Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  When he lifts the books onto a shelf, another black tattoo, on his lower back this time, peeks from under his T-shirt along with a strip of pale, firm flesh.

  Man, who says summers in Wisconsin can’t be hot?

  I fan myself as I try to remember what I was supposed to be doing. How can I, with him hunching down on his heels and then straightening with more books in his arms, with his dark pants hugging his muscular thighs, so tall and slender and handsome, I can’t even.

  Jeez. Smoking hot.

  And I shouldn’t be ogling him.

  Ugh.

  I manage to tear myself away and check our promotional materials like Donna requested. Business cards, flyers, bookmarks, both ours and sent to us by publishers and authors, all need to be catalogued and counted before we order or request any more. Outdated ones need to be sent to recycling, and I need to make sure we have received the most recent ones for the upcoming signing event Donna is organizing.

  Hm… How many bookmarks were in that box? I stop and blink, my mind a blank.

  Crap.

  Still can’t concentrate. At this rate, I won’t have any more trouble because Donna will fire my lazy ass for not getting my job done.

  Bonus points, though. I’ve managed not to drape myself all over Jethro and suck on his neck like a vampire, despite seeing him for hours every day. It’s a small victory, but I plan to celebrate by getting drunk tonight. It’s a Friday.

  Perfect timing, right? It’s a plan. It’s a closed deal. I’ll drag Brylee with me and have her drive me back home. I’ll even dress up, if that’s what it will take to convince her. Maybe I’ll even meet a guy to have wild sex with and rewire my brain into not wanting J&J anymore.

  Ha. If only it were that simple.

  I grab the next box from the storeroom—flyers, according to the label—and turn around to deposit it onto the small table in the corner, when I crash into something and I hear a faint “oof.”

  Into someone, in fact.

  “Fuck.” Jethro looks down at the box I just slammed into his crotch, his jaw clenched.

  “Oh. Crap. Sorry.” I step back at the same time as he grabs the box. “I’m sorr—”

  The box tears. Flyers spill and flutter to the floor.

  “Crap.” I sink down to my knees to gather them. He makes a funny noise in the back of his throat and I look up.

  Which brings my face level with the top of his muscular thighs and his crotch. With the bulge there, the zipper straining over it, and the scent of warm cloth, and musk.

  I freeze, a crumpled up leaflet in one hand. My mouth is actually watering.

  Mmm.

  He curses again, softly, then reaches down for me and grabs me under the armpits. “Candy.” He lifts me to my feet easily, and damn, that’s hot, too.

  We are standing on top of the flyers and leaflets, and the only thing I can see is his face, those dark eyes with the long lashes, those beautiful lips. His hands slip down my sides, grip my waist.

  He bends his head, and I lean into him, and our lips are so close his warm, minty breath washes over me. His hands smooth down my hips, slide to the small of my back, and he pulls me to him, holding me flush against him.

  He groans, his eyes closing, and I struggle not to make a sound—because that bulge at his crotch? It’s hard. He is hard, and the realization drives the air from my lungs. Desire slams into me, a hot bolt straight to my core, turning my knees weak.

  I lift my arms around his neck, holding on. I want to kiss him so badly. It’s been days since our first kiss, and I’ve been trying to resign myself to the fact there won’t be another, but now, with him right here, his hard chest crushing my breasts, his hard-on trapped between us, his eyes burning like fire into me, I can’t remember why kissing him is a bad idea.

  How can it be bad? His mouth is hypnotizing, soft, the upper lip slightly plumper, his stubble fine like charcoal dust smeared on his chin and the line of his jaw.

  I want to lick that line, feel its coarseness on my tongue, lick the salt of his sweat.

  But he walks me backward, until my back knocks into the only free wall of the storeroom and pushes his thigh between my legs, startling a gasp out of me. His muscular flesh presses right where I’m throbbing with need, and a whine leaves my throat.

