Candy Boys (Hot Candy 1)

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two.” I approach the bed, look down at her. “We could pick up where we left off in the tub.”

Color rises to her cheeks. She bites her lip, and yeah, I think getting under the covers with her is the best idea I’ve had all day. My dick agrees with me, hardening, making a nice sizable tent in the towel that’s threatening to fall off my hips—when the doorbell rings.

Fuck.

“Expecting someone?” I give her the clothes and look around for mine.

“Could be Corey.”

“Your friend?” A bitter wave of jealousy hits me as I shove my legs into my pants.

“Yeah.” She sounds uncertain. “I told you about him, right?”

That he’s her best friend. And brought her a bottle of whisky, the one we hit on the other night.

“He probably brought me some food. He’s been worried. He checks on me.”

Oh I see. Worried, huh?

“I’ll go get the door.” I zip up my jeans and don’t bother wi

th anything else. Vaguely I’m aware I’m staking my territory.

My girl.

And if this Corey who acts all concerned about her is good looking, I’ll redecorate his fucking face.

Hell.

***

“So you’re the famous escort Pax won’t talk about.” Corey is giving me a blatant once-over, blond head cocked to the side, one brow raised. “Holy shit, the girl has taste.”

I blink at him. He isn’t what I expected. None of this is. I mean, the guy’s handsome, I guess, almost as tall as me with bright green eyes, but the vibe he’s giving off…

“And you’re Corey.”

“In the flesh.” He beams at me and wanders into the living room, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Okay, go back for a sec to what you said.” I wave a hand, trying to sort my thoughts. “Famous escort?”

“Ah-huh.”

“But one she won’t talk about.”

“That’s right.”

“So how can I be famous if she doesn’t—”

“Oh God, have you no imagination?” He strikes a dramatic pose with his hand on his chest.

I stare. What the fuck is he doing? “No, I don’t. So?”

“Great.” He relaxes, grins. “Let me explain. Pax has been my friend since our school days. She rarely shares what’s in her heart. But she trusts me.”

My hands curl into fists. She trusts me. Me, not this moron. “Really.”

“Really.” Oblivious, he props his hip against the back of the sofa. “She told me what happened two years ago, asked for my advice on what to do. I told her to go to a therapist but she decided to come...to you.”