Candy Boys Read online

  “You took a pic of his butt.”

  “Yeah, okay. I totally did. And if I could get away with taking one of his front, I would have.”

  “Right.” She straightens, pats my head. “I see you’re back to writing about your imaginary life with two boyfriends. I thought you were over that.”

  “Why would you think that?” Seriously. “A good fantasy is hard to find.”

  “I mean the blog.”

  “What’s wrong with my blog, huh? People love it.” And that’s a huge understatement. I mean, I was approached by companies to advertise their stuff in my stories, for a good price, too, and I’m thinking of saying yes. Why the heck not, right?

  “I just don’t get it, is all. Half the time you review books, and the other half you talk about these two guys as if they’re real.”

  “They are real, Bry.”

  “Yeah, well, not in the way you describe them.” She leans over my shoulder again, scrolling back to previous posts of mine and reading out loud: “He reaches for J-Two’s shirt, yanks it open and whispers, I need you to touch me, need you to blow my—”

  “Hey.” I shove her back and snap my laptop shut. “Cut it out.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re too young for this.”

  Truth is, having someone I know read my words out loud is awful. Anonymous readers reading my words far, far away from me is a completely different thing.

  “What if they read it? Those two guys? And what if they realize it’s about them? What if they find out you want to do them both? Christ, aren’t you embarrassed for wanting two guys to do you?” Brylee says.

  “I’m not. Why would I be? Nothing wrong with that. Why are you trying to shame me for what I want?”

  My mom raised me to accept myself. I owe her for that, I guess. Even if she thinks we’re best buddies and she can tell me things about her sex life with my dad I really don’t want to know.

  “I’m not.”

  “Sure you are. It’s just a fantasy, anyway.” And I’m getting defensive, because I want this too badly, and if this is the only way I’ll get it… I mean, I don’t know these guys, apart from their appearance and the fact they live together. As friends. Apparently.

  They may be assholes. Arrogant dicks, as Joel’s comment at the store seems to indicate— sadly.

  Big dicks. Big, hard, thick—

  “Getting a guy, babe, needs work,” Brylee mutters, and I duck before she pats my head again like I’m her poodle. “Hard work. Hours at the gym. Hours agonizing on what to wear. Relentless pursuit. Imagine chasing after two. Unless you want this story to remain fiction.”

  I shake my head.

  “You know there’s no way this could become reality,” I mutter. “You know it, Bry. Even if they were interested in me, which they’re not, they would never…” Never do a threesome, never touch and kiss each other, never want… What I want. “They’re like brothers!”

  Everyone knows that. My friends use it as a running expression at college, and that’s long after Joel graduated and left to get a job: Friends like J & J. The Twins. The Bros. Best friends, practically family. It’s the way they are together, that closeness and familiarity you can’t fake.

  And although finding out stuff about Joel was pretty easy—good family, a sister who works for the National Runaway Safeline, bunch of friends at a local gym he apparently spars with—his other half, so to say, Jethro, is a total mystery.

  A sexy, badass mystery with spiky black hair and a wide grin and scruff and tattoos and…

  “You need a makeover!” Brylee declares as she marches out to prepare for another night out, while I open my laptop again and stare at my unfinished post. “And then pursuit!”

  A makeover. Yeah… so I may be somewhat nerdy. So what? Is that so bad?

  I wish my buddy, Connie, were online, to tell her all about what happened and fangirl and rant and sigh together. Connie gets me, unlike Brylee, who mostly wants to fix me.

  Brylee doesn’t know me.

  You know nothing, Jon Snow.

  Pushing my glasses up my nose, I type two words in my post, delete them, and finally smile as I launch into my steamy, improved encounter with J-One. On screen, he can be whatever I want him to be—do whatever I want him to do. He can be loving and wild and forceful and into me, and into J-Two, and make us both come and then spoon us in bed while a fire burns in the fireplace and a storm rages outside.

  Yeah, perfect, I think, sitting back and surveying my post before I hit “publish.” Hey, what can I say? Can’t beat fictional boyfriends. They’re the best.