  “God, we shouldn’t—”

  “I want you, Candy. Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me.” He slants his mouth over mine, a quick, searing brush of lips and breaths, then leans in and eats up my mouth, licking and sucking, his body a hard wall of muscle, keeping me trapped.

  Not that I want to leave. My senses are on fire. I pull him closer, I want him naked with me, I want him inside me—

  A knocking sound breaks through the buzzing in my ears. And someone is calling my name. My surroundings come back in a rush—the stockroom, the shop, Jethro.

  Oh God. I’m kissing Jethro, although I’d sworn not to.

  Weakly I lower my hands from around his neck and push on his chest.

  He pulls back, his eyes wide and dark, fixed on my mouth—and at the door I see Donna.

  Donna. Oh shit. Both her brows are arched, but she looks shocked rather than angry. Shocked and concerned.

  The shock is probably from seeing me shove my tongue all the way to Jethro’s tonsils. Who wouldn’t be shocked?

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  I know, okay? Making out with my co-worker during work hours, where customers could have seen us. Kissing Jethro, and messing around with Joel.

  Aware that neither boy knows my true desires.

  Jethro finally turns, and his jaw clenches. He trails his hand over my side before stepping aside. His hands curl into fists, and he widens his stance, lifts his chin. “It’s not her fault.”

  My throat closes up.

  Strangely, a tiny smile tugs at Donna’s lips. “I see.” Then she turns toward me and her gaze grows hard. “She’s innocent.”

  Jethro frowns. “Yeah.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Please, I beg her with my eyes. Please don’t say anything.

  She only sighs and tugs on her wild red hair. “I came looking for Jethro, actually. I need a copy of your diploma for the records. Doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but the soonest you can, okay?”

  She leaves the room before Jethro answers, though I notice his back tensing up more.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “If anyone gets into trouble, it’s going to be me.”

  And rightly so.

  “Not your fault.” He rubs his hands over his face. “When I’m around you, I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

  My heart beats faster. I can’t, either, but I should.

  He kicks at the table, and I flinch. He has every right to be angry. At me. For leading both him and Joel on—only that’s not what I’m trying to do.

  I don’t know what I’m trying to do. What I want isn’t possible, and I’m hurting them because I’m not owning up to it.

  Jesus, I need to come clean. Need to know for sure. I open my mouth to say something, confess to wanting them both, to my fantasy with them.

  “What about Joel? Do you want him, too?”

  I bow my head. Shit. There’s no answer that will fix this. “I do.”

  And Jethro is already turning to go. “You should go with Joel,” he mutters. “I’m a fucking loser.”

  “Jethro…”

  “I’ve got some things to take care of. If Donna asks.”

  “Things?” I hurry after him. “What things? I mean, Jethro, wait!”

  A loser? Why is he saying that? And why for the love of God can’t I stop obsessing about both of them? Why can’t I stop kissing them?

  It’s just lust. I should be stronger than that, surely. I can’t let the fact they’re both smoking hot studs rule me. I can be strong. I can be just friends with them.

  But before I can find Jethro to tell him of my decision, I find out he’s left the shop, swapping lust for a flash of worry.

&nb
sp; Between wanting them and worrying about them, how am I ever going to find peace?

  Chapter Eleven

  JOEL

  “Girls are like sugar,” I tell Jet as we lounge on our sofa, playing Call of Duty.

  “Really. And boys?”

  “Who cares about boys? I’m talking about chicks, man.”

  Jet throws the control on the sofa and gives me a shit-eating grin. “This one’s for the boys.”

  “What the hell?” He killed me. Son of a bitch got me killed in the fucking game. “Dickbag.”

  He wags his brows. “This boy just done you in.”

  I pass by the bookstore to bring Candy some cake and pick Jethro up for an evening run, only to find out he left early. Twatface probably forgot he agreed to the run tonight.

  Shocker.

  But Candy seemed worried, asking me if everything’s okay with Jet, and that set my inner worrier off.

  Dammit, he has seemed off lately. Tired and wired, lashing out at everything, drinking more than he has in years. I assumed it was the change of jobs, and Jet not liking change, but that’s not all, is it?

