by Jo Raven
“What? I don’t need to get over Liam.” Why are we even speaking about my ex-boyfriend? “There’s nothing to get over from.”
Except I miss sex. I really do. This nerdy girl had some pretty wild times before Liam, but since him I seem to have… given up? Maybe. Given up on finding someone who can make me feel as good as my own fantasy can.
“You’re coming to the concert with me,” Brylee says, cocky as you please—as cocky as Joel Kingsley. “And you will let me make you pretty,” she adds.
“Yeah.” I blink. “What? No.”
I turn to look at myself in the mirror nevertheless, in sudden doubt. With my hair caught in two braids, a long Indian dress and a T-shirt on top that says, “I Heart Vader,” don’t I look, I dunno, okay? I mean, this is my I’m-at-home-relaxing attire. Am I supposed to be in a dress and heels for that?
“You will let me prettify you. If not for me, then for you. You will meet actual real guys. Living and breathing ones. Let go of your fantasy. Become the fantasy.”
Wow. That was deep. I guess.
And she goes, leaving me feeling vaguely offended and annoyed, her heels clacking on the floor, as I frown at my screen. I need prettifying?
Being nerdy may not be the problem, after all. Maybe I’ve become rather… lax about my appearance.
Happens when you don’t have a man in your life to dress for, okay? Why waste time when the only male staring under your skirt is the neighbor’s manic Chihuahua? Why wear lace and shave your legs for the crazy fluffy bastard, huh?
Going to a concert by some unknown indie group from out of town doesn’t feel like reason enough, either. But Ryan is going, so of course Brylee wants to go.
Brylee insists she’s in love. She works with Ryan, at the investment firm where she’s landed her first job as accountant. He likes rock music, and Brylee believes they are soulmates.
Have I mentioned she hates rock music?
But hey, who am I to judge? It’s not like I believe in love, not really. Wouldn’t know what it was if it bit me in the ass. I know lust, and Brylee is clearly a case of bad lust. I hope they hop into bed together soon, so she can get over it.
The reason I can’t get over J & J, I decide as I open a new post in my browser and copy-paste the review I prepared for the last book I read and loved—Cora Brent’s latest—is that they are a fantasy.
And a fantasy they shall remain. Our paths may have crossed briefly, but the chances of them crossing again are zilch. If nothing happened between us while Joel was still going to college with me, how the heck would it ever happen now?
Except for his roommate being in urgent need of a book about bananas, that is. But I doubt he’ll need another one anytime soon.
I put up my review, give myself a mental high-five for getting it done at last, and open Facebook to stalk my boys, as per usual. Don’t judge—this is the highlight of my day.
Kinda overshadowed by the fact I actually met and talked to J-One today, but still.
I click Joel’s profile. We’re “friends” online—see, I’m not a complete chicken. I friended him a year ago, and to my surprise he accepted. Of course, he probably accepts all friend requests. He’s always been a popular guy. An athlete, easy-going, handsome, successful with the ladies. Guys want to be like him. Girls crush on him.
On par for any day.
And Jethro… For some reason, he manages to always come out blurry in the photos with Joel. Always in motion, that one.
And OMG, jackpot! There’s a new pic of the two of them, Jethro’s arm thrown over Joel’s shoulders, flipping the camera the bird. It’s some sort of pool party, because they’re both bare-chested, and woo. I’m feeling faint. And hot. Too hot.
I lean closer, bumping my nose on the screen, and consider licking it. Licking them. God if this were real…
I feel myself growing wet. I’m conditioned, after years of wanting them—not that any girl could possibly be immune to that level of hawtness. Not if their blood isn’t made of ice.
Mine certainly isn’t.
My hand steals down between my legs with a mind of its own. Bad, wicked hand. A brush over my soaked panties and I shiver. I imagine it’s Joel or Jethro touching me, moving my panties aside to slide rough fingers into me.
