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I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to stop this… whatever it is we’re having together. The sex. The hugs. The banana dinners. The sweet smiles on Jethro’s face, the sexy grins on Joel’s.
I want these boys. I care for them. I miss them already, and I’ve only been away from them ten minutes.
Jeez, I don’t know what to do next. I feel like my heart is breaking. Someone please shoot me?
***
When I arrive home, Brylee isn’t there. It annoys me, because I wanted to pour my heart out to her. What sort of friend is she, not to wait for me alone every night in case I decide to abandon my boys and come sobbing at her feet, huh?
Some people…
Should I call my boys? Explain? Apologize, blame everything on a misunderstanding? Sex intoxication? I bet that exists.
There’s only one problem with this plan: it looks like I forgot my cell phone at their place, and I don’t know their phone numbers by heart.
I know, right? When it rains, it pours.
But maybe it’s for the best? Note the question mark. Like, I should calm down and think what to do before I rush into any panicky actions?
God knows. I curl up on the sofa instead and reluctantly turn on my laptop. Strange how something that used to define my life, to take up most of my free time, doesn’t feel normal anymore. Doesn’t feel real.
I log in and check my blog, planning to upload first my reviews of a load of amazing gay romances I gorged on recently—books by Harper Fox, Josh Lanyon, Santino Hassel and Andrea Speed—and I freeze.
Holy guacamole! My blog has exploded.
Well, not literally, but the sheer amount of comments people have left when I wasn’t looking is staggering. Open-mouthed, momentarily distracted from my doubts and panic, I scroll through them, trying to figure out what happened here.
“Please don’t stop the serial!” many comments read. “Bring back J&J. You stopped at the best part.”
Others are asking if I’m okay, if something happened to me.
They’re right. I haven’t missed an installment of my serial in years. Guess I really don’t have a life, huh. Not outside of my blog, that is.
Damn.
Connie’s name pops up on chat. “You okay, Candix? You were gone for a while there.”
“I’m fine,” I type back, add a smiley. “Just busy.”
“Busy writing the next chapter of the J&J story, I hope!” Dancing emojis. “Can’t wait to see if J-Two will top J-One after all.”
Say what? I stare at her words. Had I left the story at such a point? J-Two is Jethro, and Jethro was about to fuck Joel? Really?
In the serial, Jethro is aggressive. Loud. Touchy-feely.
And J-One, that is, Joel, is more reserved, quieter, but he’s also the one who keeps pushing Jethro to sleep with him, and me, to try new things, new positions.
But… that’s not how they are.
I mean, sure Jethro likes to throw his arm over Joel’s shoulders, especially when someone is taking a photo, grinning like a maniac—but in real life, he’s the quiet one. He’s the artist who draws comics and struggles with reading. The one who holds my hand when we walk in the street.
And Joel likes to be in control. He also likes books. And history. And taking care of Jethro. Of both of us.
“You’re gone again?” Fist-shaking emoji. “Candy?”
“Here.” After a moment, I add a tongue-sticking emoji. “Thinking.”
“That why you vanished? What happened with the fantasy boyfriends?”
