Man Candy (10 page)

there wasn’t anything in her bedroom or

any other areas of the house. I don’t think

she was sentimental about him.”

“Still. He was her husband and the

father of her child. Hard to imagine not

keeping any evidence of his existence,

even if it was just for your sake.” She

put a hand on her chest. “I mean, I’m the

least sentimental person I know, and I

think I’d secret away
some
thing.”

“Maybe I’ll look around up there,” I

said, although I wasn’t entirely sure I

needed to see a picture of the man who’d

abandoned my mother when there wasn’t

anything I wouldn’t give to have her

back. “I have to get all our stuff out of

that house anyway. I’ve been putting it

off, to be honest.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because there’s so much up there,

and the vast majority of it is useless old

shit that should be thrown away, and it’s

hard to make myself do it.”

“Want some help?” she offered.

“Like I said, I’m not sentimental at all.

I’ll be ruthless. It could be one of our

dates!”

I smiled at her. “That will not be one

of our dates, but thanks for the offer. I

might wait until my condo is ready,

anyway. That way I’d have a place to

keep things if I wanted them.”

“Alex said it will be ready in about

a month?”

“Looking to get rid of me?” I gave

her the side eye.

“Definitely.”

“Well, I talked to the guy yesterday,

and he told me three more weeks at

least. Apparently there was something

wrong with the electrical.”

“Where is it?” she asked, tucking her

legs underneath her.

I told her about the condo I’d chosen

in a renovated skyscraper, its downtown

location, and the awesome view I’d

have of Comerica Park. “Although I’d

rather watch from inside the park. I can’t

wait to go to a game.”

“I noticed you wear a Tiger hat in a

lot of your Instagram pics,” she said,

pouring herself more wine.

“Wow, you’re really into me on

Instagram, aren’t you?” After elbowing

her gently, I took the bottle from her and

poured myself more too.

She elbowed me back. “Be nice. Or

no dates.”

“Oh, no. We already sealed the deal

on those. You are stuck with me on

several future occasions.” I set the bottle

down. “So do you want to tell me about

these
rules
?” I made little air quotes

around the word rules, so she’d know

what I thought of them.

She sat up straight, ignoring my

sarcasm. “No sleepovers. No excessive

cuddling. No getting mad if I don’t call

or text back some days, no leaving things

at my apartment, and no talking about

feelings,
” she finished, rolling her eyes.

I nodded slowly, like I was taking it

all in. “OK, define excessive. Like, if I

do this…” I took her wine glass and set

it on the table before grabbing her in a

huge bear hug, leaning over, and

smothering her face with my chest. “Is

this excessive?”

“Stop it!” She tried to get out of my

arms, but I was much bigger and

stronger. “I can’t even breathe!”

“So this is excessive? That’s what

you’re saying?” I released her. “OK,

good to know.”

“God, you’re such an asshole.” She

moved away from me on the couch and

smoothed her hair.

“Just want to be clear.” I picked up

my wine glass. “That one seemed a little

vague. The rest I think I’ve got—you

want to sleep alone, you don’t want to

talk all the time, and you especially

don’t want to talk about feelings.”

“Right.”

“So those are all the things we can’t

do. What’s on the yes list?”

She looked at me like I was crazy.

“Sex. With a condom. For a limited

time.”

I nodded. “Got it. Sex with a condom

but without feelings for a limited time.

And what do you have against feelings

exactly?”

“Not all feelings,” she said

defensively. “I
like
the guys I’ve been

with. I just don’t get all gaga over them

because it doesn’t last, and someone

always gets hurt if they think it does.”

“
‘Always’
seems unduly harsh.”

“I’ve never seen a truly happy

marriage. Someone is always faking it or

lying, or they’ve just settled into a

comfortable pattern and don’t have any

motivation to change things.”

“What about your parents’

marriage?”

She made a face. “Please. I love my

parents, but my dad has affairs and my

mother looks the other way because

she’s too obsessed with her job to care. I

think she’s glad she doesn’t have to pay

that kind of attention to him anymore.

That’s not love.”

I shrugged. “Love is different things

to different people. Who are you to

judge?”

She sat up straighter. “I’m not

passing
judgment
on anybody, nor

would I want anyone to pass judgment

on me. I’m just saying that the notion of

true, everlasting love is a crock of shit,

and people who believe otherwise are

temporarily deluding themselves,

blinded by desire, or just plain foolish.”

“You’re right, you’re not at all

judgy.”

She pinned me with her favorite

dirty look before taking a big swallow

of wine.

“What about Alex?” I challenged.

“He’s in love. Which one is he?”

She sighed, slumping against the

back of the couch and staring into her

glass. “Alex. I don’t know.”

“He and Nolan seem pretty in love

and have been for a long time. Is that a

crock of shit?”

“I will admit that Alex and Nolan

have been together for years and seem

genuinely passionate about each other.

But I’ve never seen it last
forever
, OK?

And everyone expects it to. I’m just

being truthful.”

“Being truthful,” I repeated.
It’s

being scared, is what it is.
But I

couldn’t say that to her. Not yet.

“Yes,” she said stubbornly. “And no

one can blame me for that.”

“I’m curious.” I put my arm on the

back of the couch behind her. “How

does it usually go when you give the

rules to guys who are interested in you?”

