Candy Ever After (Hot Candy 2)

The worry buzzes inside my skull like a wasp. I drop a book, then I drop the electronic card reader, earning me a frown from Donna.

Great.

I jerk when a hand touches mine.

“Take a break?” Candy asks.

“What for? It’s almost closing time.”

“I know. The store’s empty. Come on.”

She’s pulling me outside before I remember that I shouldn’t. That it’s a fucking bad idea. My brain’s fuzzy with the headache, and a bad night’s sleep and a long day worrying aren’t helping. My reactions are slow.

Has to be why I let her drag me to a bench down the street and push me down on it, then proceed to clasp my hand between her smaller ones.

It was a moment of weakness, okay? Won’t fucking happen again.

In fact, I pull my hand free and start to get up, when she throws her arms around me, all but climbing onto my lap.

My brain starts to short-circuit.

“Candy…” She’s pressed against me, soft curves and sweet smell, and thin arms snug around my shoulders, and I can’t remember what am I supposed to say, and why I was trying to pull away. “Hell.”

“Tell me,” she demands, holding me down with her slight weight, and Christ, it feels damn good.

“Tell you what?” I breathe, my eyes glued to her lips and the way her tits are mashed to my side.

“What happened yesterday? Was it Donna asking for the diploma? Was that a problem? I was worried, Jethro. And so was Joel.”

My brows draw together. “He shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. I’m okay.”

Her hand drifts to the back of my neck, and it’s like electric currents connect that spot to my dick. I shudder when she squeezes. “Let me help.”

“You can’t.”

“You don’t know that. You only have to tell me why—”

“You can’t.” I shake myself out of my daze, hard dick or not. “You just can’t.”

“What happened? Why did you leave? If it’s something I said, I’ll—”

“Goddammit, Candy, I never finished school.”

It’s quiet, except for a few cars driving by. My head aches, a dull pain beating on the back of my eyes, in my temples.

I can hear her soft gasp as my words sink in, as they sink into my consciousness, too, and fuck, did I really say them out loud? I’m panting, my lungs working overtime. There’s not enough oxygen.

Fucking shit.

She doesn’t ask me if I’m kidding. She has to see I’m serious. Hell, my jaw is clenched so tight my teeth ache.

She’s silent for a while, resting her cheek on my shoulder, and gradually I relax in her hold. My hands slide up her back, crushing her to me, until we’re meshed together, holding on to each other.

My breathing eases out.

“I’m working on my GED,” I say against her neck—fighting the urge to lick her skin, taste her—“but I’m not ready. Need some more time. Didn’t think anyone would ask for it so soon.”

“Need any help with anything?” she asks, and I draw a breath, aware my mind is about to rebel at this show of concern. That I’ll push her away and start kicking at things.