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“It’s new for us, too. Never tried with anyone else before. Any other girl.”
Holy crap. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Okay, Candy, filter on mouth, ASAP. “I mean, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I had a good time.” And now is the perfect time to confess to writing for years now a serial about them and me, together, trying every sex position possible for humans, but… I can’t. “Honest.”
“Great. That’s fucking awesome.” His grin widens.
I wait, hoping he’ll invite me over for a repeat, ask me if I’d like to touch second base tonight, or even third, but he’s just staring at this cell.
Why can’t I just come out and say the things I yearn for? I could do it right now. Tell him, you know what, Jet, I’ve been pining for you and Joel since I was eighteen, so please invite me over again.
And then I hear Donna’s voice as she enters the shop and sigh.
Maybe later. Or never. After all, I wasn’t invited over to their place for a repeat performance, so what does it matter?
I never thought I’d find myself falling for them so hard, body and soul. And I mean, hell, I’m not sure what they want from me, and we haven’t even had sex yet!
So unfair.
***
Despite the regret sitting heavy on my chest all day, I manage to tune out thoughts of Joel and Jethro enough to work. Monday means more customers, and it’s a welcome distraction.
For lunch, Jethro offers to run and get us all three burgers from a small joint down the street, but I hardly see him during lunch break. He inhaled his burger in three seconds flat and vanished somewhere inside the shop, doing God knows what.
I go in search for him much later, with a customer who’s looking for adult coloring books. That’s in Jet’s section of the shop. Funny how Donna and I immediately gave that section to him without even knowing he’s an artist.
I find him talking into his phone, a weird expression on his face. He’s tapping his hand on his thigh, a bit too fast, his breathing kind of ragged.
We’re not supposed to receive phone calls during work, and he knows it, but he looks so pale and rattled I say nothing and take the customer to the art shelves myself, showing her our latest arrivals and our bestsellers, like Magical Jungle and Calm the Fuck Down.
That’s what I need today. Maybe I should get one for myself.
“You call me,” I hear him say as I explain to the customer she can also order books we don’t have in stock and that they’ll be here in a matter of days. “Call me if that happens again, you hear me, mate?”
Mate?
I glance at him briefly before I’m forced to turn my attention back to the customer who has decided to check every coloring book on the shelf, asking all the while which ones are more relaxing and whether getting them online would be cheaper.
Jet is Australian? There was an unmistakable hint of an accent there. Christ, can the man get any sexier? Did he have to go and get an accent, too?
That’s it, I’m blaming these two boys for my obsession. Yes, I’m sick and crazy about you, and it’s on you. So I’ll stop feeling guilty about it.
Easier said than done.
Plus, he’s still staring at his cracked phone—a phone I caused him to break—and drumming his fingers on his thigh. Two spots of color have appeared on his white cheekbones, and he’s still breathing hard.
Like he had on Saturday, when he had the headache and I drove him home.
I’m aching to ask what is wrong, but… customer. Who now wants to know whether we do discounts if she buys two books instead of one.
No, lady. Not unless there’s a sticker on the book saying so. Not unless there’s a label on the shelf saying so. Please, make up your mind and go.
I feel bad for thinking that, but then I feel profound relief when she finally picks a book and heads to the register where Donna is sitting, reading the latest romantic comedy by Helena Hunting and giggling to herself.