  Candy said he mentioned having to take care of some things.

  What things? Am I missing something? Is it a dark anniversary of some sort? Jet has his rituals when it comes to those, although since we became roommates he appeared to relax a little.

  I gave Candy my number, asking her to call me if he comes back.

  She has said nothing about me bringing her cake. Or coffee in the morning. Or our last kiss and the fact I told her she should be with Jet.

  There’s a heaviness in my chest. I can’t get her face out of my head. But I know I did the right thing.

  So why does it feel so wrong?

  I call his cell phone, but he doesn’t pick up. I drive to the apartment, only to find it empty. I pace up and down the living room, trying to think where else he might be.

  My cell rings and I grab it, but the number flashing is unknown.

  I connect the call anyway. “Yeah?”

  “Joel. Have you found Jethro?”

  It’s Candy. Thank fuck. Her voice washes over me, warm and soft, and my body is already tightening at the sound, despite being so wound up about Jet.

  “No.” I sink into the couch and pretend not to notice my hardening cock in case it goes away. “He’s not at home.”

  “Maybe he had to pick something up.”

  “Maybe.” Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing. “It’s going to be fine. I’m kinda overprotective with him, that’s all.”

  She laughs, a tinkling sparkling sound that makes me smile. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “What?”

  “You practically shoved him at me because you saw us kiss. Made the decision for him. I’d say you’re overprotective.”

  That sobers me up. “He deserves to be happy.”

  “You said that, yeah. What about you? Don’t you deserve the same?”

  “Not as much as Jet,” I say firmly, because it’s the truth. “He’s been through too much.”

  Silence stretches, and I wonder if I said too much. I’m never gonna break his trust, no matter how at ease Candy makes me feel.

  “I like him,” she says quietly.

  And there I go, smiling again. “Good. He’s a good guy.” Even if I wish she preferred me, I can’t begrudge him this. I lean my head back against the cushions and sigh. I shouldn’t like her so much on top of wanting her. Hell.

  “You’re a good guy, too, Joel.”

  “Nah.” I glance around the tidy shelves filled with books. “Did anything else happen before he left the store? Did anything upset him?”

  “Donna—our boss—came asking for his diploma.”

  “Fuck.” I rub my eyes with my fist. Figures this would happen. I should try calling him again.

  “Why? What’s the problem?”

  “Nothing. Look, gotta go. I’ll let you know when he comes in, okay? I bet he’s just fine.”

  “Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but it’s the best I can do. “Take care, J.”

  She hangs up, and I sprawl there for a long moment, thinking. So he probably freaked out about not having finished his GED. Probably took a long walk to let out the tension.

  He should have come running with me. Best anti-stress method ever. But I bet he wanted to be alone for a bit.

  And do what? He said he’s working on getting his GED, but that’s not done in a day. He wanted this job because of Candy. He’d told me about this girl he’d met at the concert and how she gave him the business card to the shop.

  Told me later he had no idea it was nerdy girl. I mean, yeah, how could he know?

  This is fucked up.

  And I can’t help him unless he comes back and talks to me. Not sure I can help him, in fact. But at least I can see if he needs help with the lessons and if he needs to talk about anything. Sometimes he does. I hope he didn’t go out to get shitfaced on his own.

  He’d better come back soon before I start working on getting drunk myself.

  ***

  I’m slightly buzzed by the time the key turns in the lock. It’s late. I mute the sound on the TV and raise my whiskey glass at Jet, who staggers inside, blinking owlishly at me.

  “S’up, mate?” he slurs, dropping his keys on the table and plopping down beside me. He slings an arm over my shoulders and grins widely, his eyes half-closing. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

  “I was waiting for you.” Looks like he started drinking without me. His breath smells lightly of alcohol.

  “What for?”

  “You left work early.”

  He pulls away, his grin slipping. “You’re not my dad, J.”

  And then he gives a violent shudder and pushes off the couch, swaying on his feet.

