Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

Chicken shit, too. Fucking coward. What are you afraid of? That you’ll follow your mom’s fate—or that they’ll leave you when they find out your secret?

Newsflash, idiot. You never had them. They were kind to you, and you only drove them away.

Nice pity party you got there, Ryan.

Look, I’ve been fine all this time because I’ve been careful. Did everything in moderation. Avoided intense feelings and shocks.

My father is wrong. I am living. A good life. I’m not missing out on anything. I mean, he’s one to talk. Living in a museum to my mom’s memory.

Christ. I should stop arguing with myself all the time, or I’ll get locked up.

Days pass buried under work. Sleepless nights. All quiet, too fucking quiet. I stop going to the gym. Too much work, I tell myself.

I pour myself a drink and remember the taste of it on Riddick’s lips.

I smile at a comedy show on TV and remember Brylee’s laughter.

At work, I listen for her steps outside my office. Look for her during meetings. I need to see her.

But she doesn’t come over.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

I tell myself that’s fine. That’s awesome, perfect. Who cares, anyway? Funny girl, but not for me. Not who I want. Not who I need.

I don’t need anyone, in fact, neither woman or guy. I’m perfectly fine on my own.

She had tears in her eyes the last time she was here. I put those tears there. I was…

No. She’ll get over it. And I don’t even fucking care. I don’t care about her.

Or Riddick.

Rubbing at my temples, trying to chase away the nowadays permanent headache drumming inside my skull and beating at the back of my eyes, I do my best to focus on my work. My supervisor has dumped more clients, more accounts on me, and I’ve taken them and kept my mouth shut.

A promotion, I tell myself. If I do this, I’ll get promoted.

And since when do I care about getting promoted? What the hell does it matter to me? I don’t need the money, or the extra stress.

Bowing my head, I forge on, jaw clenched so tight it might explain the headache. Or maybe it’s the way my teeth are gritting.

I make it five days, five fucking long days before I break. As I walk through the office, I tell myself I’m not looking for a girl with ginger curls and hazel eyes. I think I see her curvy figure by the watercooler, but it’s not her.

Later, heading to a meeting, I think I see her talking to a guy I never met, but it turns out it’s not her, either.

That’s it, I’m going nuts. She’s nowhere to be found.

Not that I’m searching. Hell, no.

And when I finally run into her at the office cafeteria, she doesn’t seem to notice me.

She’s dressed in a short skirt that shows off her miles of long legs, made longer by her high-heeled pumps. A gray blazer over a black turtleneck shows off her bright hair and oval face. She’s…fuck, she’s beautiful.

And I must be invisible, because she doesn’t see me as I grab a coffee right beside her. I stare, and she doesn’t feel it.

She turns away to talk to a girl from the administration, and I’m left gazing at her ass. Her damn sexy ass, barely covered by that short skirt.