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Justin didn’t want to know. Maybe the boyfriend showed up unexpectedly? Maybe it was her ex.
He didn’t even know why he was standing here staring.
What was he going to do, imagine what was going on inside?
A lustful reunion ? That was about as much pain as he’d ever felt. The thought of someone else’s hands on her…
Candy belonged to him. He’d even wanted to buy her that ring to make it official. The only thing that had stopped him was fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of making the wrong decision.
Too much fear.
He and Candy were right together. Justin needed to fight to help her see that, not sit back and let some jerk who denied everything that was most special about her take her away.
Candy’s front door opened. Boyfriend emerged, dressed now, holding an overnight bag. Behind him, literally pushing him out the door: Candy. Justin’s heart skipped several beats.
The mere sight of her always did that to him, but the sight of her forcibly evicting Dickhead made it even more fun.
Across the street, she crossed her arms, scowled. Boyfriend seemed to be pleading.
Candy’s arm pointed to the street, pointed again. Vehe-mently. She wanted him gone. Maybe Troy was right, and there was a reasonable explanation that had nothing to do with her changing or faking her feelings for Justin.
In which case, Troy was also right: Justin was an asshole.
Candy’s fantasy Valentine’s Day celebration had been his to give her. Now he’d pissed away the dinner reservation, lost the chance to present her the flowers— damn, he’d forgotten to buy the chocolate—and he hadn’t had the balls to buy her a ring. All because he refused to trust her feelings or his, even though they’d never felt so true and so strong.
Okay. Start over. He’d find another way. What time was it? He glanced at his watch. Crap, nearly seven. He was due over to her house at seven-thirty.
Never mind. Even if he had to break into stores and rob them, he’d make this a Valentine’s Day Candy would never forget.
Candy pulled into her driveway, going too fast, having to brake sharply. She threw herself out of the car, glancing at her watch. Mrs. Abernathy had driven her crazy fussing over every last detail even though every last detail was ready. Now Candy had only half an hour to dress before Justin showed up. She was going to wear the red sequined-heart pasties and G-string under baggy sweats and surprise him when they got to the undressing part of the evening.
Seeing Chuck the previous night had changed her life. For the better. She’d spent the first twenty minutes after he walked in feeling as if her life’s clock had been spun in reverse, an 204
odd feeling of inevitability. They were together once again in their house and everything about it was familiar and right.
And then another twenty minutes went by and she was filled, instead of with joy and confusion, with rage.
Everything her friends had said about him was right. While trying to insinuate himself back into her life after she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she was not open to him coming back, he’d thought he was being charming and loving while managing to criticize nearly everything about her. What was worse, that criticism felt familiar and almost sweet, and she’d experienced that equally familiar but now creepy urge to surrender to him, to let him decide, to mold herself to what he wanted her to be.
No wonder she’d had to “invent” personalities to be on Milwaukeedates.com. The only personality approved by Mr.
Control Freak had been his. He didn’t let her be sexy, didn’t let her out of the house to pursue her interests. My God, how had she survived five years of suspended animation being his girlfriend? How had she spent the last year slowly coming back to life and still pined to be his puppet again?
How had she missed that Justin made any way she wanted to be okay? That he’d encouraged her to push boundaries, sexually, emotionally, whatever she wanted? Denial was a powerful and dangerous force.
Candy absolutely could not wait for their date.
She hurried up to the front door, wanting to blow a kiss to Justin’s house, but afraid the driver of a passing car would think she meant it for him. Key in the lock, she turned, shoved, stumbled in and found herself in Chuck’s strong arms, smushed against his chest.
