Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

CODY

“You need to tell me everything ,” Sylvia demands before I’ve even poured her wine. She kicks off her flats and thumps her stocking-covered feet on my battered coffee table. “Because a single text telling me that you got off with the silver fox is not enough detail. Especially when you refuse to tell me anything about your weekly date nights.”

“They’re not date nights,” I remind her for the millionth time, bringing the glasses of wine over from my tiny kitchenette. I hand her hers before I settle down sideways on my spot on the couch so I can face her. “We’re just friends who watch our favorite show together.”

“And apparently suck each other’s dicks, too.”

The sip of wine I’d taken winds up down the front of my sweater as I splutter.

“Damn it.” I wipe at the red stain with my bare hand, only making it worse. “I liked this sweater, Syl.”

Completely unrepentant, my best friend shrugs. “That’s what you get for withholding vital information.”

Groaning, I give up on attempting to rescue my sweater and tilt my head to the popcorn ceiling, as if some greater power will be able to help me get out of this conversation.

Why had I thought telling her about my night with Ken was a good idea?

Because she’s your best friend, a voice in my head chimes in, and you needed someone to debrief with.

Well. My inner monologue isn’t wrong.

It’s been three days since I exchanged mind-melting orgasms with my dad’s best friend, and I have been alternating between freaking out and floating on a cloud ever since I left his apartment. I’ve been practically useless at work, and I think I might have even freaked Brad out by daydreaming at my desk — giving him moony-eyes while thinking of when I can next get my mouth on Ken’s awesome dick.

Because it was awesome. It is awesome.

Is this why everyone in high school and college seemed so sex crazed all the time? Is this how they felt? I’m off-kilter, like I’m going through puberty all over again. Now that I’ve discovered how exciting and fun and fulfilling sex can be, it’s like I’m a ball of hormones, desperate to relive that high again and again and again.

I shouldn’t feel this way at twenty-six, should I? Like, I’m super late to this party.

It’s like I told Ken: I knew what orgasms felt like. I wasn’t a stranger to jerking off, or even using the toys in my nightstand. But the orgasms I’ve given myself over the years have nothing on the ones I shared with Ken.

My cheeks heat as I recall coming in my pants twice . I don’t even think he knows that I came from blowing him. From his words of praise and the excitement of having his cock down my throat. The taste of him alone…

“Uh, Earth to Cody?” Sylvia’s voice snaps me all the way out of my fantasies and this! This right here is a prime example of my brain doing things that it shouldn’t. I snap my gaze back to hers and she flashes me a Cheshire Cat grin. “Was he that good?”

Swallowing, I nod. “Even better.”

I wince as she squeals. “I knew it! Okay, so, seriously, details. Was he all manhandle-y and rough? Or was he sweet and tender? Or?—”

“Stop!” I hold my palm out at her, then take a fortifying gulp of my wine. “We…we didn’t…uh…We just grinded against each other. And then I blew him.”

“He didn’t return the favor?”

Closing my eyes, I admit, “He didn’t have to.”

Syl narrows her brown eyes with confusion before understanding dawns. Instead of laughing at me, though, she just sighs. “Sometimes, I wish I had a dick. It sounds like it’s so much easier to come for you guys.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” I agree.

“I’ll drink to that.”

By the end of January, Eldertide has returned from its shortish hiatus. Ken comes over to watch the first new episode with me, and we end up making out and jerking each other off after the credits begin rolling. I want to say that it’s like we’ve returned to our usual routine, but with mutual orgasms, however…it feels like more than that now.

For example, our daily memes and messages feel deeper, somehow. And instead of just sending a laughing emoji at a meme about how much my day sucked, Ken actually called me on Wednesday and told me to come over to his place after work, which I did.

He cooked me dinner and listened to me ranting about other people not showing any attention to detail in their work, which meant I had to double-handle stuff that should have been completed in order to finally get to my actual job, and instead of brushing me off, he offered ideas for how to handle the situation if it happens again. By the time I left his place with my belly full of pasta, I felt a hell of a lot calmer.

I also felt like I’d been on a date.

And maybe the topic of conversation wasn’t exactly date appropriate, but I had butterflies all day on Thursday just thinking about how patient and understanding Ken had been, and how awesome his advice was when I took it and emailed my boss an action plan on increasing productivity across the team.

Then Ken called last night “just to check in,” and I wanted to invite him over then and there, even knowing he was going to be here tonight.

I resisted that urge.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m developing feelings when I shouldn’t be. Ken was clear from the start of whatever the fuck we’re doing that we can only ever be just friends. Friends who get each other off sometimes? Sure. But still just friends.

Except then tonight happened, and he called me sweetheart again, and he’s petting my hair as I come down from coming all over his hand and this can’t be just friendship, can it?

Me: Brad asked me out for Valentine’s.

Sending the text has me feeling all squirmy in the stomach, but I remind myself that what Ken and I have been doing is just casual and was all in the name of boosting my confidence to get back out there and date again. Nevertheless, I need his opinion on this. If he’s not okay with it, then maybe it’s a sign that my feelings for him might be reciprocated after all.

