by Jo Raven
It’s got to stop. If I don’t, I may need therapy, or someday Jet will find out about these new twisted fantasies of mine, and he’ll be out the door before you can say banana.
Also, I should stop thinking of bananas. Even if Jet likes them. Because guys shouldn’t like phallic-shaped fruit, okay? Not straight guys, anyway.
And I’m as straight as a one-way road, for all the good it does me. I haven’t been out with a chick since forever. Haven’t had sex since fuck knows when. My dick has probably shriveled and fallen off, and I didn’t even notice.
Checking nobody is looking, I pat my package, reassured to feel my dick is still there. Phew. Maybe it was the stress of finishing college, the small crisis I had, and the new job. Well, it’s time to remedy that. Time to—
Oh shit. Oh SHIT, the manager is staring right at me through the room window, a scowl on his face, and my hand… my hand is still on my crotch.
And I think, goddamn fuck, not again.
Chapter Three
JETHRO
I’m so little I fit inside a cupboard in the kitchen, among the pots and pans. My chin is resting on my drawn-up knees. My vision is restricted to a tiny circle. I press my eye to the hole, shivering. I don’t wanna watch. But I can’t look away as the shouting becomes louder, deafening, as objects crash, and she screams.
She told me to hide when it starts. Told me I’m safe if I’m hidden.
But nothing hidden ever remains so, and nobody is ever gonna stick around and keep you safe. Sooner or later you discover that you only have yourself.
Fuck them.
Fuck everyone.
Fuck this guy with the aviator sunglasses who’s buying a cheap beer for his wife.
Fuck the kid with the Pokemon T-shirt who’s running around waving somebody’s cell phone.
Fuck this concert, and especially fuck the chick who’s trying to shove her tits into my face as I pour her drink.
“So you work at Stanley’s Bar?” she says in a weird nasal-whiny voice, chewing her gum and popping a pink bubble in my direction. Her hair is dyed a washed-out red and is held up in two pigtails.
Vaguely I wonder if this is the girl that Joel met at the bookstore, and if I should start worrying about his taste.
I drop ice into the plastic cup and thrust it in her direction. “I’m here, right?”
“You sure are!” She giggles, and fuck this concert.
Wait, have I said that already?
“Anything else?” I bite out, because I’m paid for this gig, and boss man is right around the corner. Can’t afford to be fired before my time here is done.
“Can I have you, wrapped and with a bow?” Her friend is approaching now, attracted to the stupid high-pitch giggling, no doubt.
Ah, gimme a break. I lean over the stall and give her a toothy grin, the angry fire burning up my neck. “How much?”
“Pardon?” Her giggles die, and a look of uncertainty passes over her face.
“I said, how much would you pay for me? I’m kind of expensive.”
“You’re funny,” her friend informs me. It seems I’ve rendered her giggly friend speechless. Go figure.
“Trust me,” I tell her, meeting her gaze and holding it. “I’m not funny at all.”
They put the money on the table and wander off in silence.
I lean back and huff. It’s sunny again today, and it’s pretty warm. The park smells of grass, and beer, and piss, and even though the groups playing have taken a break, my ears are still ringing and my head throbbing.
But this is a job. A job is always good. Bucks in your pocket. No time to sit and brood.
Brood about this fucked-up week. I don’t even wanna think about it, in case it gets worse. Can it get worse?
Shut up. Don’t jinx it more.
I tap my fingers on the blue cloth covering the stall table, then give in and rub my eyes. Man, I’m beat. Between all that happened in the last two days, a bad night’s sleep and standing in the sun all day with the music booming right behind me, I’m ready to call it a day.
Only five more hours.
Yeah, baby. I can do this. I can do anything I put my mind to. Joel always says so, and that son of a bitch has a firmer grip on life than I ever have.
Joel who doesn’t know I’m here, because then I’d have to explain why I’m not at my other job, and hell, no. Not in the mood to explain today. Not until I’ve found a solution. A more permanent solution than this damn stall at this damn concert.