God, I can imagine them, one behind me, his hands cupping my breasts, his breath on the back of my neck, while the other is pleasuring me with his hand, crushing his mouth to mine, swallowing my moans.
Oh yeah, do me, I want you… I slump back in my chair, biting my lip, letting my fantasy boyfriends take care of me. I know Jethro is the one kissing me, while Joel is sliding his hands over my ass, then down where Jethro is pleasuring me, his fingers joining his friend’s—
And I shudder, coming hard, wishing… Wishing it were real.
I’m still struggling to catch my breath, when a message pops up in my chat. It’s Connie, fellow admirer of the Twins, and contester for Jethro’s imaginary affections. According to her, she licked him first.
Well, I licked both first, and the bitch knows that. Licked them from head to toe and shoulder to shoulder, not bypassing any part.
So there.
“Candix! Did u see the new pic?” she writes, adding an emoji of a dog, complete with lolling tongue. “I licked it, btw.”
I huff as I type back. “I met J-One in the flesh, biatch.”
“Joel? Did you, now?” I wait as three dots appear, indicating she’s still typing. “Did he do you behind the store shelves? Did J-Two join the party?”
“Don’t I wish!” I add a crying emoji. “He bought a book for him, though.”
“How thoughtful.” Jumping emoji. “Something like, How to Do your Sexy Roommate?”
“Actually… bananas.”
“He went bananas?”
“He bought a book about bananas.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m serious!”
“There’s something between them, I can feel it.”
“A banana.”
“Shut up, Candy.” Emoji sticking out its tongue and dancing. A banana emoji, no less, with legs and everything.
I crack up. “Go away. I need to appreciate the new pic in peace.”
Appreciate it a bit more. Maybe it’s time to break out my favorite dildo.
“Girl, what you need is a piece of them.”
“You have a specific piece in mind?”
She vanishes from online for a bit, and I lean closer, taking in Joel’s grin, the twinkle in his eyes, his messy hair. The taut abs, the shorts hanging way too low on his narrow hips. Jethro’s body is a shadow beside his, his biceps impressive enough to show through the blurriness.
The fantasy returns, the fantasy that torments me and delights me and accompanies me to bed every night. A dirty, dirty fantasy of Joel pushing into me as I lean back on the bed, while Jethro—always blurry, always mysterious and half-formed—claims his mouth in a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth and a sexy growl that I feel in my bones, in my pussy, everywhere.
Then he moves behind Joel, runs his big hands over Joel’s taut ass, and he—
“You still there?” comes a message from Connie, and I blink, the image shattered beyond repair. “Tell me everything.”
“Everything?” I type back, baffled.
“About meeting Joel Kingsley, stoopid. What did he say, how did he smell, how did he speak? What did he say? Help me improve my sexual fantasies. Help a friend out.”
What can I say? In her shoes, I would have asked exactly the same.
Besides, I recall clearly the intense blue of Joel’s eyes, the faint scent of boy musk wafting from him as he took the book from my hand. This is no hardship at all…
“Hey,” she types after I tell her everything, “you going to the Indie concert tomorrow?”
Oh holy crap, not her, too. “No.”
“That’s a shame. I heard through the grapevine that J-Two will be there.”
“Yeah right.” Ha. “You’re w
orse than Bry. I bet you’re making this up to see if I swallow it. Shame on you.”
“Listen, biatch. My brother lives near Madison, you know that, right? So he’s best buddies with Mason Archer, owner of Archer’s Own, one of the sponsors of the concert. He will have a couple of stalls selling drinks there.”
“And?”
“And. He just hired a certain Jethro Connors to man one of them. I found out by chance.”
“You’re not serious.” Because, Holy Athlete Buns! “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious as a heart attack, woman. If I could go to this concert, trust me, I would, and I wouldn’t be taking you with. I’d have him all to myself to lick and wow with my mad tongue skillz.”
I can’t even. I’m snorting coffee through my nose. But through it all, one thought shines like a nuclear blast.
Holy shit, I could meet Jethro Connors!
