Man Candy (7 page)

bins (even mine) without being asked.

Sings Beatles songs in the shower

sometimes (fave might be Rocky

Raccoon, voice not too bad).

Wears size 12 shoe (left pair of

boots in the hall to dry).

Wears size 32/34 jeans (left pair

of jeans in the dryer).

Posts selfies to IG once a day

(shirtless if inside, has perfected the

Flynn Ryder smolder)

Gradually a picture was emerging of

Quinn as a polite tenant, fitness buff,

good student, vainglorious photographer,

and generally happy, well-adjusted

person.

Who wasn’t interested in me.

“I don’t understand,” I complained to

Claire and Margot over martinis at our

weekly Wednesday GNO. “He was all

about me that first night he moved in, and

he’s ignored me ever since!”

“Wait a minute, you just said
you’ve

been trying to avoid
him
for the last ten days,” Claire said, sipping her Cosmo.

“How is that him ignoring you?”

“There have been plenty of nights

where he must have heard me come in.”

I refused to let him off the hook. “He

could have come up like he did the first

time.”

“Why would he? You told him you

weren’t attracted to him.” Margot

blinked at me. “You told him to keep his

hands to himself, did you not?”

“I said
maybe
I wasn’t attracted to

him,” I reminded her. “And that was only

to get him to kiss me.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Claire

said, shaking her head. “And you never

get this way over a guy.”

She was right. If I wanted someone, I

went after him. If it was fun, maybe

we’d make it work for a little while.

But Quinn wasn’t playing fair!

“Tell me about it.” I tipped back my

dirty vodka martini. “Want to hear

something
insane
? I have this list of

things about him, stupid stuff that doesn’t

even matter and isn’t helping me get him

into bed. But I keep adding to it!”

“Oh my God, Jaime.” Claire rolled

her eyes. “Quit obsessing over getting

him into bed. Just go talk to him. Hang

out a little. You complained about him

playing games, but right now you’re just

as bad.”

I gaped at her. “Do you know me at

all, Claire French? I don’t want to
talk

to him. I’m not even sure I
like
him.”

That wasn’t exactly true…Quinn did sort

of amuse me, and I liked the way he’d

taken care of his mom. He just knew

how to push my buttons.

“Then forget him altogether,” said

Margot. “It’s not like you want a

relationship.”

“Ew. No.” I shuddered.

“OK, so go bang someone else if you

have to,” added Claire, “but maybe you

should let this one go.”

They were probably right, but I

couldn’t.

Once I get a craving like this, it has

to be satisfied.

THE NEXT DAY WAS THURSDAY,

and I took it off from work in order to

get some things done—a dentist

appointment, some shopping, monthly

lunch with my mother. She asked me

how my toast for Alex’s wedding was

coming along, and it stressed me out so

badly that I’d come home, put on some

pajamas, and uncorked the wine a little

earlier than usual. But I figured the buzz

might help the creative juices flow, so I

justified it by sitting down at my

computer with every intention of

working on the toast.

Instead I stalked Quinn online.

Half a bottle of Bordeaux later, I

was sneaking down the stairs with my

wine glass in my hand.
If I’m going to

stalk him, I might as well do it right.

His door wasn’t even locked.

It was like he wanted me to come in!

And besides, I wasn’t going to steal

anything—well, maybe some undies—I

was just curious. Quinn was never home

before nine on Thursdays, and I’d be in

and out of there in five minutes. Ten,

tops.

I don’t think I need to tell you, it

didn’t exactly go as planned.

SEVEN

QUINN

WHAT THE HELL? Had I left my door

open?

I’d overslept this morning, and I’d

heard we were going to get a ton of

snow today, so I’d left in a rush, hoping

to beat the bad weather. Maybe I’d

neglected to pull the door all the way

shut behind me.

Taking off my boots, I set them on the

hallway mat and glanced up the stairs

toward Jaime’s apartment, but didn’t see

or hear anything.

Then I walked into my living room,

and it hit me—the scent of her perfume.

In my apartment
.

It was unmistakable, and by now,

familiar. Sweet and fresh and floral. She

smelled like a perfect spring day in the

middle of winter, and it made me want

her even more every time I smelled it

lingering in the hall. But she was so

stubborn, rushing past me every time I

saw her, barely making eye contact,

saying nothing more than hello and

goodnight. If it weren’t for those telltale

blushes, I might think she’d been telling

the truth that first night, and she really

wasn’t attracted to me at all. Just today,

during my workout, I was thinking about

trying again with her. For fuck’s sake,

we weren’t kids anymore. Did we have

to play games? Life was too short not to

go for what you wanted, and I wanted

her.

Had she been in here today?

I closed the door behind me, set

down my bag, and walked back toward

my bedroom. That’s when I realized I

could
still
smell her. Then I heard a

noise coming from my room and walked

into it just in time to hear a small sound

of girlish terror and see the closet door

being pulled halfway shut from the

inside.

What the fuck was she doing in my

closet?

And was that a half-empty wine

glass on my nightstand? Had she snuck in

here to snoop around, thinking I’d be at

class? All classes had been canceled for

the rest of the night because of the

weather, so I was home early.

For a moment, I just stood there,

trying to decide if I was flattered or

irritated. I settled on mostly entertained,

especially seeing as she was fucking

trapped now.

(I know I said I was over the games,

but this was just too good.)

What’s the best way to play this?