Did I mention I’m pissed? Grumpy cat, Joel calls me sometimes, but hell, I’ve got plenty to be grumpy about today, all right?
“Hello!” a chirpy voice says.
“What?” I snap and then realize where I am and what I should be doing. “Shit, sorry. What can I get you?”
The sun is in my face, blinding me, turning her into a blurry outline as she says, “Two Coors, please.”
Her voice is soft and feathery, a relief after the screeching voice of the previous customer, and when my eyes adjust to the light, I see her, and something hot shoots through my chest—and down to my dick, because these two are connected, just FYI.
At least when it comes to pretty girls smiling at me, especially after the shitty days I’ve had.
“Two Coors coming right up,” I say. “Coors Light?”
“There’s nothing light about me,” she says, and I pause, my hand in the cooler, my brain firing uselessly.
What she says sounds like so much more. More than I ever thought I’d hear on a day like this, at a place like this.
Or anywhere, ever.
Goes to show, one hears what one wants to hear, and combined with her pretty face, loose blond hair and the dark blue dress that hugs some seriously hot curves, well…
Poor brain. Don’t worry, I get you. She’s too pretty, too perfect to be what you need, and when something looks too good to be true, then it’s not. Lesson learned.
So back the fuck off.
I grab two Coors and open them while waiting for my thoughts to settle and my body to calm the fuck down.
“Was the last group any good?”
I glance up and find her face inches from mine. My grip on the bottles slips, and they crash to the grass, spilling beer everywhere, including on my black jeans.
Oh for fuck’s sake. Grunting, I bend over to collect the now half-empty bottles—and she does the same, our foreheads bumping.
“Ow!” She stumbles backward, and I snatch at her wrist. I manage to grab it and steady her before she ends up on her ass in the spilled beer.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? Why don’t you sit here?” I drag her toward the chair behind the table, the one I’m not supposed to use, because I’m supposed to be standing and chatting up people and making sure they know I’m having the time of my life.
She lets me settle her in the chair, and I’m about to grab a fresh pair of beers, when she blinks golden-brown eyes at me, and I still.
There’s something about her. Something… spicy and sweet, sharp but delicate, from the look in her eyes that measure me from head to toe, weigh me and shake me up, to the pale arch of her throat to the dark hollow between her full tits, barely contained in the thin summer dress she’s wearing.
Now that she’s seated, I also see her legs. Long. Slim. Smooth. Slender feet shoved into green flip-flops, pink toenails peeking out.
Not my kind of chick. Too girly, too colorful, too playful. Too light, despite what she said—and why did she say it? It was as if she saw right through me, looked right into my soul.
What’s left of it, anyway.
I open two more beers, careful to put them on the table before I turn back to her. “That would be… hey, girl?” She’s still staring at me and hasn’t moved at all. “Hello, Earth to girl sitting in my chair?”
She smiles.
Her silence is worrying me, though. Maybe she’s wasted. Or got a concussion. “Shall I find your friend?”
> “No, it’s fine.” She finally stirs, pushes up from the chair. My gaze dips again to her tits, her waist, her hips, and I lick my dry lips. Can’t help it. Meanwhile, she rummages in her small purse and hands me money for the beers. “Um. Thanks.”
I push it back at her. “No. My treat.”
She smiles again, and I bask in the brightness of that smile. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Did I say I have to? I want to.”
“That’s cute.”
Is it? That’s not what I’m like, not normally. Cute, me?
She’s staring at me, her eyes a little wide, and I rub the back of my neck self-consciously. What the fuck? Nobody gets me flustered like this.
She takes a step away, and I scramble for something to say, to keep her longer.
“Staying to the end of the concert?” I manage.
“Possibly. My friend,” she tips her blond head in the direction of the stage and golden curls tumble everywhere, “has a crush.”
“A crush.”
