Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

I want to tell her I’ve got everything we need. That I could be all they need, in every way.

But I say nothing at all.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Roll-in-the-sheets Crepe Flambé

Brylee

It was Riddick who said he’d rather leave on Saturday morning, because he’d be working overtime today, but to tell the truth, I’m glad.

I’m not ready, and I don’t mean just the packing. After all, Ryan did say I only need some clothes and my toothbrush.

No idea why it sounded so sexy when he said it…

No idea what I think I’m doing, agreeing to this weekend, either.

Hence the need for more time. Time to think, to pack my sexiest underwear, unpack it, pack it again, and jump into my car to go talk to my bestie.

Candy opens the door, hugs me tightly, then leads the way back to the sofa where she clears away piles of books and notes for me to sit.

She’s studying, which reminds me that I should also be studying for my English literature class. I’ve kind of… ignored it in recent days, or weeks, what with the sky raining men.

Okay, not really, but with my preoccupation with Ryan and Riddick, it’s a miracle I didn’t make any serious mistakes at work, and that’s me, the perfectionist analyst. The perfectionist everything, who planned her wedding and her future home in case her future husband decides he has an opinion.

I mean, guys know nothing about weddings and homes. Fact of life. A girl has to think ahead.

What was I…? Oh yes. I was preoccupied.

Still am.

“Tea?” Candy asks, giving me a narrow look, and I nod, petting the books she has pushed to the side.

“Where are your boyfriends?”

Always an effort for me to call them that, to think of them as such, but strangely these past weeks it has been getting easier. The concept doesn’t feel curious anymore.

It feels familiar.

“They went jogging.” She returns with two steaming mugs. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I study her closely, watching out for signs of her pregnancy, hoping it’s not catching. “Feeling okay?”

I wonder when she’ll start to show. I may have planned two and a half children for my future, but I never spared much thought to the logistics of the creation of those children.

“Yes.” She beams at me. She doesn’t look any different, except for her boobs. I think they look bigger. “I’m not sick all the time anymore.”

“Ah… good?” I cringe.

I hate nausea. You couldn’t pay me enough money to even step on a boat, let alone puke my guts out for months on end. Just the thought… Jesus.

Maybe I could adopt.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something,” Candy says, sipping her tea. Her blond hair is pulled back in pigtails and her black-rimmed glasses sit atop her nose. She’s every inch the intellectual nerd with her long Star Wars T-shirt and Death Star leggings.

The only thing missing is the Darth Vader mask and some heavy breathing.

Speaking of heavy breathing…