Candy Ever After (Hot Candy 2)

I can’t believe I just met Jethro Connors.

And invited him to apply for Annie’s position.

OMG. What was I thinking?

…right, I wasn’t thinking at all. Seeing a hunk like him in the flesh can do that to a girl. He’s way hotter in person than those blurry pics implied.

Way sexier.

Cute, in a wild, bad boy way with his spiky black hair and dark eyes, and that fuck-all raspy voice… Electric. He’s a vibrating string, a fey-like creature, savage and graceful and hot as hell.

He’ll never apply for the position, right?

“You won’t believe the resumes I’m getting for Annie’s position,” Donna is muttering from her desk in the back of the shop. “Holy shitballs.”

“What?” I call back, distracted.

r /> “Oh. My. God. It gets worse.”

Satisfying my curiosity is better than obsessing over Jethro. Besides, Donna’s been doing this for an hour now. I can’t take it anymore. It’s still early on a Wednesday morning, and a customer has yet to walk into the stop, so I wander to the back and stick my head into her office.

“Say what?”

“The resumes. Have they even read the job description? Do they even know what a bookstore is? I really wonder.”

“Gimme.” I lean against the doorjamb and stick my tongue out. “Don’t be selfish, share the fun.”

“You’ll regret ever asking,” Donna mutters ominously, but clears her throat and adjusts her glasses on her nose, her curly ginger hair sticking out in all directions. “Here we go. ‘I am incredibly intelligent and when my peers were playing, I was reading books. I own eighty-five books and several comic books.’”

“What? Eighty-five?” I am outraged. “I hope she means paperbacks and has thousands on her ereader?”

“One can only hope. Improbable, though, I mean, look what she wrote in her extra activities: ‘I give good head.’”

We dissolve into giggles.

“Maybe she meant something else.” I sigh.

God, I really want to know if he applied. You know who. Jethro.

Hey, I’m not cheating on my other fantasy boyfriend. I just want him to get a job. I want him to be… I don’t know, less sad and angry at the world than he was that day.

And it’s not like Joel came back for more books. See?

“Here’s another one: ‘I love books and stories and can clean and answer phones. Here is my phone number.’”

“So?”

“Her references are Maxim’s Exotic Dancers Club.”

“Fie! No more!” we cry together. Then burst out laughing like maniacs.

I’m wiping tears from my eyes. “Poor girl.” I sober up. “Maybe you could give her a chance. So what if she works at that club? Maybe she has no options. Maybe she loves books.”

“Maybe. Though, the resume pic…”

“She put in a pic? What for?”

I go lean against her desk, and we both squint at the pic of a girl in what looks like a silver corset with thigh-high boots and feathers in her hair. “Do you think she’d plan on coming to work dressed like that?”