Page 6 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 6

CODY

“Swoon!” Sylvia says as I recount Friday night and Saturday’s events in the safe cocoon of my studio apartment. She clutches a couch cushion to her chest and flops back against the armrest with a sigh. “He sounds like such a dreamboat.”

She is, of course, talking about Kenneth.

“He is,” I acknowledge, though my tone is laced with disappointment. “But he’s really just a living fantasy.”

“Why?” Pushing her bob of dark-brown hair behind her ears, she frowns at me, pouting a little as she presses, “He told you that he thinks you’re hot. That’s, like, a green light for action or something.”

“Uh, were you not listening to the part where he heard me confess my crush and turned me down? Hey! ” I bat away the cushion which she’s just hit me with.

“You didn’t tell him about your long-running crush. You told him you think he’s a silver fox. That’s it.”

My cheeks pink. “I’m sure he can use his context clues. I told him I didn’t want him to think of me as a child anymore. I basically threw myself at him in the most awkward way possible…What?”

Sylvia’s rounded face is contorted by her very poor attempt to conceal her amusement. At my question, she lets go of the cackle of laughter and shakes her head, leaning across the short distance between us on the love seat to pat my thigh consolingly. “Oh, Code. Honey…” Her lips are twitching. “My sweet, na?ve, virginal friend.”

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and groan. “Syl…”

“You sound like a thirteen-year-old, you know? Oh no, I told him he’s attractive, that’s basically begging him to bone me ,” she mocks.

“I fucking hate you.”

“You love me.” The hand on my thigh squeezes and then gives my leg a shake. “But you’re being dramatic. Think about everything you’ve just told me and really consider whether you threw yourself at him or whether you wish you’d grown the balls to actually throw yourself at him like a big boy.”

The thing I hate most is that she might have a point.

Okay, she does have a point.

“I wouldn’t have the first clue how to do that,” I admit. “I get into his orbit and suddenly I feel like my pubescent self again, all crushy and awkward and painfully out of his league.”

My best friend’s amusement softens into empathy. “I know, honey. But that’s because you’ve put him on a pedestal. He’s just like any other man you’ll meet on Grindr.”

“Yeah, because that’s a helpful analogy right now.”

“Shit. Sorry. But you know what I mean.” Sylvia relinquishes her hold on my thigh to reach for her glass of water on my battered and stained coffee table, bringing it to her lips and sipping delicately before setting it back down. She licks her lips and then says, “He’s just a man, Code. Like you. Not a god. Not unattainable, and definitely no better than you.”

“Except you just said he’s a dreamboat.”

“And so are you.”

I blink. She rolls her eyes. “You know you’re hot.” She repeats Kenneth’s words verbatim. “And you’re smart, and funny, and kind. Any man —the silver fox included— would be lucky to have you.”

Uncomfortable at the praise, I sit back and narrow my eyes at her, falling back on humor to defuse my discomfort. “Why are you being so nice?”

“I’m always nice.”

I arch an eyebrow. She blows a raspberry.

“Oh, now who’s the teenager?” I ask, and she laughs.

“Don’t think I don’t see you trying to change the topic.” She points her index finger at me.

Snorting and shaking my head, I ask, “Can you please just drop it? The whole experience was embarrassing and he’s still Dad’s BFF who I’m probably never going to see again.”

Famous last words.

Silver Fox Ken: I’ve got your clothes from the other night. Want me to drop them off at your place?

I stare at the text message for a solid two minutes, until my phone’s screen goes to sleep, and my brain whirs.

After the deeply embarrassing conversation in Kenneth’s kitchen on Saturday morning, I retreated into the guest room shower. Kenneth was kind enough to lend me a pair of gray sweatpants (which were far too large for me, hanging loosely from my hips, even with the drawstring pulled tight), and a soft black T-shirt that looked more like a muumuu on my frame, and he tossed my jeans and mesh shirt into his laundry hamper before I could argue.

At that point, as expensive as the jeans had been, I had been too flustered to consider whether I’d ever see them again.

Almost a full week later, I legitimately forgot all about them…and I might have switched out my usual pajamas for the too-big, borrowed outfit I returned home in.

Does Kenneth want his clothes back, too?

I don’t want to give them back. They’re mine now. Emotional tax to compensate for that whole embarrassing mess.

Plus , I think as I look around my tiny apartment, my apartment is nothing in comparison to his . Hell, I think the whole kitchen-living room-bedroom-bathroom space would barely take up half of his expansive living room and kitchen area. And my place, with its scuffed walls and peeling wallpaper, looks like a dive next to the gleaming, modern condition of his.

Still, it’s rude to leave him on read without a reply. With a resigned sigh, I unlock my screen, immediately bringing up his message. I type an answer and hit send before I can second-guess myself.

Me: We can always meet somewhere halfway. Maybe do dinner?

Oh, God, will he think I’m hitting on him?

Me: As friends.

Could I be any lamer?

Me: Forget I clarified that.

I lock my phone screen as mortification bubbles away in my gut. I will never be normal around him, will I? The churning, swirling feeling in my stomach doesn’t stop me from immediately opening his response when it comes through.

Silver Fox Ken: Red Brick Diner at 7 tonight?

Heart pounding, I glance at the time and swallow roughly.

Me: Sounds good. See you there.