She’d gone to all this trouble, so I

should give her a good show, right?

Suddenly I had an idea, and it made

me want to laugh so hard I had to back

out of the room. In the hallway, I

composed myself and then re-entered the

room, making more noise this time. A

hiccup and little thump against the closet

door told me I was right about her

location.

Suppressing the urge to just throw

open the door and expose her drunk,

snooping ass, I walked right by her into

the bathroom, unzipped my pants, and

drained the lizard for her listening

pleasure. I grinned as I imagined the

horrified look on her face.

Then I flushed, washed my hands,

and started the next act.

“So. How about a hot shower,

gorgeous?” I said loudly.

She hiccupped again. Then I heard

some rustling around in there, and I was

nervous she was going to expose herself

to me before I had a chance to expose

myself to her—and I mean
full exposure
.

I wasn’t shy in the least.

I whipped off my Henley and spoke

again. “Yeah, I think getting hot, naked,

and wet right now sounds like a good

plan for a cold afternoon.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the

top of her head start to poke out of the

closet, and I tossed my shirt her way.

She came out even farther.

“Fuck, this is gonna feel
good
,” I

said. Then I pulled off my T-shirt and

flung it in her direction, delighted when

it appeared to hit her in the face.

She darted backward into the closet

like a mouse.

I smiled.
Come on out and play,

little mouse.

And she did—just in time to see me

preening and posing in the mirror,

flexing my muscles, stretching my limbs.

I kissed each bicep just for show before

sliding a hand down the front of my

pants. My dick wasn’t hard, and I didn’t

necessarily want it to get that way—yet

—so instead of touching myself, I moved

behind the bathroom door to get ready

for the grand finale, wondering if she’d

use the opportunity to escape. Betting

she wouldn’t.

I pulled off my jeans and tossed them

out. Next, I yanked off my socks, but I

left those on the bathroom floor. Finally,

I took off my underwear and flung them

out, dying to know if she was still there.

I covered my junk with both hands

and kicked the door all the way open.

There she was. On her hands and

knees—
I knew I could get her there
—

mouth open, eyes wide.

She gasped.

“So,” I said, barely able to contain

my delight. “Now what?”

Her eyes raked over me from head to

toe. She licked her lips. “Umf,” she said.

“Use your words, sweet pea. What

are you doing in my bedroom?”

She scrambled to her feet, which

were bare. Her toenails were painted

candy apple red, which was also the

color of her cheeks. She wore black

yoga pants that clung to her scrumptious

legs and a long-sleeved, charcoal gray

sweatshirt that hung off one bare

shoulder and said NAMAST’AY IN

BED on the front.

“Uh, sorry,” she mumbled, fiddling

with her braid. “I was looking—I

thought I heard—nothing.” She dropped

her hands and exhaled. “Forget it. I’ll

leave.” She backed up a couple steps,

but I saw the way she couldn’t take her

eyes off my hands.

“Why are you leaving? Too chicken

to stay?”

Her head snapped up, and she gave

me a surprised look. “Chicken?”

“Well, yeah. You came down here to

see something, didn’t you?”

Her mouth fell open. Fuck, those

lips. That chin. I wanted to do such bad

things to her pretty face… My dick

started to swell behind my hands.

“See something?” she repeated.

“Yes. Isn’t that why you were spying

on me from my closet?”

She puffed out her chest in outrage.

“I wasn’t trying to
spy
on you!”

“Oh no?”

“No. I was just—curious.”

“Curious. I see. And does this satisfy

your curiosity?” I stood tall and gave her

my best selfie smolder, the one she

hated.

She parked her hands on her hips.

“OK. I’ll play this game. No, my

curiosity is not satisfied. I can see that

much of you any time I want. All I have

to do is get online.”

“Hmm.” I pretended to be vexed by

that. “You’re right. So now what?”

“Turn around,” she said imperiously,

like a queen ordering her jester to amuse

her.

I cocked a brow at her. Then I turned

to the side, which I really feel is the best

angle for my butt. “How’s that?”

She tipped her head to one side and

studied me critically. “It’s OK. But I’m

gonna need more.”

“More?”

“More.” She twirled a finger in the

air. “Could you turn to the back please?”

I faced away from her, feet apart,

and took the opportunity to grin while

she couldn’t see my expression. “How’s

that? Better?” When she didn’t answer, I

looked back over one shoulder.

Her lower lip was caught between

her teeth, and if I’m not mistaken, she

was swaying a little, almost like she was

woozy. Then she snapped out of it. “It’s

a pretty good ass. I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m still curious.”

“Oh no. Now it’s my turn.”

She looked surprised. “Your turn?”

“I’m curious too. Take off your

shirt.”

She laughed. “Not happening, my

friend. You had your chance to see my

bits and pieces. You turned me down.”

“That was ten years ago.”

“That was ten days ago in my

kitchen, and you know it. I dangled no-

strings sex, and you didn’t take the bait.”

“Maybe I don’t want no-strings sex.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to see me

naked.”

“Chicken.”

She gave me a dirty look. Then she

grabbed her sweatshirt by the hem and

whipped it over her head.

Oh, fuck.

I turned around and stared.

Her tits were just as perfect as I

remembered them in that red bikini—

maybe even more perfect. A little bigger,

a little rounder, with mouth-watering

caramel-colored nipples that begged to

be tasted.

“And?” she said, sticking her hands