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Oh shit. Shit!
“What have you done?” Jet is advancing on me, fists curled at his sides.
“Nothing. Listen, buddy…”
“Don’t buddy me. You are the reason Candy left?”
“No! I mean… I don’t think so. It makes no sense. She found out about the scandal, but last night… Last night she wasn’t upset. She didn’t mention it.”
“Hell.” Jet runs a hand through his hair. “You think her very helpful roommate found out about it? Has she seen the picture?”
“I don’t think so.” But my relief that my picture with my dick hanging out is not splashed all over the internet again is not enough. Not when Candy doesn’t want to see me.
“She thinks you lied to her.” Jet points a finger at me, anger flashing in his eyes. “That you’ve had something going on with Ellen. Am I right?”
I nod, miserable.
“You have to explain to her what happened. Tell her about your…” He waves a hand. “Your problem and why you were with Ellen. That Ellen likes pussy. That you didn’t lie.”
He’s right. I have to. But the thought of telling Candy I can’t get it up for a girl alone, that watching gets me off… “Won’t she run away for good if she knows? Won’t she think that’s why I want us to have sex together?”
Something passes over Jet’s face, and it’s gone before I can analyze it. “Isn’t it?”
Fuck. I don’t know. It started out like that, but now?
Jet turns away. “I have to work.”
“Shit, me too. I’m late already.” And we still don’t have Candy’s number or address. “I’ll try reasoning with this Brylee. Beg her if I have to. She has to let us see Candy.”
“I’ll ask Donna again. Goddammit.” Jet scrubs his face with both hands, and the memory of him so terrified and pale last night has me reaching for him.
He steps out of reach.
He’s never refused my touch before. And I never thought how used I am to this closeness between us. How painful it would be if he denied me. That I’d be the one craving to touch him, to hold him.
Turning on my heel, without another word, I step out of the shop, slamming the door behind me.
***
By late afternoon, I’m two seconds short of pulling my hair out. Brylee won’t answer. Je
t said Donna won’t crack, and Candy still hasn’t called. Christa, my coworker, is getting on my nerves, giggling every time I pass with her friends, bent over their phones. I’m itching to barge in and see what’s on their goddamn phone screens.
Don’t be paranoid, I tell myself. You’d know if they’d seen the picture.
Right?
After some internal debate during which I call myself all sorts of names, I call Ellen to ask her if her girlfriend reposted that damn picture on the internet. She doesn’t sound that pleased to hear from me—or maybe it’s the news that the pic is circulating again?—but she is incensed that I’d think so lowly of her girlfriend.
Moot point.
A guy whose name I don’t know grins as I pass in front of him, on my way to piss. Another one lifts a brow as I come back out, his phone in his hand.
What the fuck? I glower at him, my skin crawling. This day sucks.
Then it literally goes to hell when Donna calls me—well, calls Candy’s phone that’s still in my pocket—to ask me if I’d go pick Jet up because he doesn’t look so good.
Shit. “What’s wrong with him?”
