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“Candace.” I struggle to get my thoughts back in order. “Candy.”
Evie giggles. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why, what’s wrong with Candy?”
“Nothing. Ooh that’s so funny!”
“What is?”
“There’s this blog that’s making waves lately because of a story the blogger has been posting. It’s a story about two guys and a girl getting it on, and, get this… It’s called Candy Boys.”
I scowl at the dashboard of my car, which needs a good cleaning. Like my brain. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Nothing, I told you, it’s just that… she calls the boys J-One and J-Two. J & J, like you and Jethro. And her name is Candy…” She giggles some more. “Oh man, I read some of the chapters, and they’re superhot.”
Right. That’s what you get when you call your baby sister for support. “Gotta go, sis. Have fun reading smut online.”
“We should get together sometime. I want to meet this Candy. Call me?”
“Sure.”
I disconnect and lean back in my seat, my mind churning. J-One and J-Two? And a girl called Candy. That’s a hell of a coincidence.
But it’s a coincidence, I tell myself. Nothing more. Candy would never write a running commentary on what’s going on with us.
Would she?
Cold sweat drips down my back. Not another scandal, fuck, no. But it’s not, right? Just because the names sort of fit doesn’t mean this has anything to do with us.
With me.
Candy Boys, huh? I’ll Google it later, just to see what it’s about. Paranoia is a hard weed to kill.
***
The bookshop is closed and locked. I frown, glancing at my watch. Didn’t realize I was so late. Thinking they must be at home, I drive there, but when I let myself in, the apartment is dark and quiet.
It seems empty, and there’s a strange pressure in my chest, a mixture of worry and yearning I don’t know what to do with.
“Jet?” I call out. “You here, dude?”
A noise from the kitchen draws my attention, and I wander toward it, shucking off my jacket and shoes on the way. I poke my head inside the door, and there he is, standing in the dark, his form outlined in silver from the faint glow of the summer sky coming through the window.
“Whatcha doing like this, twatface? What’s up?”
He turns away from me, and flinches when I grab his arm. “You’re back.”
“Yeah, got off work late. Passed by the shop, but it was closed already. Sorry I missed you.”
“No worries, mate.”
But now I am, because he still hasn’t looked at me, and his shoulders are stiff. “Did something happen today? Come on, Jet, talk to me.”
“Everything’s fine.”
The brittle, hollow tone of his voice is what shatters my control. I grab his arm, yank him around and slam him back against the wall.
“Stop hiding from me.”
