Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  “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 rows 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 eavesdr
op, 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.

  We’re not supposed to receive phone calls during work, and he knows it, but he looks so pale and rattled I say nothing and take the customer to the art shelves myself, showing her our latest arrivals and our bestsellers, like Magical Jungle and Calm the Fuck Down.

  That’s what I need today. Maybe I should get one for myself.

  “You call me,” I hear him say as I explain to the customer she can also order books we don’t have in stock and that they’ll be here in a matter of days. “Call me if that happens again, you hear me, mate?”

  Mate?

  I glance at him briefly before I’m forced to turn my attention back to the customer who has decided to check every coloring book on the shelf, asking all the while which ones are more relaxing and whether getting them online would be cheaper.

  Jet is Australian? There was an unmistakable hint of an accent there. Christ, can the man get any sexier? Did he have to go and get an accent, too?

  That’s it, I’m blaming these two boys for my obsession. Yes, I’m sick and crazy about you, and it’s on you. So I’ll stop feeling guilty about it.

  Easier said than done.

  Plus, he’s still staring at his cracked phone—a phone I caused him to break—and drumming his fingers on his thigh. Two spots of color have appeared on his white cheekbones, and he’s still breathing hard.

  Like he had on Saturday, when he had the headache and I drove him home.

  I’m aching to ask what is wrong, but… customer. Who now wants to know whether we do discounts if she buys two books instead of one.

  No, lady. Not unless there’s a sticker on the book saying so. Not unless there’s a label on the shelf saying so. Please, make up your mind and go.

  I feel bad for thinking that, but then I feel profound relief when she finally picks a book and heads to the register where Donna is sitting, reading the latest romantic comedy by Helena Hunting and giggling to herself.

  I’m scared to imagine what our customers must think of us. They’ll probably never return. And strangely enough, it’s probably not entirely my fault.

  Look at our boss, for chrissakes. Now she’s cackling out loud and rocking in her chair.

  Jethro at least has put his phone away, but his gaze is curiously empty as he leans against the shelf, arms crossed over his chest. Blank. Not what I’d expect after the manic energy that had vibrated through him during the call.

  I don’t like this. At all.

  “Hey, Jet.” I keep my voice soft, because he looks like he could be easily startled. “Is everything okay? Who was that on the phone?”

  He blinks slowly as if noticing me for the first time. “My cousin,” he rasps, his voice scratchy.

  “Is he okay?”

  He shakes his head, and you know what? Screw this. I slide beside him and put an arm around his lean hips. “Tell me how to help him. Help you.”

  He’s rigid against me, an unfinished statue of a man. “You can’t, girl. I’ve got a fucked-up family. Hell, I’m fucked-up, too. Nothing anyone can do.”

  He’s not going to talk. I can feel it in his stance, his voice. Something really bad is lurking there, in his past, in his family, and he’s not ready to tell me about it.

  I slip my hand up his back, rub it in circles, and try for something light. “I have a brother. We don’t get al
ong so well. I’m into literature, and he’s an idiot.”

  Jet sighs, but his mouth twists just a little.

  “My mom thinks I fart rainbows,” I go on, encouraged, “and that it’s cool to ask me for advice on her sex life with my dad. My dad thinks I’m a magical virgin. Neither of them know I’m a unicorn in disguise.”

  “A unicorn.” He turns toward me, grinning now, his arms sliding around my waist. “I thought I was the one with the magical horn here.”

  I give him that, because of that happy, sexy grin that’s melting my panties as we speak. “Okay, you can be the unicorn. Which makes me…”

  “…a girl?”

  Suddenly his gaze is so dark I lose myself in it. “A girl,” I repeat dazed. One hundred percent girl, one hundred percent aroused and wanting.

  His hands travel up my body to hold my cheeks, and his mouth brushes mine, scorching hot. “Come home with me,” he whispers.

  “And Joel?”

  “He finishes work later today and won’t be home. Do you want him to be? Want him to join us?” He licks at my mouth and my legs tremble. My thoughts unravel. The heat shooting straight to my core brings a moan to my lips, and I do my best to swallow it. “Say yes.”

  “Yes,” I breathe, wondering what I’ve just agreed to.

  ***

  Jet drags me inside their apartment, pushing me against the wall to kiss me thoroughly the moment the door closes behind us. His mouth moves over mine, his tongue explores every inch of my mouth until I’m a shuddering mess, held up only by his strong hands on my waist.

  As he hauls me to the couch, though, I struggle to get myself under some semblance of control. “Jet, wait.”

  “It’s okay. Just kissing.” He tugs me to the sofa, pushes me down and leans over me and his mouth covers mine, a groan vibrating between us. His hands brush over my cheeks, remove my glasses, dig into my hair, haul me against him. “We can stop when Joel arrives. We don’t have to do anything else. What I said, about me and Joel doing stuff together… Just forget it.”

  But that’s the thing: I don’t want to. He doesn’t know, and I need to tell him.

  Before I find my courage, though, he rolls us sideways until I find myself sprawled on top of him. His head is thrown back on the backrest, and he drags me up his body with startling strength so he can kiss me again.