Candy Ever After (Hot Candy 2)

“How old are you?” I ask, before my brain engages.

Fuck. Abort.

Too late. She steps into my personal space, head tilted up to look at my face, and wags a finger. “That’s none of your business, Jethro Connors.”

Shit. I don’t wanna get fired so soon. I like this job. “You look like you’re twenty-two or something.”

Her face softens. “I do? I mean, nonsense. I don’t look that young.”

But she smiles and steps back.

Phew. Disaster averted. She returns to her office and I return to the books that need unpacking and sorting.

I bet there’s a guy. I admit I’m damn curious about how this will play out. I guess seeing Donna in a different light than that of a boss is what’s piquing my interest.

But then Candy arrives and I forget all about it as we talk and put the books on the shelves.

Candy has that effect on me. The world fades away when she’s around. She chats about Brylee’s obsession with this Ryan guy who’s apparently a douchebag, and Simone the Unpredictable, who confessed she doesn’t believe in love but she does believe in good orgasms.

“That’s a good religion,” I say, absently lifting more books to the shelf, too busy staring at Candy’s boobs. They are really nice boobs, neither too small nor too big. Perfect. Today she’s wearing a close-fitting sweater that dips just low enough to give me a glimpse of cleavage, and guess where my gaze has been glued since she arrived.

I’d have my hand under her top right now, and my thigh between her legs, if two customers weren’t browsing the shelves right across from us.

Doesn’t stop me from seriously considering it. I could pull her behind the crime section and have her up against the wall, kiss her to keep her quiet as I get her off.

Damn, that would be hot. My dick is drilling a hole through my dusty pants and I shift uncomfortably, nodding at something Candy says, not hearing a word. It’s not that I’m being an asshole. Not on purpose, anyway. Once my mind’s on sex, it’s hard to focus on anything else.

We rarely fuck around without Joel, or he without me, but getting Candy off anywhere, anytime, is priority. We’ve both agreed it’s okay, even without prior agreement.

Candy is saying something about Brylee and cooking and a disaster, and I nod distractedly, hypnotized by her mouth, imagining it on my skin, around my cock, my hand in her blond hair, tugging—

“Excuse me.” A guy is standing at the end of the row of shelves, hands shoved in the pockets of his long coat. He’s blond and blue-eyed, with a strong set of shoulders, and doesn’t look much older than me, mid-twenties, if that. “I’m looking for Donna.”

I frown at him, my brain still not processing.

“In the office.” Candy points, smiling, and we both watch him nod and amble toward the back of the shop. “Who is that?”

I shake my head. “I think he’s Donna’s date.”

“What? A date?”

Trying to see into the office, she leans forward, flashing me some more boobage, and I lose track of my surroundings again. “Hm?”

I can’t remember how I used to work here before, when Candy was here full-time. Nowadays she’s only in for a couple of hours three times a week and I’m not even sure whether the books I’ve put on this shelf are Christian romance or DIY books. I pick one up.

Fancy Coffins to Make Yourself.

Fuck. Wrong shelf.

“Donna is going out with that guy? Isn’t he too young for her?” Candy is still trying to see into the office.

I lick my lips, and struggle to get my thoughts back in line. “Why would he be too young?”

“Donna is thirty-one. She’s a cradle robber.”

“He’s hardly a baby.”

“She’s a cougar, don’t you see?”