Man Candy (2 page)

so that’s what they were having, come

April fifth. (My brother is a much nicer

person than I am.)

“What can I do for you?” My breath

escaped my lips in silvery puffs as I

crossed the frigid parking garage after

work. It was about five o’clock, the

earliest I’d left the office in two solid

weeks, but it had been a long day and all

I could think about was taking off my

heels and pouring some wine. I still had

work to do, but I could work from home.

“Don’t tell me—Nolan wants drone

photography.”

Alex laughed. “No.”

“A pair of llamas?” I switched my

cell to the other hand and unlocked my

car. “A hot tub? Ariana Grande?”

“Why, can you get Ariana Grande?”

“If I can, does that mean I don’t have

to make a toast at the reception?”

“Nope.”

“Then no, I can’t.” I slid behind the

wheel and shut the door. “But if you’d

like any celebrities of the automotive

industry to make an appearance, I’m

your girl.”

Actually the marketing firm I worked

for handled all kinds of clients, but since

we were located in Detroit, many of

them were businesses related to the auto

industry. Was it the most glam job in the

world? Not by a long shot, but I’d take

grit over glitter any day.

“No, thanks. And anyway, it’s not

about the wedding. It’s about the house.”

“Oh?” I backed out of my spot and

began the wide spiral down to the exit.

“Yeah. I might have a tenant, if

you’re OK with it.”

“Of course I am. Sorry I haven’t

been more help with that. I know it

stinks not to have rent coming in for

downstairs. I was just so busy over the

holidays, and then I had that huge

presentation last week.”

“That’s OK. We’re all busy, and

eventually I
will
need your help, since

this solution is really only temporary.”

“Why’s that?” I swiped my pass at

the gate and eased onto the street,

frowning as someone jaywalked right in

front of me.

“Because he only needs a place to

stay for a month while his condo is being

finished. He wasn’t supposed to move in

until March first, but he leased his L.A.

house starting first of the year. He’s been

living in a hotel downtown for two

weeks, but he’s sick of hotel living,

hates the food and noise and how much it

costs. Plus I think he’s kind of lonely. I’d

have him stay with us, but with the

wedding and everything, it’s really

hectic at our house. And since the lower

flat is already furnished, it seems like a

perfect fit.”

Lonely?
“Wait, do you know this

guy?”

“Yeah. It’s…” He cleared his throat.

Never a good sign. “It’s Quinn.”

I groaned.

“I know, I know, he’s not your

favorite, for whatever reason—”

“The
reason
is that he was a cocky,

condescending asshole to me. Other than

that, he’s adorable.”

“Come on, it’s been ten years since

the thing.”

My eyelid twitched. Did he have to

bring it up?

“Look, I’m sure he’s forgotten all

about it.”

“
You
haven’t. I can’t even believe he

told you.”

“He felt like he had to. He knew you

were upset and felt bad. He also wanted

me to know he hadn’t done anything to

encourage it and never touched you.

Mom and Dad were paying half his

college tuition—what was he supposed

to do?”

Kiss me back, dammit. Love me

back.

Cringing, I recalled the way I had

attempted to seduce my brother’s closest

friend at their joint graduation party at

our house. The horrible details rushed

into my mind as if a dam had burst…the

wine I drank from a red Solo cup as I

worked up the nerve to act on my crush.

The artless way I shoved him into the

downstairs bathroom and shut the door.

The sound of my pounding heart as I

pressed my bikini-clad body against

him, lifting my lips toward his.

That awkward moment when I

realized he wasn’t into it.

Instead, he laughed.

That asshole
laughed
at me.

“Jaime, what the hell are you

doing?” He turned on the light and stared

at me, a look of bemused embarrassment

on his face. His eyes were so beautiful

—the kind of blue that made you shiver.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Bravely, I put my

hand on his crotch and felt his dick stir

beneath the nylon of his damp swimsuit.

“Jesus. Stop it.” More nervous

laughter as he swatted my hand away.

“Why? You don’t want this?” I

blinked in confusion. Did he not feel the

same pull I did when we were together?

For months he’d been looking at me

differently, teasing me more than usual,

flirting with me in front of other people.

Just an hour ago, he’d gotten handsy with

me during a game of chicken in the pool

—I was positive I’d felt his fingers

graze my ass multiple times. Had I

misread him?

He looked uncomfortable as he

adjusted himself. “Look, you’re like my

little sister, and—”

“I’m only a year younger than you,” I

said, trying to sidle closer again. “And

I’m definitely not your sister.”

Backing away from me, he ran a

hand through his dark blond hair, still a

little wet from the pool. “Yeah, but…I’m

sorry. I just can’t.”

And that’s when I said it.

(Brace yourself.)

“But I love you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m in love with you, Quinn.”

After a moment of stunned silence,

during which neither of us blinked, he

burst out laughing.

Shame and humiliation coursed

through me. “Oh, God. Just forget it.

Forget this ever happened.” Without

another word, I yanked the door open

and ran from the bathroom straight to my

bedroom, hot tears burning my eyes.

How could I ever face him again?

Lucky for me, I never had to. I didn’t

know whether he’d avoided the house

(me) on purpose, or whether he was just

busy getting ready to leave for school,

but a month after that, he left for UNC

Chapel Hill without ever showing his

face again.