  ***

  “Good night,” Brylee mutters right behind me, almost giving me a frigging heart attack, and giggles. “Don’t overdo it with the boyfriends. Don’t want you worn out tomorrow.”

  “Why? What’s tomorrow?” I’m still trying to catch my breath while glaring at her perfectly made-up face, perfect dress, perfect—well, you get the picture.

  I mean, I do like Brylee, don’t get me wrong. I really, really do, even if she drives me nuts. She’s an amazing friend. But sometimes, when I’m being honest with myself in the dark hours of night, I wish she were a little bit less perfect, know what I mean?

  “You forgot. I knew you would.” Brylee wags a finger in my face. “Tomorrow. Park. Concert. With Ryan. Ring any bells?”

  Yep. Ringing all over the place. “I don’t know, Bry.”

  “It will be great. You need to get out more. Get over Liam.”

  “What? I don’t need to get over Liam.” Why are we even speaking about my ex-boyfriend? “There’s nothing to get over from.”

  Except I miss sex. I really do. This nerdy girl had some pretty wild times before Liam, but since him I seem to have… given up? Maybe. Given up on finding someone who can make me feel as good as my own fantasy can.

  “You’re coming to the concert with me,” Brylee says, cocky as you please—as cocky as Joel Kingsley. “And you will let me make you pretty,” she adds.

  “Yeah.” I blink. “What? No.”

  I turn to look at myself in the mirror nevertheless, in sudden doubt. With my hair caught in two braids, a long Indian dress and a T-shirt on top that says, “I Heart Vader,” don’t I look, I dunno, okay? I mean, this is my I’m-at-home-relaxing attire. Am I supposed to be in a dress and heels for that?

  “You will let me prettify you. If not for me, then for you. You will meet actual real guys. Living and breathing ones. Let go of your fantasy. Become the fantasy.”

  Wow. That was deep. I guess.

  And she goes, leaving me feeling vaguely offended and annoyed, her heels clacking on the floor, as I frown at my screen. I need prettifying?

  Being nerdy may not be the problem, after all. Maybe I’ve become rather… lax about my appearance.

  Happens when you don’t have a man in your life to dress for, okay? Why waste time when the only male staring under your skirt is the neighbor’s manic Chihuahua? Why wear lace and shave your legs for the crazy fluffy bastard, huh?

  Going to a concert by some unknown indie group from out of town doesn’t feel like reason enough, either. But Ryan is going, so of course Brylee wants to go.

  Brylee insists she’s in love. She works with Ryan, at the investment firm where she’s landed her first job as accountant. He likes rock music, and Brylee believes they are soulmates.

  Have I mentioned she hates rock music?

  But hey, who am I to judge? It’s not like I believe in love, not really. Wouldn’t know what it was if it bit me in the ass. I know lust, and Brylee is clearly a case of bad lust. I hope they hop into bed together soon, so she can get over it.

  The reason I can’t get over J & J, I decide as I open a new post in my browser and copy-paste the review I prepared for the last book I read and loved—Cora Brent’s latest—is that they are a fantasy.

  And a fantasy they shall remain. Our paths may have crossed briefly, but the chances of them crossing again are zilch. If nothing happened between
us while Joel was still going to college with me, how the heck would it ever happen now?

  Except for his roommate being in urgent need of a book about bananas, that is. But I doubt he’ll need another one anytime soon.

  ***

  I put up my review, give myself a mental high-five for getting it done at last, and open Facebook to stalk my boys, as per usual. Don’t judge—this is the highlight of my day.

  Kinda overshadowed by the fact I actually met and talked to J-One today, but still.

  I click Joel’s profile. We’re “friends” online—see, I’m not a complete chicken. I friended him a year ago, and to my surprise he accepted. Of course, he probably accepts all friend requests. He’s always been a popular guy. An athlete, easy-going, handsome, successful with the ladies. Guys want to be like him. Girls crush on him.

  On par for any day.

  And Jethro… For some reason, he manages to always come out blurry in the photos with Joel. Always in motion, that one.

