Page 100 of Wicked Sins

Why the fuck is this suddenly so goddamn awkward? I step closer, but she hurriedly retreats as if she’s about to slam the door in my face. “Candy?”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.” Another step. I put my hand on the door, ready to push it open if she tries to close it. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But her eyes keep darting from me to the hallway behind me, as if she doesn’t quite believe my father’s left the house. “Just hungover. Did he say anything about my mom?”

“Nope.”

Finally, she opens the door a little more. She’s wearing jeans and a pastel pink sweater, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

“She’s not answering her phone,” Candy says. “I’ve been trying all morning.”

“And?”

Candy licks her lips and steps into the hallway. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shakes her head and says, “My mother hasn’t spoken to her sister in like,” she rolls her eyes, “shit, ten years? Maybe more.”

“We’ve been through this. Why would he lie?” I ask through a sigh.

“I don’t know, but I know my mom isn’t with my aunt.”

I shrug. “Then, where would she be?”

Candy looks away. When her eyes come back to me, they seem more unsettled than before. “What was he saying?”

“He’s going to the police station.”

Candy’s watching me intently. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

I don’t usually sleep late, but I don’t know if that’s the only reason why I’m so irritable all of a sudden. I guess I can’t expect anyone in this house to be a ray of fucking sunshine, but for fuck’s sake.

“I think it’s weird that you’re acting like nothing happened yesterday.” I step closer to her, holding out a hand.

She backs up out of reach. “I’m worried about my mom.”

“Okay, fuck, I get that.” I duck my head forward, bringing my eyes to her level. “What do you want me to do about it?”

She blinks furiously for a second, her mouth parting. “Nothing. I mean, I’m just—” she cuts off with a low growl and pivots on her heel. “Forget it.”

“Candy!”

But she’s already halfway down the stairs, and ignoring the living fuck out of me.

Coffee. That’ll wake me the hell up. But that’s in the kitchen, and if I’m not mistaken, Candy’s headed straight that way.

Fuck it. I should get out of the house anyway. I’ll stop for some coffee at that place down the road, bring her back a latte and some bear claws or something.

We could talk.

Fuck knows, weneedto talk.

We need to fuck.

But I force that sinister thought away as I slip into my room and put on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and my red Maple Ridge hoody. What happened yesterday was impulsive and stupid. Kids being kids. Hormones raging and all that shit. Sure, I enjoyed it, and I’m sure she did too, but it didn’t fulfill the purpose it was supposed to.

I shouldn’t still be thinking about her. I was supposed to get her out of my head, not wedge her deeper in. And now, because she’s worried about her mom, so am I. I couldn’t give a shit about Diana with her fake hair and her fake tits…but I’d do anything in the world not to have Candy worry anymore.

Coffee and bear claws.

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