Page 14 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 14

CODY

“I’m telling you,” I insist to Sylvia as I pace the length of her kitchen while she makes us coffees, “I think…I think he was jealous. No, that’s not the right word,” I mutter, trying to voice the thoughts that have been bouncing around my head since last night. “But, like, I think maybe…maybe he wants to be more than friends.”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t just pissed because you’re friends who fuck?—”

“We haven’t actually fucked.” I try not to sound as devastated by this as I am. I feel like I had my chances, and I blew (quite literally, in some cases) each and every one, and now that I’m going to try dating someone else, I’ll never know what it’s like to really be with Ken.

“Hon.” Syl sighs and sets her French press down. “You’ve been exchanging orgasms for weeks. With or without penetration, you’ve been fucking him.”

Well. I don’t hate that assessment. In fact, it kind of helps dissolve some of my lingering disappointment that I’ll never know what it’s like to feel Ken inside me…or to feel what it’s like to be inside him, if that’s his preference.

We’ve never even spoken about his preferences, come to think about it.

The disappointment that I’ve lost that opportunity, too, seems to sink deep into my gut, and I sigh. There’s nobody to blame for this mess but myself.

“Fine,” I admit. “Get to your point, then.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just hurt that he had to hear it from your dad and not from you, the friend in question? Especially because you’re fucking?”

The thing is, I’ve spent so much time with Ken lately that I like to think I can read him. He’s always open and honest and expressive. But last night? He was not. He was keeping something back, and for a moment —the briefest moment— I was sure I saw something wholly relatable in his expression: the same mix of fear and longing which hits me any time I think about him discovering my feelings for him.

But when I tried to subtly discuss it, he shut me down emphatically.

I know better than to push someone who really doesn’t want to talk about an issue, so I backed off.

But after he left, I decided that letting it go was a mistake.

“I’m sure,” I insist, accepting the mug of coffee from her, liberally laced with creamer and sugar just the way I like it. “I can’t explain it, Syl, but…” I follow her out of the kitchen and into her living room, carefully sitting down on the couch beside her. “If I’m right —and I’m pretty sure I am— what the hell do I do?”

Syl arches her eyebrows at me as she sips delicately at her mug of caffeinated goodness. “Code, I think you know the answer to that already.”

I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. Brad’s a nice guy who seems genuinely interested in dating, not just hooking up. But, while he might tick all the boxes of the kind of guy I was looking for…he’s not Ken.

Really, even if Ken isn’t interested in being more than FWBs, it’s still not fair of me to go out with Brad on Valentine’s Day, because my heart wouldn’t be in it anyway. Why should I lead the poor guy on any more than I already have?

“I have to tell Brad it’s not going to happen, don’t I?” I ask, glumly. I hate the idea of letting anyone down, or of hurting their feelings. But it’s better than wasting his time or continuing to let him think I’m interested in him.

“An office romance wasn’t a great idea anyway,” Syl says, attempting to cushion the blow.

I can’t help snorting. “And wanting to date my dad’s best friend is?”

Her lips quirk. “Touché.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “Good luck with that.”

The only thing stopping me from grabbing the nearest cushion and lobbing it at her is the fact that I don’t want to risk her spilling her hot drink all over herself. “Why are you my best friend, again?”

I can’t bring myself to cancel my date with Brad via text, so I wait until we’re both in the office on Monday morning. Valentine’s Day falls on a Thursday this year, so I’m still giving him the better part of a week’s notice. He’s tall and dark haired, with deep brown eyes and gorgeous dimples — I don’t think he’ll have any trouble finding a replacement date in that time.

“I’m so sorry,” I say effusively, after stammering and blushing through my awkward cancellation ramble. “You’re a great guy, but I’m…a hot mess, really, and you’re actually dodging a bullet here.”

Brad laughs and leans his shoulder against the wall next to the photocopier, where I accosted him due to the semi-privacy of the out-of-the-way location in our office.

“Code,” he says soothingly, not sounding at all frustrated or insulted, “it’s okay. Really. But, for what it’s worth, I think you’re underselling yourself.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my whole deal,” I grumble, then hold up my hand to forestall the rebuttal I can sense coming. “But no, that’s not going to happen. I just…you seem too nice to lead on, or whatever. And I don’t want to fuck up our working relationship.”

“I appreciate that,” he says. Then, in the weird silence that follows, says, “Tell the other guy he’d better know how lucky he is.”

My eyes go wide and my cheeks heat up. I don’t even bother pretending he’s got it wrong. “How?—?”

“There’s always another guy, honey.” He pushes off the wall and gives my shoulder a squeeze on his way past me. “But don’t count me out if he’s not smart enough to see what a catch you are, okay?”

I’m left stunned by the exchange, blinking at the display on the copier as though it can tell me exactly what the fuck just happened.

During the week, I pick up my phone to text or call Ken at least a hundred times, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Just like I needed to tell him in person about making the date, I want to tell him about canceling it in person as well.

We don’t really talk between Monday and Thursday, though, and the opportunity to see him doesn’t magically materialize. We still send each other GIFs and memes, but there aren’t any phone calls or impromptu venting sessions. I wonder how much of that is because he’s genuinely busy at work, and how much is because we’re both cowardly dumbasses refusing to make the first move.

Not that he knows I’m available or open to him making a move.

So, maybe I’m the more cowardly dumbass in this scenario.

That checks out.

On Thursday, I get a little braver in the morning and, instead of sending my usual work-related meme, I send a single emoji of a red rose.

I don’t get a reply until after I’ve finished work, but I kind of expected as much. Valentine’s Day is a big day for retail chains and, as the CEO, he’s surely been in important meetings and on and off calls all day. Still, when the reply comes in and it’s a single red love heart, my own heart races and leaps into my throat.

Then a plan begins to form.

His whole idea when we started our arrangement was for me to become confident, right?