  And OMG, jackpot! There’s a new pic of the two of them, Jethro’s arm thrown over Joel’s shoulders, flipping the camera the bird. It’s some sort of pool party, because they’re both bare-chested, and woo. I’m feeling faint. And hot. Too hot.

  I lean closer, bumping my nose on the screen, and consider licking it. Licking them. God if this were real…

  I feel myself growing wet. I’m conditioned, after years of wanting them—not that any girl could possibly be immune to that level of hawtness. Not if their blood isn’t made of ice.

  Mine certainly isn’t.

  My hand steals down between my legs with a mind of its own. Bad, wicked hand. A brush over my soaked panties and I shiver. I imagine it’s Joel or Jethro touching me, moving my panties aside to slide rough fingers into me.

  God, I can imagine them, one behind me, his hands cupping my breasts, his breath on the back of my neck, while the other is pleasuring me with his hand, crushing his mouth to mine, swallowing my moans.

  Oh yeah, do me, I want you… I slump back in my chair, biting my lip, letting my fantasy boyfriends take care of me. I know Jethro is the one kissing me, while Joel is sliding his hands over my ass, then down where Jethro is pleasuring me, his fingers joining his friend’s—

  And I shudder, coming hard, wishing… Wishing it were real.

  ***

  I’m still struggling to catch my breath, when a message pops up in my chat. It’s Connie, fellow admirer of the Twins, and contester for Jethro’s imaginary affections. According to her, she licked him first.

  Well, I licked both first, and the bitch knows that. Licked them from head to toe and shoulder to shoulder, not bypassing any part.

  So there.

  “Candix! Did u see the new pic?” she writes, adding an emoji of a dog, complete with lolling tongue. “I licked it, btw.”

  I huff as I type back. “I met J-One in the flesh, biatch.”

  “Joel? Did you, now?” I wait as three dots appear, indicating she’s still typing. “Did he do you behind the store shelves? Did J-Two join the party?”

  “Don’t I wish!” I add a crying emoji. “He bought a book for him, though.”

  “How thoughtful.” Jumping emoji. “Something like, How to Do your Sexy Roommate?”

  “Actually… bananas.”

  “He went bananas?”

  “He bought a book about bananas.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I’m serious!”

  “There’s something between them, I can feel it.”

  “A banana.”

  “Shut up, Candy.” Emoji sticking out its tongue and dancing. A banana emoji, no less, with legs and everything.

  I crack up. “Go away. I need to appreciate the new pic in peace.”

  Appreciate it a bit more. Maybe it’s time to break out my favorite dildo.

  “Girl, what you need is a piece of them.”

  “You have a specific piece in mind?”

  She vanishes from online for a bit, and I lean closer, taking in Joel’s grin, the twinkle in his eyes, his messy hair. The taut abs, the shorts hanging way too low on his narrow hips. Jethro’s body is a shadow beside his, his biceps impressive enough to show through the blurriness.

  The fantasy returns, the fantasy that torments me and delights me and accompanies me to bed every night. A dirty, dirty fantasy of Joel pushing into me as I lean back on the bed, while Jethro—always blurry, always mysterious and half-formed—claims his mouth in a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth and a sexy growl that I feel in my bones, in my pussy, everywhere.

  Then he moves behind Joel, runs his big hands over Joel’s taut ass, and he—

  “You still there?” comes a message from Connie, and I blink, the image shattered beyond repair. “Tell me everything.”

  “Everything?” I type back, baffled.

  “About meeting Joel Kingsley, stoopid. What did he say, how did he smell, how did he speak? What did he say? Help me improve my sexual fantasies. Help a friend out.”

  What can I say? In her shoes, I would have asked exactly the same.

  Besides, I recall clearly the intense blue of Joel’s eyes, the faint scent of boy musk wafting from him as he took the book from my hand. This is no hardship at all…

  “Hey,” she types after I tell her everything, “you going to the Indie concert tomorrow?”

  Oh holy crap, not her, too. “No.”