She shrugged. “It goes fine. Some of

them love it, actually. I think they’re

relieved to meet a woman who’s not

looking for a ring, just a good time and

good manners. And if they don’t love it,

well then… They can move on.”

“And what happens if you actually

fall in love with one of these well-

mannered commitment-phobes?”

She shook her head. “That will never

happen. I’m smarter than that.”

“But what if it did?” I pressed. “You

can’t control your feelings. Even smart

people fall in love.”

“Then I’d break up with him.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s gonna end sooner or

later, and I might as well be the one to

do it,” she answered, as if it were

obvious. “At least then I’d know when it

was coming.”

I shook my head. “Did you not get

enough love as a child or something?”

“Oh, God.” She gulped down the rest

of her wine and set the glass down.

“Look, I’m not saying love doesn’t exist

in some forms. I got plenty of love as a

child. I love my family. I love my

friends. I even love my life,” she said,

throwing a hand in the air.

“So it’s just romantic love you think

is doomed. Relationships.”

“Eventually, yes.”

“Don’t you ever worry that you’re

closing yourself off from something a lot

of people find joy in?”

“Nope. I have plenty of joy in my

life. And I’m never hurt or

disappointed.”

“Are you happy?”

A look of surprise flitted across her

face. “Happy?” she repeated, as if she’d

never considered the question. “Sure, I

guess so. Happy for now, anyway. But

what else is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Happiness is always a ‘for now’

thing, isn’t it? People think, ‘What do I

want right now? Oh, this candy bar.

Those shoes. That purse. Another piece

of cake. Another piece of ass.’” She

spanked her hip and gave me a coy

smile. “But what we want changes over

time, so what makes us happy changes

over time.”

I thought about that. “But don’t you

think it’s possible to know that

something or someone would
always

make you happy?”

“To know it for sure?” She thought

for a second, her green eyes serious.

“No. I don’t. Do you?”

“Sure, I do. I mean, I’ve never

experienced it for myself, but I have

faith it exists.”

She gave me a patronizing smile, as

if I’d just told her I still believed in

Santa Claus. “That’s so cute.”

“OK. I’ll prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“I’ll show you that real love exists.

I’ll make you believe.”

She stood up, her smile gone.

“Really, that’s not necessary.”

“Scared to take the bet?”

“I’m not scared of anything! I just

don’t think there’s any way to prove

what you’re saying.”

“Chicken.”

She started for the door. “I have to

go upstairs for a minute.”

I jumped off the couch and pushed

the door closed when she tried to open

it.

“Hey,” she said, annoyed.

“Come on. Dare me to prove love is

real.”

She sighed, her expression pained.

“No, Quinn, because you’ll only do

stupid things to try and make me fall for

you, and I’ll just get annoyed. The sex

was so great today. This could be fun

between us. Let’s not ruin it.”

I smiled. “I swear I will not do

anything to make you fall for me—unless

giving you a lot of orgasms is on that

list. Because
that,
I’m going to do.”

Her jaw dropped for a second, and

then she gave me a flirty smile. “OK

then. I dare you.”

TEN

JAIME

I HURRIED up the stairs to my flat,

buoyed by the phrase “giving you a lot of

orgasms.” Damn, that sounded good.

In fact, the more I thought about it,

this whole setup was fantastic.

I had the hottest piece of ass ever

living right downstairs, and he clearly

understood my boundaries, even if he’d

made fun of them.

Whatever—he’d thank me when it

was time for him to move out and our

little fling had run its course. A month

was perfect! That’s about as long as I

liked my fuck flings to last anyway. Any

longer and you were looking at

relationship
status, which was no good,

because it led to expectations and

resentment, the inevitable accusations

and accompanying guilt, and finally the

tragic ending.

Fuck that—I was saving us both from

a stupid breakup fight that would make

Owens family functions awkward for

years to come if he stuck around here.

We’d have unattached, meaningless

yet magnificent sex for a few weeks, and

then get out of each other’s way. It was

perfect…as long as he didn’t try to fuck

it up. I was a little worried about those

dates he wanted, because I wasn’t totally

convinced he wouldn’t try to muddy the

waters with hearts and flowers, which

would completely kill my lady boner

and ruin the fun.

And what about the whole “I can

prove love exists” thing? Was he nuts?

There was no way on Earth to prove that

love either did or didn’t exist, was

there? What the hell was he going to do?

For heaven’s sake, look at the home he’d

come from—his father had abandoned

his mother when he was just a baby.

What had that taught him about romantic

love?

I didn’t really have a reason for

coming up to my flat, I’d just wanted to

exit the conversation, but since I was up

here, I used my own bathroom, changed

underwear, and grabbed another bottle

of red from the rack before heading back

downstairs. Quinn was on the couch

again, checking his phone. Was it

possible he looked even more delicious

since he’d said the thing about more

orgasms? When would those begin?

Before or after the homemade pizza?

Sex and pizza. God, my life is

amazing right now.

“How’s your harem today?” I went

into the kitchen, peeked at the rising

dough, and left the wine on the counter.

“They like your early morning bathroom

selfie with the bedhead hair?”

“They did, indeed. More than five

thousand of them.”

“Don’t you ever feel weird about

posting so many pictures of yourself?” I

came back into the living room, noticing

that he’d closed the curtains. I sat a little

closer to him.

“Sometimes,” he said, setting his