“Yeah, on this stupid guy who thinks rock is only about black clothes and bad manners.” She bites her lip, her gaze darting down my body, and back up. “No offence.”
“That’s all right. I’m not into rock anyway.”
“You’re not?” Her eyes narrow. “But the style… and you’re working here. This gig can’t be paying much.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, heat rushing up my neck and into my face. “That’s how I dress, and I lost my job yesterday. I have to come up with the fucking rent money somehow, and…”
I clench my fists. Goddammit, why am I spilling the beans to a total stranger just because her lips and tits look divine in the golden afternoon light?
She’s not a heroine in the comic I’ve been drawing this past year. She’s a real girl, in this very real piss-scented park, and I should shut my mouth.
“I’m sorry.” She gives me a solemn nod. “Hey…” She licks her lips, starts again. “What’s your name?”
“Jethro.”
She nods, but her cheeks pale. “Jethro.”
“I know, it’s a weird name.” She pales more, and I frown. “You all right? Fuck, you’re dizzy, aren’t you?” I glance around for the paramedics that are stationed nearby. “Sit here and wait for me, I’ll be right back.”
“No, wait.” She grabs my arm, and the touch is searing my skin. “Look, I can’t offer you a job at a bar or anything like that.” She goes on quickly, before I have a chance to cut in and tell her I can work in anything and everything. “But if you think you’d be interested in a different kind of work… God, I’m just talking without asking you—”
“Asking me what?”
“If you even like books.”
“Books.” Huh. Do comics count?
“Not that you’re required to, of course,” she adds hastily. “You can hate them and sell them just fine, only it would be a soul-sucking job if you do.”
Her eyes have gold in them, and it glints in the sun, like her hair. She’s made of gold. “Work in a bookshop?”
“That’s right. I know a girl who left suddenly, and there’s a position to be filled.”
Soul-sucking or not, I need a job, and I could do worse than working at a bookshop. Besides, I don’t hate books. I’m not their biggest fan, but that’s not their fault.
“That sounds great,” I say, meaning it. “Where is that shop?”
“Wait, let me give you the card.” She fishes in her endlessly deep purse, and withdraws triumphantly a business card. “Here you go. Just give them a call. Say Candy sent you.”
“Candy.” Her name is Candy. It fits her perfectly. Candy sugar. I wish I could think of a line that doesn’t sound like a come on. “Hey, how about—?”
“It’s a great place. Nice people. You should give it a try.”
“I will, promise. Listen, Candy, about—”
“Going now.” She grabs the beers, and fuck, I want her to stay here, to go with me for a drink, to find out more about her.
“Will I see you again?” I call after her.
She turns and smiles at me. I could get addicted to her smiles, I realize, and fuck, that’s dangerous. I hardly know her.
“That’s up to you,” she says.
Then she turns around and hurries away and I’m left to ponder the fact that I met a girl who’s intrigued me and turned me on for the first time since I can remember, and I’m letting her go. I don’t even know her last name.
Fuck!
“Hey, where are you going?” my boss shouts at me as I go around the table and sprint after her, the business card clutched in my hand. “Come back here, you can’t leave the stall unattended! I’ll fire you.”
But I’m running through the crowd, trying to locate her blond head, my heart pounding. Too many people. I hate crowds. I hate noise. Where the hell did she go? She’s short but not that short to vanish completely.
Distracted, I crash into a huge guy with a shaved head and a sword tattooed on his forehead. He grabs my shoulder. “Goddamn retard.”
I elbow him in his considerable gut, cursing under my breath. Just what I need. No way can I catch up with Candy girl now.
Even worse, sword guy starts shaking me, and I can feel the panic creeping into the back of my mind like a black tide.
I pull back my fist and punch him in the gut.
Which results in him punching me in the face.
It all goes downhill from there.
He tries to punch me again. I sidestep and duck under the hand he still has on my shoulder, throwing him off balance, and kick back at his knee.
He howls, then punches me in the kidney.