  I stare at him. I’ve never met Jet’s parents. Not even when we were in school. Whenever I asked about his family, he gave me some vague reply.

  “I’m gonna turn in,” he says, his back stiff and shoulders hunched. “Next time don’t wait up.”

  “Dammit.” I get up, a little unsteadily, banging my glass on the coffee table. “Jet.”

  He doesn’t reply, and I follow him to his bedroom where he’s pulling off his T-shirt and unbuckling his belt while rummaging for something in his closet.

  I tap him on the shoulder. “Jet?”

  He jumps back, slamming his elbow into my stomach and shoving me backward. “Fuck!”

  Ow, goddammit. I grab his arm as I stumble back, pulling him with me. He rips his arm free of my hold, trips over his feet and falls.

  Time seems to stop.

  His eyes are very dark and wide as he drops, his mouth open.

  Then his skull cracks on the floor, his eyes fall shut, and his body goes slack, sprawled on the carpet.

  Son of a bitch. “Jet!” I drop to my knees and wonder what I should do. Oh fuck, oh fuck! I grab his shoulders. “Jet, can you hear me?”

  A low groan and his eyes flutter open. “Ugh.” He blinks at me. “Not fuckin’ deaf.”

  “Jet.” A laugh escapes me. “Dammit, asshole, you scared me. Can you move?”

  He lifts his hand, and I clasp it in mine. I haul him to a sitting position, and he lists to the side, face paling.

  “Come on, I’m taking you to the ER.” I walk him to the bed and seat him down on it. “You cracked your head pretty hard on the floor.”

  “I’ve got a thick skull,” he mutters, his grip tightening on my arm. “Not going anywhere.”

  Stubborn idiot. “I wasn’t asking you.”

  “Fuck you, J.” His hand tightens on my arm, grinding my bones together. “I’m fine.”

  Is he, though? “Will you let me take care of your pigheaded ass?”

  “Nobody can take care of me.” Quiet. Too quiet.

  I ignore that. “Why did you leave work early? Was it because of the diploma thing?”

  “Fuck, you spoke to Candy.”

  “Talk to me,
motherfucker.”

  He snorts, shakes his head. “I’m a loser, man. I’ll get fired. I’m not ready to take the damn GED exams yet. I shouldn’t have thought the likes of me can work in a shop like that.”

  “Shut up, dude. You’re bright. You can do this. Let me help you. Just…” Fuck. “Just don’t shut me out. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Anything?”

  He won’t look up.

  My hands are shaking. I’m shaking. Looking down at his dark head, I find myself lifting a hand to touch his wild spikes. Not stiff with gel as I expected, but soft. My fingers burrow in his hair, and I tug lightly, pulling his head back.

  He looks up at me and swallows hard, his neck arched.

  Bared.

  A sudden urge to bite down and suck on it hits me out of nowhere, and my insides tighten. My dick stirs, starting to harden.

  I jerk away from him, wipe my hands on my pants. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.” He leans back, bracing his hands on the mattress, and looks at me, a long, steady stare, out of place on someone half-drunk who’s just gotten a hit to the head. “What do you want, J?”

  “I don’t like guys,” I blurt out, although my dick is fully hard now, painfully trapped behind my zipper. “Okay? I don’t.”

  “Got it.” Lazily he reaches down and rubs his hand over his crotch. “It’s okay. I also happen to like chicks more. They’re so soft and warm.”

  Oh my fuck, he’s hardening, too, and the bolt of heat to my cock is scorching.

  Then his words sink in. “What do you mean, you like chicks more?”

  He’s still stroking himself through his black jeans, eyes hooded. Waiting for me to figure it out.

  “You’re bisexual,” I say slowly, breathing out, my mind a jumble. “You never said anything.”

  He shoots me a defiant glare, cupping his hard-on, his cheekbones coloring. “You’re not exactly open to the idea of men together.”

  “The hell. I’ve got nothing against it.”

  He looks away, lips pressing together, brows knitting. He’s angry, but I have no fucking clue what he’s thinking.