Candy Ever After (Hot Candy 2)

She’s staring at me, her eyes a little wide, and I rub the back of my neck self-consciously. What the fuck? Nobody gets me flustered like this.

She takes a step away, and I scramble for something to say, to keep her longer.

“Staying to the end of the concert?” I manage.

“Possibly. My friend,” she tips her blond head in the direction of the stage and golden curls tumble everywhere, “has a crush.”

“A crush.”

“Yeah, on this stupid guy who thinks rock is only about black clothes and bad manners.” She bites her lip, her gaze darting down my body, and back up. “No offence.”

“That’s all right. I’m not into rock anyway.”

“You’re not?” Her eyes narrow. “But the style… and you’re working here. This gig can’t be paying much.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug, heat rushing up my neck and into my face. “That’s how I dress, and I lost my job yesterday. I have to come up with the fucking rent money somehow, and…”

I clench my fists. Goddammit, why am I spilling the beans to a total stranger just because her lips and tits look divine in the golden afternoon light?

She’s not a heroine in the comic I’ve been drawing this past year. She’s a real girl, in this very real piss-scented park, and I should shut my mouth.

“I’m sorry.” She gives me a solemn nod. “Hey…” She licks her lips, starts again. “What’s your name?”

“Jethro.”

She nods, but her cheeks pale. “Jethro.”

“I know, it’s a weird name.” She pales more, and I frown. “You all right? Fuck, you’re dizzy, aren’t you?” I glance around for the paramedics that are stationed nearby. “Sit here and wait for me, I’ll be right back.”

“No, wait.” She grabs my arm, and the touch is searing my skin. “Look, I can’t offer you a job at a bar or anything like that.” She goes on quickly, before I have a chance to cut in and tell her I can work in anything and everything. “But if you think you’d be interested in a different kind of work… God, I’m just talking without asking you—”

“Asking me what?”

“If you even like books.”

“Books.” Huh. Do comics count?

“Not that you’re required to, of course,” she adds hastily. “You can hate them and sell them just fine, only it would be a soul-sucking job if you do.”

Her eyes have gold in them, and it glints in the sun, like her hair. She’s made of gold. “Work in a bookshop?”

“That’s right. I know a girl who left suddenly, and there’s a position to be filled.”

Soul-sucking or not, I need a job, and I could do worse than working at a bookshop. Besides, I don’t hate books. I’m not their biggest fan, but that’s not their fault.

“That sounds great,” I say, meaning it. “Where is that shop?”

“Wait, let me give you the card.” She fishes in her endlessly deep purse, and withdraws triumphantly a business card. “Here you go. Just give them a call. Say Candy sent you.”

“Candy.” Her name is Candy. It fits her perfectly. Candy sugar. I wish I could think of a line that doesn’t sound like a come on. “Hey, how about—?”

“It’s a great place. Nice people. You should give it a try.”

“I will, promise. Listen, Candy, about—”

“Going now.” She grabs the beers, and fuck, I want her to stay here, to go with me for a drink, to find out more about her.

“Will I see you again?” I call after her.