s obvious he wants me.”

  “Come again?”

  “We’re meant to be,” Brylee whispers.

  “Meant to be? What, like in a fairytale?”

  “Yes! What if I was like Cinderella and we met at a party and—”

  “You’re not Cinderella. You’re Brylee.”

  “Brylee Cindy Ella,” she says, pouting.

  “No way… Seriously? That’s your name?” I try not to gape at this bit of info. Okay, but it doesn’t matter. “His name isn’t prince… is it?”

  She won’t meet my gaze. “And if it is?”

  “Ryan Prince? Are you kidding me?” Another thought strikes me and no way… “Is that why you want him? You think you were meant to be?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jeez. I don’t even know what to say.

  All this time giving me shit over my fantasy with two guys, over my imaginary boyfriends, when she’s been living a fantasy full time. Not to mention, my imaginary boyfriends are turning out to be all too real.

  ***

  Sunday is spent at home, in front of my computer, chatting with Connie. I have my phone beside me, in case Jet or Joel call, but they don’t, and I don’t find the courage to call or text them myself.

  Not yet.

  Besides, Connie is distracting me.

  “You what?” she writes, adding a row of emojis slapping their cheeks and screaming. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You were at their apartment. And J-One cooked. And you cuddled with J-Two on the sofa. And you made out with both. That about right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Screw you, bitch. Eat shit and die.”

  “Love you, too, babe.”

  There is a bit of chat silence, and I check my emails, finding one from my brother. He moved to Seattle to work, and I rarely hear from him. Not that he has much to say. Work is fine, bars are fine, blah blah—still, it’s nice of him. I should reply.

  Next I check my blog. There are literarily hundreds of comments on my last installment of my serial, telling me how much they love it and when the next chapter will be up.

  I really should get cracking on it. I’ve never missed an installment. I always post one every week, maximum two, as much for my readers’ enjoyment as for my own.

  And I have ideas. I have a file full of them, and notebooks filled with scribbles. Even diagrams. I glance at them, look back at the blog.

  Maybe later. Or tomorrow.

  Feeling out of sorts, I’m glad when the chat window dings with another message from Connie. She lives in Detroit, which isn’t all that far, but we’ve never met in person. We’re besties, though, having bonded years ago over books and movies and boys.

  “Now tell me the truth,” she writes. “Did all that really happen, or is it a new chapter of your serial?”

  “It happened,” I type back.

  “Bitch, this shit doesn’t happen in real life.” A single open-mouthed emoji. “Fantasy doesn’t get mixed up with reality. Fantasy boyfriends remain fantasy boyfriends, and we get to adore them from afar.”

  “I know.” I look at these two words.

  I do know that. That’s how it was supposed to work. Joel wasn’t supposed to walk into the bookshop looking for a banana book, and Jet wasn’t supposed to apply for the job at the store and get it.

  And they both weren’t supposed to show any interest in little ole me.

  Talk about a shocker.

  “Tell me about them,” Connie orders me through the chat, but somehow I don’t feel the compulsion to do as she says—unlike when Joel says it.

  I’m in trouble…

  Also, I don’t want to tell her. About Joel’s history books collection and cooking skills, about Jethro’s art and the comic they’ve been creating together. About their banter, and their gruff affection for each other. Their kisses—Joel’s possessive and deep, Jethro’s hot and wild.

  “They’re nice,” I type reluctantly.

  “Nice? NICE?” Insert r
ows upon rows of angry and puking emojis. One of them is waving a tiny flag that says “Fuck” on it. “Did you fall on your head, Candix? Who cares if they’re nice?”

  I do. And they are.

  “Oh my frigging God, woman.” Tongue-lolling emojis this time. “Did you see them shirtless? Does Jethro have tattoos? Is Joel as ripped as he seems? Did you check out his package?”

  And now I’m annoyed with her, and I can’t even decide why. We’ve been discussing this stuff since forever, but now I find myself strangely… protective of my boys.

  The Candy boys.

  Oh God. No. I hardly know them. Knowledge of their bare chests and cocks won’t change that. So what if they kissed me?

  They aren’t mine.

  ***

  My family is cool.

  A bit too cool maybe.

