Candy Ever After (Hot Candy 2)

Fuck everyone.

Fuck this guy with the aviator sunglasses who’s buying a cheap beer for his wife.

Fuck the kid with the Pokemon T-shirt who’s running around waving somebody’s cell phone.

Fuck this concert, and especially fuck the chick who’s trying to shove her tits into my face as I pour her drink.

“So you work at Stanley’s Bar?” she says in a weird nasal-whiny voice, chewing her gum and popping a pink bubble in my direction. Her hair is dyed a washed-out red and is held up in two pigtails.

Vaguely I wonder if this is the girl that Joel met at the bookstore, and if I should start worrying about his taste.

I drop ice into the plastic cup and thrust it in her direction. “I’m here, right?”

“You sure are!” She giggles, and fuck this concert.

Wait, have I said that already?

“Anything else?” I bite out, because I’m paid for this gig, and boss man is right around the corner. Can’t afford to be fired before my time here is done.

“Can I have you, wrapped and with a bow?” Her friend is approaching now, attracted to the stupid high-pitch giggling, no doubt.

Ah, gimme a break. I lean over the stall and give her a toothy grin, the angry fire burning up my neck. “How much?”

“Pardon?” Her giggles die, and a look of uncertainty passes over her face.

“I said, how much would you pay for me? I’m kind of expensive.”

“You’re funny,” her friend informs me. It seems I’ve rendered her giggly friend speechless. Go figure.

“Trust me,” I tell her, meeting her gaze and holding it. “I’m not funny at all.”

They put the money on the table and wander off in silence.

I lean back and huff. It’s sunny again today, and it’s pretty warm. The park smells of grass, and beer, and piss, and even though the groups playing have taken a break, my ears are still ringing and my head throbbing.

But this is a job. A job is always good. Bucks in your pocket. No time to sit and brood.

Brood about this fucked-up week. I don’t even wanna think about it, in case it gets worse. Can it get worse?

Shut up. Don’t jinx it more.

I tap my fingers on the blue cloth covering the stall table, then give in and rub my eyes. Man, I’m beat. Between all that happened in the last two days, a bad night’s sleep and standing in the sun all day with the music booming right behind me, I’m ready to call it a day.

Only five more hours.

Yeah, baby. I can do this. I can do anything I put my mind to. Joel always says so, and that son of a bitch has a firmer grip on life than I ever have.

Joel who doesn’t know I’m here, because then I’d have to explain why I’m not at my other job, and hell, no. Not in the mood to explain today. Not until I’ve found a solution. A more permanent solution than this damn stall at this damn concert.

Did I mention I’m pissed? Grumpy cat, Joel calls me sometimes, but hell, I’ve got plenty to be grumpy about today, all right?

“Hello!” a chirpy voice says.

“What?” I snap and then realize where I am and what I should be doing. “Shit, sorry. What can I get you?”

The sun is in my face, blinding me, turning her into a blurry outline as she says, “Two Coors, please.”

Her voice is soft and feathery, a relief after the screeching voice of the previous customer, and when my eyes adjust to the light, I see her, and something hot shoots through my chest—and down to my dick, because these two are connected, just FYI.