Chapter Two
Joel
Jet comes at me with his fists raised, and I jump out of reach of his right hook. I know his style. And he knows mine. Years of doing this—dancing around each other, exchanging punches and kicks and insults, afterward showering and getting dressed in the gym lockers before heading out for a drink.
He kicks out. I knock his foot aside and grapple him. He grunts, his taped hands still curled into fists, thumping on my back. I twist us and throw him down on his back, locking my knees on either side of him to keep him down. He bucks against me, trying to get a hit in, but I pin his hands against the mat.
“Give up,” I tell him, wheezing. “You’re done here.”
“Get off me.”
“Not until you say you give up. I win. You owe me a drink.”
“You arrogant bastard,” he writhes like an eel, almost throwing me off, his face red with exertion, “just get off—”
“Say it.”
His gaze darkens, and he turns his face away. “Fuck you. You win.” Not for the first time I notice that he has ridiculously long lashes for a guy. Long and thick and dark.
“Good.” I blink, the heat pooling in my chest flowing lower, and I fling myself off him with a silent curse. “Race you to the showers.”
“Go ahead, J. Show off.”
Flipping him the bird, I stalk to the showers, shaking my head at myself. It’s just the thrill of winning over Jet, not an easy victory on any given day. And the exercise, all this rolling together and—
I turn on the cold water and hiss as it hits me, finally driving all these strange thoughts from my head.
“Jet!” I close the apartment door behind me and peek into the kitchen. Where the hell is that motherfucker? “Jethry-boy.”
“You called?”
A door inside the apartment bangs open, and a cloud of steam billows out of the bathroom. Haloed in that steam is my roommate and best buddy, Jethro the-Pain-in-the-Ass-crack Connors. Clad in a tiny black towel, he saunters past me and into his bedroom, giving me a very clear view of his muscular back and ass.
And why am I staring at Jethro’s ass?
Motherfucker.
“Where were you? I waited for you for ages.” I stomp after him and focus my gaze on his drawings decorating the wall instead. “Hey, assface.”
“Me? You were with a chick, in a fucking bookstore. And you were supposed to meet Ellen. Which I don’t really get. I thought the only thing you two shared was a scandal.”
Yeah, and he doesn’t know the details, thank fuck.
He doesn’t need to know how fucking scared I am that photo might be splashed all over the internet one day after all. If my parents ever found out…
He sniffs. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get under Ellen’s skirt again? I thought you were over her.”
“We’re just friends.”
He nods. “You’ve never really cared about her, except for wanting to tap that sweet ass. However, you’ve been going on and on about that girl you saw on State Street a couple of times. Did you manage to find her? Is that where you were today?”
“Fuck you and your shrink degree, Tully.” I navigate between his bed and a chair piled up with clothes to stand in front of him.
“Uh oh, someone’s in a bad mood.” He picks up a T-shirt from the chair and sniffs it. Throws it into a corner. “Girl didn’t run after you, did she? Didn’t scrawl her phone number on your hand, as per usual?”
“No, fuckwit. That’s not it.”
Fuck, he’s totally right. I’m pissed because I finally found the girl who caught my eye, found out she works in this bookstore and nope, she didn’t run after me, or scrawl her number on my hand.
Never had this problem before.
This girl at the bookstore… I saw how she stared at me. She liked what she saw. Hey, I won’t even pretend to be humble. I look good, and I keep fit. My sis, Ev, often teases me that I’m like a rock star. I get any chick I set my sights on. They come begging for it.
Once a girl pulled down her shirt to show me her bare tits and had me sign them. Another time, a woman offered to blow me in the middle of a parking lot. Chicks honk at me from their cars, roll down their windows and ask my name, pretend to be tipsy in bars as an excuse for bumping into me and latching on to me.
And that’s fine. It’s all for fun. I don’t give a shit about that, even less lately, except this girl… what is it about her that won’t let me rest?