  I mean, when you tell your mom that you’re dating two guys, together, as in all three of you together—at least I hope we’re dating—she shouldn’t squeal and demand to see photos, right?

  “When are they coming over for dinner?”

  “Mom, you don’t cook,” I remind her gently.

  Hasn’t, in fact, since she almost burned the kitchen down while boiling an egg when I was four. I remember that day.

  “We can order out. Don’t be narrow-minded, Candace.”

  “Oh, come on.” Would a narrow-minded girl date two guys simultaneously?

  “Is the sex good? It must be amazing, right?” I can practically see her clapping her hands and jumping on the bed. “You have to tell me all about it!”

  Um, no? As in, no frigging way am I talking about this with my mom. Gross!

  “Mom, I gotta go.”

  “But, the photos!”

  I hang up quickly, before she starts telling me about her and dad’s sex life again. A girl can only take so much in one day.

  ***

  Monday comes around without any calls or text messages. Which is cool. Totally fine. Absolutely expected.

  I’m two seconds away from throwing my phone under a moving car. Make that a bus. Or a truck.

  I wanted them to contact me. To tell me what happened on Saturday night wasn’t a mistake, a drunken fumbling. To tell me what it was to them.

  Crap, I read too much into it. That’s it. There was no way I wouldn’t—while for them it was obviously nothing to write home about. Just another girl crushing on them. Just some kissing on the couch after dinner.

  And now I have to face Jethro at the shop and pretend it meant nothing to me, too. I guess I should be thanking Brylee for dragging me away from the boys before anything more happened. I’m an addict. I accept that, and I should steer clear of my addiction.

  Time for a job change. Donna will understand my reasons. Besides, this stint at the bookshop wasn’t meant to last forever. Once my classes begin again, I won’t have that much time. I may find a job at the college library or at the local Starbucks.

  So I unlock the shop and set about preparing it for the first customers of the day, telling myself not to expect anything and not let disappointment assault me.

  Well, I certainly don’t expect Joel to arrive five minutes later with coffee for me and Donna and Jethro, like nothing has changed.

  But that’s good, right? At least nothing changed for the worse. There is no awkwardness in Joel’s gaze or his smile as he passes me the cup with my name on it.

  “Everything okay?” he asks as I take a sip for something to do.

  “Oh yeah. Perfect.”

  “I mean, with your roommate. You ran away so fast on Saturday night I was worried.”

  He was? Aww. “She’s fine. Just delusional.” I pause. “I mean, not really.” Then I think about what she told me. “Scratch that, she so is. A total psychopath.”

  Joel is staring at me, brows lifted.

  “Don’t mind me. Thank God you brought coffee.” I smile and remember just in time to rein in my shark smile and cover my teeth.

  “Why are you doing that?” He frowns.

  “Doing what?”

  “Smiling like you’re in pain.”

  “Oh.” I relax my lips, mortified. “Sorry.”

  “You have a pretty smile, when you don’t…” He waves a hand in front of his face and snaps his teeth at me. “Do that.”

  I’m going to kill Bry for this. And aw, he likes my smile.

  “So, uh…” He rakes his hand through his hair, shoving it off his face. “I should be going. Be late for work.”

  “Yeah.” I sip more coffee and burn my mouth, spew some coffee on his white shirt.

  Oops.

  He doesn’t notice. He’s looking around, distracted. “Jet not in yet?”

  “No.” I discreetly try to wipe the coffee off his sleeve, but I only manage to smear it more.

  Shit.

  “We had a great time with you on Saturday,” he says.

  “Oh yeah, me too. Loved the banana pancakes. With the…” He’s looking at me, his blue eyes darkening. “The bananas. And syrup. Um…”

  He grins, as if seeing something he likes in my expression. I probably look like a deer in headlights. Figures he’d like it.

  Oh God…

  Then he leans closer and brushes his mouth over mine. “Don’t be a stranger,” he whispers and leaves me with my fingers on my mouth and my coffee on his shirt.

  The door slams behind him.

  Too late.

  ***

  Jethro comes in right before Donna and shoots me a brilliant smile before heading off to the display he’d been setting up on Friday. He disappears behind a shelf.

