Can’t deny that’s making me all wet and hot down under.
His eyes search my face. “You told me at the concert when I met you that you’re not light. There’s some darkness in you. Come on, Candy girl. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you wouldn’t like Joel watching as I make you come.”
I’m so close to confessing, to telling him that yes, that is my secret fantasy—one of the tamer ones, at least—but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
His gaze shutters. “Fuck, I was wrong, wasn’t I? I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” He reaches up and rubs his forehead, a wince passing over his features. “I’ve done enough damage for a day. I’ll just head off home.”
Worry for him slams back into me. Christ, how could I forget he was in pain?
Must be all that hot kissing and groping and talking.
“I’ll drive you. Come on.” I reach for his hand, and like every time he lets me, his bigger fingers wrapping around mine, warm.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Humor me. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you made it home safe.”
He shakes his head, looks like he’ll refuse again, but doesn’t.
In fact, he follows me out, waits as I lock up the shop, and slides into the passenger seat of my car without another comment.
I’m so set on this mission of closing up the shop, getting Jethro into my car and driving toward the address he gives me, of not thinking about Jethro kissing me and Joel’s hot voyeuristic kink, that I don’t realize until I’ve parked in front of a sober building that this is where my fantasy boyfriends live.
Hey, now I can send them post cards if I want.
Get a grip, Candy.
Hey, I’m a fangirl. Losing grip is my job.
***
“Here we are,” I chirp brightly, unable to contain my excitement as I look up the building, trying to guess which window is theirs.
Trying in vain not to think of Jet’s lips on mine, of the possibility of something more between us. Between me and him. Me and Joel. All three of us.
Oh my God. I’m sitting outside my fantasy boyfriends’ home. Be still my heart. I might just circle this day with a red marker on my calendar. And add little hearts to it.
I can’t tell the address to Connie. She’ll camp outside. Hysterical laughter bubbles u
p in my throat, and I turn to grin at Jethro.
The laughter dies in my throat.
He still hasn’t moved to get out of the car. His forehead is creased in lines of pain, his lips white.
“Crap, you don’t look so good.” I fight the worry inside me. It’s a losing battle. “Is the headache worse? What can I do?”
“I’ll be fine.” But his hand shakes as he tries to open the door, and his breathing sounds ragged. “Shit. It’s stuck.”
Can the pain be so bad? The thought twists something inside my chest.
“Here, let me.” I reach over him and jiggle the handle. “It’s a trick.” The car door swings open with a screech of rusty hinges, and I gather my courage as he nods and turns to get out. “Jet…”
He doesn’t turn to look at me. Doesn’t get out, either. He’s holding on to the back of the seat like a drowning man.
“Is Joel home? Hey.” I put a hand on his shoulder, and the muscles in his back are coiled like steel ropes. “Is he upstairs in case you need something?”
He shakes his head.