Candy Boys (Hot Candy 1)

“I haven’t seen him around these past few days.” He frowns, scratches at his beard. “Our schedules aren’t set, you know. They constantly change.”

“I know.” I wish I didn’t.

“I heard he missed an appointment with Ellen yesterday, though.”

“Ellen?” Jealousy bites into my thoughts like a snake.

“Ellen Morris, an elder lady he’s fond of. She comes from an old, powerful family. She calls him every few weeks for dinner or a movie. One hundred percent platonic. I think he reminds her of her son.” He shrugs. “I was surprised he let her hang like that.”

And just like that, the worry is back, twisting my stomach.

“Listen, I’ll understand if you say no,” I say, “but I have something of Riot’s, something he left at my place the other day. Do you think you could tell me where he lives so I could drop it off?”

“Sure thing.” He waggles his brows at me. “Sending you his phone number, too, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

Huh. Not entirely sure about that, but I smile back. “Thank you, Gale.”

He rattles off the address and I type it into my phone, while whispers weave all around us—“They’re friends?” “She knows Riot Gallagher.” “Oh my God, Riot’s hot.”

It makes my blood boil. Or simmer. Whatever. The thing is, Riot is hot, nothing can change that, and the awe in their voices as they wonder how well I know him gives me a tiny rush of pride.

Childish, I know. I want to yell at them that he’s mine, that with me it’s different. That what he and I share is more than just sex.

Sigh. Wishful thinking is a powerful thing.

“Thanks, Gale.” I shoot him a smile and wave as I turn to go. “You rock.”

“I know,” he calls after me, and the girls cheer.

The music is too loud, the smell of alcohol and perfume too strong. I cross the bar, elbowing people right and left, impatient to get outside now that I have what I need.

It’s not until I’m in my car and speeding toward the address Gale texted me that I remember Corey who must be waiting for me outside the bar.

Crap.

***

“Is everything okay?” Corey texts back after I message him to let him know I changed my mind again.

After I park in a dark street, I shoot him a smiley and a heart. Vague but hopefully enough to appease him and let him have a fun evening anyway.

Then I sit in my car and shiver. A street lamp flickers. The next one is off, leaving a big part of the street in shadow. I don’t like this neighborhood. I feel as if eyes are watching me from behind darkened windows an

d twitching curtains.

Get a grip, Pax.

Nothing bad will happen, and hey, I have my pepper spray in my bag and the police on speed dial. Can’t let fear cripple me, stop me.

Not again.

I get out of the car and lock it, and hurry down the sidewalk, checking the building numbers until I find the right one—then face a problem I hadn’t thought about.

The building entrance is locked. There’s a ring but no names for the apartments. I shouldn’t—

Oh screw this. I should, and I will.

I ring all the bells in the building, once, then again, and then again, until someone starts yelling something unintelligible through the inter-com.