  His phone rings a moment later, and I try not to eavesdrop, but all my attention is on him right now, so yeah. I admit defeat.

  “Hey, dude. At the shop, where else?” I hold my breath, leaning against the shelf behind his. “No, why?” A pause. A shuffle. “Okay, let me spell this out for you, mate. No, I didn’t spill coffee on your shirt. When would I do that, in my sleep? The fuck’s wrong with you?”

  Oh crap. I slap a hand over my mouth, muffling a gasp.

  “What was that? Yeah, I saw her.” He moves something on the shelf, and I take a step back. “Yeah, I noticed her skirt, and her legs, dude. Am I blind? Yeah, she looks sexy, and yeah I’m rocking a boner. Satisfied?”

  Oh my God. I look down at the skirt I threw on this morning and my All-Stars and shake my head. Is he talking about me?

  “No, she didn’t say anything about Saturday. No, man, I haven’t talked to her yet. Relax, okay? What’s up with you today? Woke up with a hard-on for a repeat of Saturday?” He chuckles, and my toes curl in my shoes at the low sound. “I know. Me too.”

  He is talking about me. Ohgodohgodohgod. I grip the shelf and all but poke my head through the books to the other side to hear better.

  And the books slide as the shelf rocks from my weight and drop on the other side.

  On top of Jethro.

  He curses, ducking away, his cell clattering to the floor. Then, before I run away and join the revered yogis on the Himalayas, he straightens and looks right at me through the gap on the shelf. “Candy? What are you doing?”

  I open my mouth and just stare back, unable to come up with something. “Hi.” Creepy. You’re being creepy, Candy. “I was just dusting here. Sorry.”

  He nods, lifts his cell phone and grunts. It looks cracked.

  Oh man. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay to get it fixed.”

  “I don’t think it’s broken.” He gives me a crooked grin, dark lashes sweeping low. “Hey…about Saturday.”

  I bite my lip, trying not to laugh knowing Joel was asking him about it, because it’s not even funny. They’re both concerned whether I had a good time, when all I can think is that I want to get them hot and naked with me in a locked room, do wicked things to both of them—and that my heart always beats faster when they’re around.

  And they don’t even know.

  “Did you have a good time?” He’s observing me from under those thick lashes.
“Like, we didn’t scare you off, did we? J and I…” He tilts his head to the side, his grin fainter this time. “We like doing stuff together.”

  A slow burn starts in the pit of my belly, spreading. “You do?”

  “It’s new for us, too. Never tried with anyone else before. Any other girl.”

  Holy crap. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Okay, Candy, filter on mouth, ASAP. “I mean, yeah.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I had a good time.” And now is the perfect time to confess to writing for years now a serial about them and me, together, trying every sex position possible for humans, but… I can’t. “Honest.”

  “Great. That’s fucking awesome.” His grin widens.

  I wait, hoping he’ll invite me over for a repeat, ask me if I’d like to touch second base tonight, or even third, but he’s just staring at this cell.

  Why can’t I just come out and say the things I yearn for? I could do it right now. Tell him, you know what, Jet, I’ve been pining for you and Joel since I was eighteen, so please invite me over again.

  And then I hear Donna’s voice as she enters the shop and sigh.

  Maybe later. Or never. After all, I wasn’t invited over to their place for a repeat performance, so what does it matter?

  I never thought I’d find myself falling for them so hard, body and soul. And I mean, hell, I’m not sure what they want from me, and we haven’t even had sex yet!

  So unfair.

  ***

  Despite the regret sitting heavy on my chest all day, I manage to tune out thoughts of Joel and Jethro enough to work. Monday means more customers, and it’s a welcome distraction.

  For lunch, Jethro offers to run and get us all three burgers from a small joint down the street, but I hardly see him during lunch break. He inhaled his burger in three seconds flat and vanished somewhere inside the shop, doing God knows what.

  I go in search for him much later, with a customer who’s looking for adult coloring books. That’s in Jet’s section of the shop. Funny how Donna and I immediately gave that section to him without even knowing he’s an artist.

  I find him talking into his phone, a weird expression on his face. He’s tapping his hand on his thigh, a bit too fast, his breathing kind of ragged.