Silver Fox Ken: Are you going to go?

Me: I don’t know. Should I?

There’s a long stretch of time where I try not to get my hopes up that he’s going to tell me no, but is more likely that he’s busy with work. I snatch my phone from my desk as soon as the screen lights up with a text alert.

Silver Fox Ken: Isn’t that why we became FWBs? Plus, you said he’s hot. Go for it, Cody.

My heart sinks a little, even though the response is exactly what I knew it would be.

Me: I’ll think about it.

Silver Fox Ken: Let me know how it goes.

“Hey, kiddo, how’s life treating you?”

I try not to cringe at Dad’s pet name for me. It feels weird being called kiddo at the best of times, but even more so now that I’m sleeping with someone his age. His best friend, if we’re getting technical.

I force a smile at my laptop screen and shrug. “Oh, you know, same old same old.”

Mom and Dad nod their understanding. “Well, that’s a sign nothing’s going wrong, at least.” Mom adds, grinning my own smile back at me.

I have Dad’s coloring, but I look just like Mom. Growing up, I hated my more effeminate features, but now I feel like I’ve grown into them, and I like that I’m a clear blend of both my parents.

“What about you?” I ask them. “Valentine’s is coming up. Have you made your usual plans to be sickeningly sweet with each other?”

Being high school sweethearts who dealt with a teen pregnancy, my parents have beaten the odds and stayed together all these years. Mom accredits this to how well they communicate and work through issues before they can become big problems. Dad says it’s because he never lets Mom forget how much he loves and appreciates her. I think it’s a healthy mixture of both their theories, and their natural connection which hasn’t faded, even after twenty-seven years.

But, no matter what it is, they’ve kept up a routine of celebrating all holidays and important dates. Valentine’s Day is no exception.

“Mike’s not telling me what they are this year.” Mom sighs as though this irritates her, but her pleased smile tells me she loves that Dad is being mysterious and playful. She cocks her head and I know what’s coming even before she opens her mouth. “What about you, sweetie? Do you have a date this year?”

My answer is always no. Always. It doesn’t matter the occasion or the event, I never date. They never really seemed bothered by this until maybe midway through my college years. Then Mom started very casually suggesting that I didn’t need to hide my boyfriends from them, and that they wouldn’t be the kind of parents who did the whole interrogation thing. I didn’t know if they were more concerned when I insisted that I wasn’t hiding anything from them and I was just a loser who didn’t date, or if they were relieved that our relationship was still close enough that they knew I wouldn’t keep things from them.

Nowadays, it’s definitely leaning toward the former option, if the glance she and Dad share on my screen is anything to go by.

“Actually…” I start, watching them both sit up straighter, their eyes visibly widening, “I, uh, might have a date.”

I haven’t updated Ken yet, and I don’t like to think too hard on why I’ve kept it from him. He encouraged me to say yes, so it’s not like he’ll be upset that I did. I’m the one making an issue out of this, when he’s stuck with the friends-with-benefits deal the whole time.

“He’s…uh…the new guy at work. Brad. I think I mentioned him over Christmas?”

Mom claps her hands together and practically cheers, while Dad nods a bit more stoically.

“That’s great, kiddo,” Dad says, and I can’t miss the relief in his voice. “I was beginning to think…well, that doesn’t matter, does it?” He shakes his head, and I kind of want to press him for what the hell that was supposed to mean, but I let it go.

They might be young parents, at the age where a lot of people are only at the early stages of their parenting journey (if on one at all), but they still act like octogenarians sometimes. I think it’s a consequence of having to mature way too quickly or something. Ken’s their age, and he acts more like he’s still in his twenties than in his forties.

“So…tell me more about Brad,” Mom prompts me excitedly. “He’s handsome, right?”

“It’s just a date, Mom, don’t go planning our wedding or anything.”

“You can’t blame me for being excited. You’ve never told us about your dates before.” Her eyebrows draw together into a frown. “This…isn’t your first date ever, right?”

“Mom!” Now I’m scowling. “Would it matter if it was?”

“Well…no, but…you’re almost thirty, sweetie. Surely you’ve been sowing your wild oats?—”

I clamp my hands over my ears and wince. “Ew. You did not just…”

“Oh, come on, we’re all adults here,” she dismisses my embarrassment and discomfort. “And if you can’t talk about sex, you shouldn’t be having it.”

“That’s great advice coming from the woman who got knocked up while she was still in high school.”

“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Dad is stern as he cuts in, and I do immediately feel guilty.

“Sorry. I was just?—”

“Being defensive,” he cuts me off in his measured, rational tone. “I know. But you were still out of line.” He leans forward toward the camera on their end of the video call. “Is everything all right, kiddo?”

“It’s fine. I just…this is kind of new for me. It’s not the first time I’ve gone out with anyone, but it is the first time that it feels…” Sweeter? Less Grindr-y? “More serious.”

My thoughts drift back to Ken again, and I fight to remind myself that our entire FWB arrangement was his idea. His whole rationale was to give me the confidence to try to date again. Hell, he told me to go on the date.

So why do I feel so wrong about agreeing to go out with Brad on Valentine’s Day?