I jumped from the bed. James had to have been at least as drunk as I was last night. Maybe I could leave without him even knowing I’d been there. I couldn’t help but echo the thought with Mandy’s voice in my head saying, And maybe dragons will fly out of your butt.
“Don’t tell me you’re sneaking out,” he mumbled from his pillow. He didn’t turn to me, which for some reason felt even more intimate. He could hear me: my movements, my breathing, probably my whole body shaking as I searched his floor for my clothes.
“I have…” I tried to think. What did I have? My hazy brain searched. I didn’t have Professor Dylan’s office hours until tomorrow, but I’d have taken that instead of the schedule coming into focus: our discussion section in three hours. The one I was leading and he was a student in.
Screw me.
But maybe we’d just made out—bad but take-back-able. Maybe if more had happened, he’d forgotten. I heard Mandy’s voice again. And maybe dragons made out of gold will fly out of your butt.
“We didn’t?” I asked, begged, even with all the evidence to the contrary, including that I was half naked. I felt his hands from the night before slashing at my back, his breath hot in my ear, his hips thundering against…
Where the hell is my shirt?
“It’s a serious ego blow that you don’t remember,” he said, finally turning to face me. His hair was tousled, his face covered in sleep creases. He looked adorable in the way only a guy can first thing in the morning.
I cupped both breasts with one arm. I did remember. I felt a pressure build in the softest parts of my body, remembering.
I continued to search for my tank top. I had to get out of there. It should be no cliché-lover’s surprise that it was hanging on his lampshade. This meant not only had my shirt been thrown off, but I couldn’t wait to throw it off.
“Can you pass me that, please?” I asked my hands still on my boobs. I hated I’d added please, but I felt like I needed to, considering I was half naked.
“I don’t want you to leave yet,” he said.
I held my hand out.
“How are you going to catch it?” He smirked. It wasn’t a mean smirk, it was an I am thinking sweet and funny things about how you’re trying to act so serious smirk.
I toddled over, trying to cover whatever parts of myself I could. I reached for it while still covering myself.
He held my arm. “Candice, what’s wrong?”
“Are you honestly asking me that?” I said, recoiling from him. It was silly, but I was sober, and sober Candice knew he should not be touching me, even if drunk Candy had not.
“I like you. You like me. As adults, we expressed our like in a physical way.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I think we did more than express it.”
“Three times last night,” he said, putting his arms behind his head.
“Seriously?” I asked, unable to hide I was impressed. Three times? Had I gotten any sleep at all? I shook my head. “Please stop talking about last night,” I said. I was being too polite, too meek, which let me know I really must have slept with him three times. And also that I’d probably liked it, a lot.
“What am I allowed to talk about?” he asked, “How beautiful you look right now? How I wish you would stay for breakfast?”
“Stop,” I said, turning from him and putting on my tank top. It smelled like rum. I couldn’t help but gag.
“Why don’t you come with me to get my motorcycle so we can talk,” he said, getting out of bed. I covered my eyes, preparing for nakedness, but he was in his boxers, hanging low on his hips. The six-pack I’d felt through his shirt the night before was on full, fabulous display, as symmetrical as armor.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, trying to look away from him. I couldn’t. I felt my mouth gape.
“I’m trying really hard not to feel like shit right now,” he said, “but you’re not making it easy.”
“I’m not making it easy?” I retorted.
“We had a nice time and then had sex and had a better than nice time.” He shrugged. “I don’t regret it.”
“I was drunk. I was drunk and you took advantage of me,” I said, even though I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. Girls didn’t straddle guys who were taking advantage of them.
He shook his head. “You kissed me first. I even asked you if you were sure,” he said. “Instead of answering, you put your hand down my pants.”
“Oh crap. No,” I said, hiding my face, even though I could see it: my fingers playing with his fly, unzipping it, desperate for what was under his boxers. He was ready for me, as solid and hot as metal stoked by fire. His lips opened in surprise, his eyes rolled back slightly with pleasure. He kissed me, pushing me against the back of the driver’s seat, a moan at the back of his throat.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I knew dinner was a bad idea,” I said.
“I think it turned out pretty well,” he said, pulling on his jeans. “At least let me walk you home.”
“No, we’re done. This is done,” I said, trying to make the words stronger than they felt.
“I’d stay away from mojitos then,” he said, “and me.”
“You have nothing to do with it. I just haven’t been with anyone since Keith, and I guess I’ve been lonely.” I shut up before I said more.
The thing was it was all about James. I could blame it on Keith, but seeing James in his frayed, butt-hugging jeans, it was hard to resist him even now, and it felt like I was minutes away from puking up everything inside me from the last twenty-four hours.
“Oh, you told me all about him after the fourth mojito. He sounds like a grade-A asshole.”
“No,” I said, picking up my sandals and pointing at my face. “I’m a grade-A asshole.”
“I had fun last night talking. I think you did, too. Enough to where we both forgot the rules for a while.” He shrugged.
