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“Yeah,” I say regretfully. “Want your usual pizza?”
Though, truth be told, I’m glad Riddick is staying. I’ve been curious about Jet’s cousin, the one who kept calling him before his dad’s attack, the one he stayed with when he first moved to Madison, around the time he and Joel first met.
I can’t stop sneaking glances at him as I order the pizzas, and if mine and Brylee’s continuous staring is making him uneasy, he doesn’t show it. He’s talking quietly with Jet, his answers mostly monosyllables. He looks even more tired than Jet, I realize as I disconnect the call and join Brylee on the carpet where she’s leafing through a magazine.
But when he glances at her, vaguely nodding at something Jet is saying, his eyes are bright.
Mutual interest alert. Maybe I could set Brylee up with him, to help her break through her obsession with Ryan. After I interrogate Jet about him, of course. In the looks department he sure isn’t lacking.
Should I? Should I meddle?
Joel wanders back in the room, his face washed and wet, and looking more alert. He and Riddick shake hands, and I don’t miss the appreciative once-over Riddick gives him. Wait a minute, he’s gay?
So maybe he’s just teasing Brylee. Or he’s bi.
And what do I know about what’s best for anyone?
“Are you writing any more stories?” Brylee asks me, turning her back to the boys. “On your blog?”
“I’m not using my blog anymore.”
But I am writing again. Nobody knows about this. I’m writing an epilogue to the Candy Boys story in which J-One, J-Two, and Candy of course, get th
eir happy ending.
It’s not just a Happy For Now, oh no. It’s a Happy Ever After. Forevah and Evah with a cherry on top. It has weddings and babies and cheesy declarations of undying love and…
And nobody will ever read it but me. It will never go on my blog, and not even Jethro will get to read it, because I’m afraid.
Afraid I’ll jinx it. Afraid that the stories I write don’t really mirror reality. I mean, look at the story I’d been posting on my blog for years. Sure, Candy ended up with J&J—but the devil is in the details, and I got so many of them dead wrong.
What if I’m getting it wrong this time around, too? Things that feel so important to me may prove to be impossible, or different.
The babies. The Ever After part. The Forever and Ever.
Jesus, Candy. Relax.
It’s hard, though. Seeing Joel’s struggle with coming out to his parents, seeing how bad Jet’s nightmares are, and still worried myself that Mom will leave Dad for some oversexed gigolo, well… Let’s just say I’m erring on the superstitious side for this one.
“What about you, Joel?” Brylee turns to J who’s lapsed into silence.
Come to think of it, all three guys have gone quiet. Odd.
Riddick’s face is flushed.
Jet looks pissed.
Joel just looks kinda blank, like he’s still wondering who these people are and why they’re here.
Oh boy, he really must have had a bad night. My sleep’s too heavy to really keep track of my boys coming and going to bed at night. Bombs going off outside the building wouldn’t wake me up.
Today’s timing sucks. I wish we’d been alone so I could take care of both of them, exhaust them enough to make sure they get a good night’s sleep.
Then again, the evening is still young…
“What about me?” Joel eventually replies—well, after Brylee scoots over and slaps his leg with the magazine in what she apparently considered a necessary act of violence. “And by the way, ow.”
“Shut up. This is an art magazine. You should feel lucky I used it to get your attention and not a coffee table art book.”
