Ding
dong.
Justin scowled at Angie in anger and confusion. Who did she think she was? And why did she sound like a doorbell?
“Justin, where did you go?” Candy pushed Angie onto the floor, where she crumbled into dust. “Come back to me.”
She opened her slender arms. “Please, Justin.”
Ding
dong.
No, no, no. He didn’t want to wake up. Don’t wake up. Not yet. He wanted onto that bed; he wanted to be with Candy.
Justin’s eyes opened; he groaned in disappointment.
Door. Someone at the door.
Troy. They were going to celebrate finishing the chapter this afternoon, and probably long into the night. What time was it? He rolled over and peered at the clock. Four-fifteen.
Damn Troy for being early. Five more minutes and Justin could have finished the dream.
He pushed out of bed, rolling his eyes at his boxers, which were nothing like the satin jockstrap—where did that image come from?—but which were about as distended. He was going to have to get a lot further from the picture of Candy with her ankle boot planted on his bed before he’d get his underwear fitting again.
Ding
dong.
“Coming.” He started downstairs. Stupid to yell; Troy probably couldn’t hear him.
At the front door, his erection had calmed enough to be presentable—at least as presentable as he needed to be for Troy. After a good yawn and head-scratch, he pulled open the door.
Then stared openmouthed, his cock not sure whether to shrivel in mortification or rise again like a mighty obelisk.
Not Troy. Of course not.
Candy.
Hadn’t he said he was not going to be such a screwup around her again?
Candy strode down her driveway toward Justin’s neatly cleared one. She wasn’t going to sit home and wonder what their connection was about any longer, nor wonder if and when she’d see him again, or what he was feeling, what he’d been thinking, blablabla. Enough. She was going over to his house on Abigail and Marie’s advice, with her ultimate weapon: 106
rocky-road brownies. Chewy dark-chocolate cake topped for the last five minutes of baking with marshmallows, caramel, melted chocolate and toasted pecans. If he didn’t orgasm within a minute of tasting one, there was no hope for him.
And if he didn’t take this opportunity to talk to her at least in a friendly manner, there was no hope for her.
She rang the doorbell and waited, head held high.
Wait, what if he was some kind of California health freak who wouldn’t eat sugar?
Stop, stop that.
A deep, calming breath. The scent of the still-warm brownies rose temptingly. She started humming. If he didn’t answer soon she was going to plonk her face into the pan and gorge.
No
answer.
She tried the bell again. Waited longer, her calm beginning to fracture.
Wasn’t he home? She could leave the pan on his front stoop, but what fun was that? The whole point of coming over was to see him and talk to him, gauge his reaction to—
Wait. She heard something. Had he shouted? Was he there?
Unlocking sounds at the door. Yes. Her heart sped. Stay calm. Stay calm. Just a neighborly gesture…
The knob turned. The door swung open.
Whoa.
Justin, wearing light boxers and a T-shirt, hair tousled, jaw stubbled. Oh, my lord, he was stunning, even if he was staring at her in a sort of horror, which she’d definitely rather he wasn’t.
How long would she keep being surprised by how hot he was? And by how strongly she reacted? How long before she could greet him without the little kick of excitement in her chest? Okay, big kick. Big enough to impact her breathing.
“Candy…hi.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No. No. I was…it was time to get up anyway. I, um, not really. No.”
A horrible thought: did he have a woman up there? Please no.
“Am I, um , interrupting something?”
Her meaning sank in; his eyes widened, he held up his hand. “No. Nothing like that. No.”
“Okay.” She tried not to wilt too obviously into relief, hoping he’d say, “Why, Candy, after the other night I couldn’t even look at another woman.” Fantasy men never had trouble coming up with lines like that. Unfortunately the best lines never occurred to real ones.
“Here.” She held the brownies out, certain all of a sudden that her offering was childish overkill. “I haven’t officially welcomed you to the block, and I thought you might like these.