It was true. I’d let myself get caught up in the moment like one of Candy’s characters. Look where that got me? Into bed with James, which, from what my body was starting to recall, had actually been incredible. Unfortunately, this afternoon I had to stand in front of a classroom with him in it and pretend none of that had happened.
“We can’t forget the rules again,” I said.
“I know,” he replied. “And don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” I could see something in his face that let me know he wouldn’t.
Instead of saying thank you, the word I felt was etched on every one of my bones, I said, “This can never happen again.”
“You said that already.”
“And you really can never tell anyone, never.”
“Got it, teach,” he said with his smirk again. He rubbed at his morning stubble.
“Don’t call me that,” I said.
“Ms. Salinas?” he joked.
“Definitely don’t call me that.”
“Candy?”
“What?” I asked, my neck spinning so fast my head would have flown off and hit him if it wasn’t attached.
“Last night you told me to call you Candy,” he explained.
“Oh crap,” I said. What else had I told him? I’d told him about Keith. I’d told him to call me Candy. Had I given him a private reading from one of her books? Or just acted it out for him instead?
“You said that already, too.”
I couldn’t move.
“Don’t like your nickname?” he asked, sitting up on his bed like he wanted me to join him.
“It’s not a nickname,” I started, but I didn’t have to explain it to him, and I couldn’t anyway because no one at school could ever know about her. That was all I needed on top of this. I found my shoes and purse and headed for the door. “Your roommate won’t be awake, will he?”
“He’s definitely still sleeping,” James said, glancing at his alarm clock. “Though we may have kept him up last night.”
“Don’t even tell me he’s a creative-writing student,”
I said my arms perfect straight lines at my sides.
“Engineering,” he said.
“Thank God.” I pointed at him. “You better hope I don’t run into him.”
“Right,” he said, “see you in class.”
Like I needed the reminder.
I made my way down his hallway, quickly, quietly. I desperately had to pee, but I also had to get out of there. I could pee behind a bush.
I hated knowing Candy would use all of this as material. At least the parts that weren’t too hot for words.
Chapter Nine
Even though I was a mile away from my apartment, I had to walk home from James’s. There was no way I was going with him to pick up his motorcycle so he could drive me. I had enough time in my day to spend with him uncomfortably later.
It was sad, really. The first guy I’d been with since I’d come to Miami who had actually confirmed he’d liked being with me and didn’t think I smelled like baby shampoo, who it appeared I had satisfied, had seemingly satisfied me, and I couldn’t even enjoy it.
I ducked behind one of his neighbor’s bushes to pee and headed toward home. As I walked, it was hard to stop thinking about the way James smelled like clean sheets. The way he watched me with cherished amusement as I stumbled around his room. The way it felt with my arms around him on the motorcycle, like there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
For someone who had a loss of memory of the night before, I sure could remember a lot about him.
I reached my street twenty minutes later. It was still early enough that the sprinklers were on and newspapers were being drenched by them. Even at seven a.m. it was hot in Miami, so hot I could feel my deodorant from the night before wearing off.
I saw Amanda walking toward me on the sidewalk from the opposite direction. She had on a tight blue dress and was carrying her heels. My guess was her night had gone similarly to mine, except she probably totally remembered hers and had kissed the guy she’d been with good-bye. She had also probably whispered in his ear she would see him later and slapped his ass.
That’s what one of Candy’s characters would have done, and they were all pretty much based on Amanda, on her stories and exploits. Except for Melted, where I’d used a “Candy-ized” version of myself to pair up with the James-inspired character. It was ironic that I could write about very naughty things involving character James, but the thought of being with him again in real life was driving me bonkers. Making my heart do all that cliché stuff.
“Candy,” Amanda yelled, “we’re twins.”
It was true. We were mirror images in the walk of shame. The thing was, my shame wasn’t really something I felt like commiserating about. Especially considering I could barely remember it and it showed complete carnal weakness on my part.
So the guy I was supposed to just have dinner with because he was a student? Well, not only did he convince me to go to dinner with him, I also had sex with him, and from what he said, it didn’t sound like I’d needed any convincing in that department.
“Hey, Mandy,” I responded, trying to play it cool. I couldn’t tell her anything about James. If I wanted to keep that secret a secret, I would have to learn to start lying, even to her. I hated it, but I knew I’d make it up to her with a steamy Candy story about a guy in a motorcycle gang who spoke fluent Spanish. I’d fill in as many blanks as I could for her that way.
“Who saw your stripes?” she yelled.
“You first,” I yelled back. Not like I would have yelled what she asked me down the street anyway, but I knew she would.
“Take one guess,” she said.
We met at the door to our apartment. “Luke stopped playing hard to get?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the sun as she opened the door.
“Bingo, or should I say BIG-O,” she said, laughing. “He wasn’t really playing hard to get, it turns out. He just wanted me to know he really liked me. I told him to forget all that crap and show me.”
