Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

She’s joking about it. She’s fine with it. She likes it. Likes the fact I’m attracted to Ryan, too. How does this make sense?

… and yet it does. Right now, with both of them looking at me, smiling, accepting, everything makes perfect sense to me.

***

Time off, Ryan had said when he invited us to this place. Vacation.

Not even sure what the word means. Time off for me has come to mean time spent worrying for my family, looking for my brother, thinking what extra jobs I could take on to pay the rent and bills.

Not this. Not this house—mansion?—on the shore of the tranquil lake with the trees and chirping birds.

It’s huge, and looks like it cost a fortune. Inside there’s dark wood everywhere, and rugs, and faux-rustic furniture. There’s a big-ass stuffed fish hanging over the fireplace.

I wander closer, swallowing a few curses and not liking how out of my depth I feel. “Did you catch this?”

“What?” Ryan’s steps approach me. “Oh, that. No, that was my grandfather.”

Grandfather. Generations passing through here. People with Ryan’s eyes, his face, his smile. Old money, obviously.

“Are you sure you need your job?” I study a framed photo on the mantel. A smiling couple and a young boy. “Any job?”

I’m half teasing, half serious, and I should have known better and kept my big mouth shut.

“I like my job,” he says, his smile dimming. “I’m good at it.”

What were you thinking, Rid? “Of course. Sorry. Not my place—”

“And it’s not like the house actually belongs to me. Though at the rate I’m losing my parents, it may not be long.” He runs a hand through his short hair. “Fuck.”

Whoa, I never expected the conversation to take this turn.

“Stop that. Is your dad sick?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You’d know, right?”

“Like I knew with Mom?” He gives a harsh bark of laughter. “The signs were there, it turns out, but I was young and self-absorbed, and my father, well… he says he never noticed.” He frowns. “I’m still self-absorbed. So fucking selfish.”

Shit, shit, shit. “Hey. Nobody’s dying. Now…” I mock punch him on the arm. “You’re a terrible host. What happened to showing us the rest of the house?”

A ghost of a smile flits over his face. “Right this way, Mr. Connors. Actually, I think Brylee is already upstairs, installing her cat.”

“Sounds like that cat is plugged in already.”

He laughs. “Hell. I’d plug that pussy in, all right.”

“You think she’ll let us?”

“Depends. Which pussy are we talking about here?”

Chuckling at the stupid conversation, I wrap an arm around his neck and drag him toward the staircase. “Let’s go check on the girls.”

***

The girls are on the carpet in a high-ceilinged bedroom with goddamn wooden beams running along the white ceiling. The carpet is wine-red and looks soft, the girl and the cat sinking in it as if in a field of red flowers.

Something stings my heart. I wanna sink down with her, drag Ryan along and fall into the warmth of their bodies, sink into them and forget the rest of the world.