I go down to one knee, my vision blacking out. The pain runs through me like fire, but I push it down with the ease of long practice and pull on his hand, making him stumble—then turn and punch him in the nuts.
He goes down like a sack of rocks, his cries drawing everyone around us. I kick him again and again, until someone pulls me off him.
I snarl viciously at him, at everyone, a red haze covering everything. Dammit. I’ve let Jet out of the cage.
And the police are coming.
Twisting out of the guy’s hold, I bolt through the crowd, run until my lungs give out and the stitch in my side turns into a tattoo of pain.
I don’t know where I am. There’s an endless avenue in front of me, mostly empty. I bend over, panting hard.
A crumbled piece of paper falls out of my hand. The business card. It’s hardly readable anymore, but I can make out the name and phone number.
Nothing to lose, right?
I lost it all already, long ago.
Chapter Four
CANDY
Title: Kitty Trouble
From Candy Boys (Blog Serial)
With a possessive growl, J-Two drags me on to his lap, and his greedy hands roam all over my luscious curves. “Who’s been a bad girl, huh?”
“Are you going to punish me with your huge rod?” I whisper, raking my nails down the tattoos on his chest. “Lash my kitty?”
“If you give him your kitty,” J-One drawls from behind me, sliding his monster cock between my thighs, “I’ll have your ass.”
I can’t believe I just met Jethro Connors.
And invited him to apply for Annie’s position.
OMG. What was I thinking?
…right, I wasn’t thinking at all. Seeing a hunk like him in the flesh can do that to a girl. He’s way hotter in person than those blurry pics implied.
Way sexier.
Cute, in a wild, bad boy way with his spiky black hair and dark eyes, and that fuck-all raspy voice… Electric. He’s a vibrating string, a fey-like creature, savage and graceful and hot as hell.
He’ll never apply for the position, right?
“You won’t believe the resumes I’m getting for Annie’s position,” Donna is muttering from her desk in the back of the shop. “Holy shitballs.”
“What?” I call back, distracted.
Satisfying my curiosity is better than obsessing over Jethro. Besides, Donna’s been doing this for an hour now. I can’t take it anymore. It’s still early on a Wednesday morning, and a customer has yet to walk into the stop, so I wander to the back and stick my head into her office.
“Say what?”
“The resumes. Have they even read the job description? Do they even know what a bookstore is? I really wonder.”
“Gimme.” I lean against the doorjamb and stick my tongue out. “Don’t be selfish, share the fun.”
“You’ll regret ever asking,” Donna mutters ominously, but clears her throat and adjusts her glasses on her nose, her curly ginger hair sticking out in all directions. “Here we go. ‘I am incredibly intelligent and when my peers were playing, I was reading books. I own eighty-five books and several comic books.’”
“What? Eighty-five?” I am outraged. “I hope she means paperbacks and has thousands on her ereader?”
“One can only hope. Improbable, though, I mean, look what she wrote in her extra activities: ‘I give good head.’”
We dissolve into giggles.
“Maybe she meant something else.” I sigh.
God, I really want to know if he applied. You know who. Jethro.
Hey, I’m not cheating on my other fantasy boyfriend. I just want him to get a job. I want him to be… I don’t know, less sad and angry at the world than he was that day.
And it’s not like Joel came back for more books. See?
“Here’s another one: ‘I love books and stories and can clean and answer phones. Here is my phone number.’”
“So?”
“Her references are Maxim’s Exotic Dancers Club.”
“Fie! No more!” we cry together. Then burst out laughing like maniacs.
I’m wiping tears from my eyes. “Poor girl.” I sober up. “Maybe you could give her a chance. So what if she works at that club? Maybe she has no options. Maybe she loves books.”
“Maybe. Though, the resume pic…”
“She put in a pic? What for?”
I go lean against her desk, and we both squint at the pic of a girl in what looks like a silver corset with thigh-high boots and feathers in her hair. “Do you think she’d plan on coming to work dressed like that?”