  “That’s a shame. I heard through the grapevine that J-Two will be there.”

  “Yeah right.” Ha. “You’re worse than Bry. I bet you’re making this up to see if I swallow it. Shame on you.”

  “Listen, biatch. My brother lives near Madison, you know that, right? So he’s best buddies with Mason Archer, owner of Archer’s Own, one of the sponsors of the concert. He will have a couple of stalls selling drinks there.”

  “And?”

  “And. He just hired a certain Jethro Connors to man one of them. I found out by chance.”

  “You’re not serious.” Because, Holy Athlete Buns! “Are you serious?”

  “I’m serious as a heart attack, woman. If I could go to this concert, trust me, I would, and I wouldn’t be taking you with. I’d have him all to myself to lick and wow with my mad tongue skillz.”

  I can’t even. I’m snorting coffee through my nose. But through it all, one thought shines like a nuclear blast.

  Holy shit, I could meet Jethro Connors!

  Chapter Two

  JOEL

  Jet comes at me with his fists raised, and I jump out of reach of his right hook. I know his style. And he knows mine. Years of doing this—dancing around each other, exchanging punches and kicks and insults, afterward showering and getting dressed in the gym lockers before heading out for a drink.

  He kicks out. I knock his foot aside and grapple him. He grunts, his taped hands still curled into fists, thumping on my back. I twist us and throw him down on his back, locking my knees on either side of him to keep him down. He bucks against me, trying to get a hit in, but I pin his hands against the mat.

  “Give up,” I tell him, wheezing. “You’re done here.”

  “Get off me.”

  “Not until you say you give up. I win. You owe me a drink.”

  “You arrogant bastard,” he writhes like an eel, almost throwing me off, his face red with exertion, “just get off—”

  “Say it.”

  His gaze darkens, and he turns his face away. “Fuck you. You win.” Not for the first time I notice that he has ridiculously long lashes for a guy. Long and thick and dark.

  “Good.” I blink, the heat pooling in my chest flowing lower, and I fling myself off him with a silent curse. “Race you to the showers.”

  “Go ahead, J. Show off.”

  Flipping him the bird, I stalk to the showers, shaking my head at myself. It’s just the thrill of winning over Jet, not an easy victory on any given day. And the exercise, all this rolling together and—

  I turn on the cold water and hiss as it hits me, f
inally driving all these strange thoughts from my head.

  “Jet!” I close the apartment door behind me and peek into the kitchen. Where the hell is that motherfucker? “Jethry-boy.”

  “You called?”

  A door inside the apartment bangs open, and a cloud of steam billows out of the bathroom. Haloed in that steam is my roommate and best buddy, Jethro the-Pain-in-the-Ass-crack Connors. Clad in a tiny black towel, he saunters past me and into his bedroom, giving me a very clear view of his muscular back and ass.

  And why am I staring at Jethro’s ass?

  Motherfucker.

  “Where were you? I waited for you for ages.” I stomp after him and focus my gaze on his drawings decorating the wall instead. “Hey, assface.”

  “Me? You were with a chick, in a fucking bookstore. And you were supposed to meet Ellen. Which I don’t really get. I thought the only thing you two shared was a scandal.”

  Yeah, and he doesn’t know the details, thank fuck.

  He doesn’t need to know how fucking scared I am that photo might be splashed all over the internet one day after all. If my parents ever found out…

  He sniffs. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get under Ellen’s skirt again? I thought you were over her.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  He nods. “You’ve never really cared about her, except for wanting to tap that sweet ass. However, you’ve been going on and on about that girl you saw on State Street a couple of times. Did you manage to find her? Is that where you were today?”

  “Fuck you and your shrink degree, Tully.” I navigate between his bed and a chair piled up with clothes to stand in front of him.

  “Uh oh, someone’s in a bad mood.” He picks up a T-shirt from the chair and sniffs it. Throws it into a corner. “Girl didn’t run after you, did she? Didn’t scrawl her phone number on your hand, as per usual?”

  “No, fuckwit. That’s not it.”