Page 33 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 6

MALIK

It’s official. I’m a softy.

So what that it’s the third time I’ve read the same text from Kobe? The man is well and truly under my skin. My pre-meeting-him crush was one thing. After spending the evening with him, and him kissing me senseless, well, my heart-on for him was practically cemented.

It’s been almost three weeks of scrambling to find time for calls, and I’m not gonna lie, I freakin’ love talking to the man on the phone. His voice is deep and gruff, and hell if Kobe couldn’t charm the spots off a leopard.

Or the pants off me if we ever have the opportunity.

He even hung out with me via FaceTime on my birthday, promising to make a start on my tattoo for my birthday gift when we got the chance. That it was also Valentine’s Day, and he raised a beer wishing me a happy Valentine’s Day, was hella sweet too.

And our texting game is strong. They start pretty much nonstop from the moment we wake up till the point where we fall asleep. I don’t even give a shit that my housemates and my team know how far gone I am for Kobe.

And Jackson? Well, I don’t think he’s regretting the introduction. But he’s getting close to being over my constant questions about Kobe. Not, like, personal shit. I want to hear that from the man himself. But I want all the funny stories of them being young. Want to know all the mischief they got into.

And the text in question? The one that’s making my grin brighter than hitting a buzzer-beater from half-court?

Kobe: I’ve bought tickets to the game. I’ll be there.

It’s not something I asked him to do, and I kinda feel guilty that I didn’t think to ask, nor did I get him tickets myself, especially as we’re playing only about forty minutes from where he lives, according to Google.

But holy shit, in two nights I’ll see him again. The only slight problem is figuring out how I can avoid getting on the bus back to college so I can spend time with the man.

The day after is blocked off and training-free. I don’t even have any pressing assignments I need to pore over. In theory I could ask Coach Tiller to do me a solid and let me remain, just in case I can make it an overnight stay at Kobe’s. Presumptuous much—the whole me inviting myself over?

Nah. Without a shadow of a doubt, the way we’ve been communicating nonstop makes it clear we want to spend time with each other. Add in the flirting, as well as the memory of those kisses, and when I make this happen, I don’t plan to make any pretense of “hanging out” or even going for a beer. Why the hell would I want to do that when every spare thought I have is lodged so completely on wrapping myself up in all things Kobe?

But a plan is not going to make itself. But when it comes to devious strategizing, I’m heading toward a big, fat F. I can’t lie or bullshit for… well, shit.

Mikey clatters a pan onto the stovetop, his voice rising over the sizzle of onions hitting oil. “All right, Mally, spill it. What’s got you zoning out with that lovesick look on your face? Did Kobe send you another one of his boner texts? Something like, ‘Hey, thinking of you. PS: I’m ridiculously hot and charming.’ ” He waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

Fuck, he’s such a dork.

Jackson snorts, leaning against the counter as he peels a carrot. “Pretty sure Mally’s smile just confirmed it.”

I throw an oven mitt at Mikey’s head. “First, shut up. Second, yes. He’s coming to the game.”

Jackson freezes mid-peel, the carrot slipping from his hand. “Wait. Kobe? My brother Kobe?”

“No, the other Kobe I’m texting nonstop and plotting my life around,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I’m not upset,” Jackson replies, holding his hands up as if to ward off my sarcasm. “Just… surprised. That game a couple weeks back, I had to lay the guilt on thick for him to come. Damn, man, you must’ve made a hell of an impression.”

“Oh, we all know Mally made an impression,” Mikey says, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Question is, are you okay with your big bro and Mally… you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Jackson lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Mikey, I was the one who set them up. Of course I’m fine with it. Mally’s been crushing on Kobe since before his voice dropped. It was about time someone did something about it.”

“Fuck you,” I say with zero heat. Had I seen a photo of Kobe and heard stories about the guy before my balls had dropped, not gonna lie, I would have crushed just as hard when I was thirteen. I feel my ears warm. “You didn’t have to put it like that.”

“Oh, I did,” Jackson says, smirking as he tosses the carrot peel in the trash. “Besides, Kobe’s a good guy. And, uhm... you’ll treat him right.” He blushes faintly. And I get it. This is a little strange. “Just, uh, don’t make it weird at the game, okay? He’s coming to watch basketball, not to make out with you in the stands.”

Mikey cackles. “You sure about that? I mean, did you see the way these two looked at each other? We’re gonna be one awkward time-out away from PDA central.”

We weren’t that bad the night we met, were we?

“Can we focus on the real issue here?” I interject. “I need to figure out how to stay after the game. You know, spend some time with him.”

Mikey spins around, pointing a spatula at me like it’s a magic wand. “Fake an injury! Oh! Or pretend you got left behind. Hide from the bus until it leaves. Then leave a whole ‘oh no, look at what I did’ message on the team message board.”

“Yeah, great plan,” I say dryly. “Except Coach Tiller knows I’m terrible at lying, and the team would sell me out in a second.”

“What about the truth?” Jackson suggests. “Just tell Coach you’re staying to see family.”

“Isn’t that technically true?” Mikey adds, gesturing with the spatula. “I mean, if you squint real hard, dating your second best friend’s brother is practically family.” He snorts when Jackson throws a chopped piece of carrot at him. “It’ll be like a Hallmark movie, but with more tattoos.”

I laugh despite myself. “Right. Because Coach is totally going to buy that logic. Look, I just need something simple, believable, and not obviously related to Kobe.”

Jackson shrugs. “Tell him you’ve got a family dinner. He doesn’t need to know it’s a very… cozy dinner for two.”

I nod slowly. “Okay, that might work. And worst-case scenario, I just own up and hope he’s cool about it.”

“You’re learning,” Mikey says, flipping the chicken sizzling in the pan. “Now, what’s the plan once you’re with lover boy?” We both ignore Jackson’s wrinkled nose as Mikey continues, “Romantic dinner? Long walk on the beach?”

“I’m pretty sure Kobe’s busiest days at the shop are weekends,” I say. “So, I’ll probably just hang out there and watch him work. Maybe he can even start on the tattoo design he drew for me.”

Mikey smirks. “Ah, the ol’ ‘Oh, I’ll just casually hang around while you’re tattooing me’ move. Very smooth.”

“Shut up,” I say, but I can’t help grinning. I’m also hella relieved they’re focusing on Saturday and not all of my wicked, dirty plans I have for Kobe on Friday night.

Jackson points the knife he’s holding at me, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Just don’t get so lost in staring at him that you flinch during the tattoo. You don’t want to end up with, like, ‘I heart Mom’ spelled wrong or something.”

Mikey cracks up. “Or worse—‘Kobe’ tattooed somewhere real obvious. That’d be a fun conversation at practice.”

I throw the other oven mitt at Mikey. “You guys are the worst.”

“Yeah, but we’re helping,” Mikey says, flipping the food in the pan with flair. “Now go text your man. Dinner’s almost ready, and you need to be at peak performance when you see him again. That means eating something other than takeout for once.”

I don’t argue. Nor do I challenge the “your man” comment, though Kobe is far from that. I’m not completely naive in all things crushes and hookups. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be with time.

I pull out my phone and send Kobe a quick text.

Me: Coach should let me stay after the game. Can’t wait to see you. Think we can make time for the tattoo too?

What I don’t add or make clear is where I’ll preferably be staying overnight. His reply is almost immediate.

Kobe: For you? Always. I’ll make it happen.

Yeah, I’m a goner. How can I not be when Kobe responds like that?