Something about the boldness of her gaze behind those sexy glasses, and the sweetness of her mouth, the uncertainty in her voice combined with that hot body, mostly hidden under her clothes…
“You said you’d meet me later to grab a coffee at Starbucks, and you never showed up,” I mutter, forcing my thoughts back to the present. “Did something happen?”
“Fuck.” He turns around to face me, and I lift my eyes. “I said I’d meet you? Man, I totally forgot.”
“Shocker,” I mutter. Jet is often distracted. But still I worry every time he doesn’t show up when he says he will. I have valid reasons to worry, trust me. “I was picking up a book for you. About bananas.”
“Bananas.” He gapes at me. “Are you fucking high?”
“You like bananas, man. Banana cake, banana ice cream. I thought you might wanna…” I wave my hand around, then realize I left the book in my backpack. “Read about them.”
He lifts a hand to scratch his spiky hair. His towel slips lower on his hips. “I’m not the reading type.”
“Yeah, but I thought—”
“Or the cooking type.”
“Shut up, okay? It’s a gift, motherfucker. Just have a look at the damn book and tell me if there’s something you like.”
“Never look a gift horse in the nuts.” Jet turns around, drops the towel to the floor and grabs his jeans from the bed. Black of course. Jethro likes black, and that’s an understatement.
“I’m pretty damn sure it’s in the teeth.”
“Same thing.”
Right.
As he slams the closet door shut and looks up, I give him a quick once-over. He looks… stressed out. Tired. Tense. Distant.
“Today’s your day off?” I sink down on his bed and land on something hard. “Ow, dammit.”
I remove a weird object, plastic, black—the last goes without saying. But what the hell is this thing?
“Gimme that.” Something flashes through Jethro’s eyes, something like panic. He snatches it from my hand and throws it into his closet, kicks the door closed. He leans on the closet, crosses his arms.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
I’m so doing a search of that fucking closet first chance I get. Need to know what got Jet so flustered. He does have his dark moods, which I have learned not to disturb, and has so many skeletons in his closet it’s like Halloween in there, but still. He rarely loses his cool.
“J?”
And why am I staring at his mouth? The fuck’s wrong with me today? “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. One hundred percent.”
But I don
’t think he is. Something’s going on. “Rough week?”
He waves a hand back and forth, but not before I catch a tiny flinch. “So… about that nerdy chick. Tell me about her.”
“She’s pretty, I guess.” Her eyes were bright, her mouth lush, her body small and tight and hot in her crazy short dress and fuchsia leggings that matched her nail polish.
And she had glasses on. Did I mention the glasses?
“You guess.”
“Yeah. If you like the nerdy, pigtailed type.”
“You do like that kind, mate.”
That’s right, I do. No one knows me like Jethro.
And… he said “mate.”
Yeah, something’s off. I squint at him. He grew up in Australia as a child, and although he moved to the States with his family when he was ten, his accent sometimes comes through, especially when he’s tired or nervous. Okay, seriously, what the hell’s going on today with him?
“So what’s your plan?”
“Huh?”
“To win over this girl.”
“I need a plan?”
“Well, flashing your baby blues didn’t do the trick this time, did it? Not all chicks will drop their panties and lie on their backs when you enter the room, you know, no matter how good you look. Some girls like guys who give a fuck. Who bring them coffee, and ask them how their day has been.”
“I know that,” I say, irritated.
Because I sort of know all this, but I also did sort of expect her to drop her panties and, well. Bend over, maybe. Or wrap her legs around me.
Why the hell not? We’d both have had a good time. And this time it would work. I know it in my gut. I would let go, and I’d co—
“Unless you don’t care,” Jethro says, “any more than you did for any other chick.”
I probably don’t. Why should I? I don’t really know her.
So I get up, run my hands through my hair, refusing to think about it any longer. “How about we order pizza and play Call of Duty?”
A grin breaks out on Jet’s face. “You need to ask, fucktwat?”
Right. “I’m gonna kick your ass, buddy. Gonna make you my bitch.”