But he hadn’t even lasted a year

there, because some model scout

“discovered” him—every time I think of

it, I roll my eyes—and plastered his

stupid perfect face and hot body in

catalogs and magazine ads and on

shopping bags in stores that ripped off

teenagers with overpriced clothes made

in China. And he didn’t even wear the

clothes in all the pictures! Half the time

he was nearly naked—it was ridiculous!

(Didn’t stop me from hoarding every one

of those catalogs under my bed.)

Eventually, after I went to school and

studied marketing, I realized that those

pictures weren’t necessarily meant to

sell the clothes—they were selling an

idea. A lifestyle. A
brand
.

That was also about the time I

learned not to trust anything or anyone

that looks too good to be true. Everyone

is selling something—and if you’re not

selling, you’re buying.

I’d bought enough assholery in my

life already.

“Jaims, you there?” Alex sounded a

little impatient.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I said. “Sorry.”

“So is it OK?”

I wanted to say no, and Alex had

always told me I could have final say

over who lived downstairs, but I

couldn’t. He barely charged me any rent

and always came through with favors for

me when I asked. “It’s just one month?”

“One month,” he promised. “And

then he’s out. Maybe even less, it just

depends on when his new place is ready.

You work so much anyway, I bet you’ll

barely even see each other.”

“Good.” I turned onto my street and

noticed a black BMW with California

plates parked at the curb. Lights on in the

downstairs flat. “Jesus Christ, Alex…is

he here already?”

“Ummm…I gotta go.”

“What were you going to do if I said

no?” I grumped, turning into the

driveway. At least he hadn’t blocked it.

I’d probably have to clear out the other

half of the garage and give him the

second space, not that I had time to do

that.
Already he’s inconveniencing me.

“Beg. Listen, I actually do have to

run, we have an appointment with the

florist that Nolan says I have to show up

to, but do me a favor and be civil, OK?

You heard about his mom.”

Some of my irritation eased when I

thought about his mom. She’d been our

housekeeper for as long as I could

remember, a single mother who’d also

worked nights as a waitress, which left

Quinn to fend for himself a lot. Growing

up, he’d probably eaten more meals at

our house than at his own, although I

remember her being a fantastic cook.

Our mother, with her graduate degree in

biomedical engineering, could hardly

boil water, but Mrs. Rusek used to bring

over delicious homemade soups and

bread and meatballs and pierogies,

maybe because she felt guilty about how

much time Quinn spent at our house.

“Yeah, Mom told me when it

happened. Cancer, right? Like two years

back?”

“Yeah. He brought her out to

California for treatment, but I think he

felt guilty that he’d worked and traveled

so much she was able to hide her illness

from him for so long. He told me she

should have seen a doctor long before he

took her. I think he blames himself.”

“That’s terrible.” When I’d heard

that Mrs. Rusek had died, I’d thought

about reaching out to Quinn, even bought

a sympathy card, but in the end I’d

decided against it. The card was still at

the bottom of a desk drawer at work.

“Then he was in Paris during those

attacks. Kind of messed him up a little.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t either, not until recently. We

haven’t spoken much over the last few

years, we’ve both been so busy, but I

think he really needs old friends right

now.”

“So he’s moving back to Detroit for

you?”

“No, but I think it’s part of wanting

to go back to when things were simpler

or something. He said he’s been feeling

kind of lost and wants to ground himself

again. Make sure he’s doing the right

things with his life.”

“Hmm.” Inside the garage, I turned

off the car, disquieted by the way my

heart was thumping. It had been ten years

since I’d seen him—and probably at

least
a month since I’d stalked his

Instagram—how annoying that the

thought of being next to him again was

doing things to me. “So did he quit

modeling altogether?”

“That’s the impression I got.”

“Maybe he’s lost his looks,” I said

hopefully. “Or gained fifty pounds.”

Alex laughed. “I doubt it. And I

really have to go, Jaims. But why don’t

you go in and say hello? I’m sure he’d

love to catch up.”

I sniffed. “No, thanks. I’ll keep my

distance.” My dignity had suffered

enough at his hands.

“Have it your way, sweet pea,” he

said, using our dad’s nickname for me.

“Thanks for this.”

We hung up, and I took a minute to

gather myself before going into the

house. There was a chance I could get in

without seeing him, although we’d share

a front and side entrance. Both doors led

to a hallway; at the side door were steps

leading to the basement, and at the front

door were the stairs to my flat and a

door to his living room.

I walked around to the front, my legs

trembling. Maybe he wouldn’t hear me

come in, and I could get up to my

apartment without talking to him.
Stop

being ridiculous. It’s been ten years.

Maybe Alex was right and he wouldn’t

even remember that night. Maybe he

wouldn’t even want to talk to me. Maybe

we’d just ignore each other for a month.

No chance.

Before I even got the key in the lock,

the door was pulled open and there he

was, all huge grin and open arms.

“Sweet pea!” he exclaimed, like we

were long-lost pals reunited at last.

Any hopes I’d harbored about his

good looks being the result of countless

hours of retouching were immediately

dashed. He was even more gorgeous and

vibrant in person than in print, a fact I

found grossly unfair. I frowned as he

scooped me up in his arms and

practically dragged me over the

threshold into the hall. My God, his body

was so
hard
. Hugging me was probably

like squeezing a marshmallow. I wasn’t

exactly overweight, but I was short