I laughed with her as we entered the apartment, but her joke reminded me of yet another reason why my sexual amnesia sucked. I’d actually been with James, had to deal with all the bullshit involved with it, and I couldn’t totally remember the best part. I wasn’t even sure I’d experienced the best part. Well, I guess I was pretty sure.
“Looks like you had as good a night as I did,” she said, throwing her heels on our living room floor and beelining to the faucet to fill a cup of water. I followed her. I was really thirsty, too, from being hungover and from everything I couldn’t totally remember.
She passed me the cup after she’d emptied it and I filled it and drank quickly. “Nah,” I said between gulps, “James was just too drunk to drive me home last night.” I rolled the lie on my tongue a couple of times to see how it felt. Not great.
“You okay?” she asked, looking at me.
“Sure, why?”
“You seem upset.” She paused. “Or something.”
“Just tired,” I said.
“Does that mean James wasn’t too drunk to drive you wild?” she asked, taking the empty glass back and filling it again.
“Nothing happened, but he wasn’t,” I said. “Neither of us were,” I added, like it made my lie more believable. I wasn’t so drunk that I straddled him and put my hand down his pants and told him to call me Candy and who knew what else.
She looked at me skeptically.
“I wouldn’t have let him anyway,” I said. “He’s my student, remember?”
I could keep saying that, but on my walk home I’d realized I was using any excuse I could to keep James away from me. It wouldn’t have mattered what it was. Because while our relationship might have started with sexy Candy-flirtation, it was clear after last night that Candice actually liked him, let herself be vulnerable with him.
And that could never happen again.
It was better I wasn’t “allowed” to be with him. I wouldn’t have to wait for him to get tired of me or decide he didn’t like the me I wanted to be.
It was easier to end it for something beyond both our control.
The problem was that control was the problem—my ability to control myself around him.
So far I was not doing great.
“Seriously, Candy?” she asked, giving me her you need to let yourself have fun face. She gave me that face a lot.
I grabbed the glass from her and gulped so I didn’t have to answer.
“But he’s so hot,” she said.
“I know.” I sighed.
“And sweet. I mean the flowers. Not even cheap flowers—tulips.”
“I know,” I repeated.
“And built.” She whistled. “Like chiseled statue built.” She squeezed like his ass was right in front of her.
It made me think about how the night before I had probably done the same several times, and in that moment I was less upset about that and more upset I couldn’t completely remember it.
“I know,” I said through my teeth. I hoped it would appear like frustration I couldn’t be with James instead of frustration at Mandy. But her list was frustrating me. He was all those things, and he liked me.
Unfortunately, it didn’t matter. My reputation and my career here were more important than a guy who I could check every box for—a guy who any girl with eyes and a brain and ears and a nose and grabby hands could check every box for.
All I needed was to lose my fellowship and get kicked out. Nothing would have given my parents more pleasure than me being back on their doorstep begging forgiveness. I would deny myself James in order to save myself that humiliation.
I would deny myself James to save myself from total self-esteem annihilation.
“He’s even hotter than Professor Dylan,” Mandy said.
“I know,” I replied.
Revulsion hit me with the realization that most of the reason I had been lusting after Professor Dylan in the first place was because he was safe. I couldn’t really be with him, so I couldn’t get hurt.
“You’re still a Mi
ami virgin, then?” Amanda asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table. It was what she called me because I hadn’t been with anyone here yet.
A Miami virgin? I so wasn’t that anymore. I’d had sex riding around Miami in a cab. I wasn’t sure what that made me—a Miami street-slut? A Dade County concubine?
“Yeah,” I said, taking a seat across from her. “How about you? How was your night?” I needed to change the subject. It turned out forcing myself to talk about not being with James made me think even more about how I’d been with him.
I wasn’t sure I could think about anything else. As I listened to Amanda tell me about Luke, I started to realize it really wasn’t shame or anger I felt. It was excitement, pleasure. It let me know I would have to be even more careful for there not to be a next time.
“Even without all that like stuff, Luke couldn’t play hard to get for long, especially with me in this dress,” she said.
It was true. Even in the harsh morning sunlight, Amanda still looked amazing. She could have gone out again without even stopping at the apartment to freshen up. Well, as long as she carried a spare pair of underwear in her purse.
I’ll go commando. Ugh, how could I have said that? How could I have done it?
How could I not?
“At least one of us had a night that didn’t involve waking up openmouthed on someone’s couch,” I said, the lie making my lips tingle. It was like James was reminding me he’d been all over them, and they’d been all over him.
“He seriously didn’t come on to you at all?” Amanda asked. If there was one thing she understood, it was guys, and if they went out of their way to come to your apartment and bring you flowers, they wanted to be with you. They certainly didn’t want you to sleep on their couch.
“Not really,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, sadly. “That sucks, Candy.”
“Yeah,” I said, relieved she finally believed me. With her believing it, I could make it more and more true. I just had to keep her and James away from each other for the rest of our lives.
Sneaking Candy Page 7