Page 1 of Candy Coated Curves

chapterone

Nash

I’ve never given much thought to the belief in past lives. Pretty sure if you’d asked me, I’d have told you it was a bunch of bullshit.

Still, everything about Veronica Cuevas makes me second guess that belief.

Now I’m wondering if maybe I wasn’t a giant asshole in a past life and sweet, gorgeous, curvy as fuck Roni is my punishment.

Why? You might be asking. Well, I’ll tell you. I can make you a list actually.

Number one, I’m old enough to be her father. I mean I would have been a teen dad, but still. Too damn old to be looking at her and thinking the filthy things I think.

Number two, aside from our ages, she’s still out of my league. Yeah, I guess by many standards she’s considered plus size, but she’s voluptuous and luscious. Meanwhile, I’m just a huge fucking beast. Big all over, massive shoulders, massive thighs, belly. I’m just a big motherfucker.

Finally, she works for me at my candy shop. So technically I’m her boss.

So yeah, she’s one hundred percent off limits.

I've practically lived like a goddamn monk since I met her, eighteen months ago. Haven't touched my dick since. I don't know… something about not wanting to come unless I'm inside her.

Even that feels wrong for all the aforementioned reasons. Plus, I don't know—I don't think she looks at me that way. Sometimes it seems like she does, but then I watch her with the customers and I think maybe she's just a flirt.

Even if she doesn’t want me, I can’t stop thinking about her. Even now, while I'm out on a Friday night with my friend, Ian, sitting here, throwing back a few beers, talking shit about people. I'm still watching her. Because, of course, she's here with some friends.

They’re currently out on the dance floor, doing some silly line dance. It’s hard not to watch every bounce and wiggle of Roni’s lush curves as she moves. She’s giggling her head off and looking like a goddamn miracle. The fact that she’s wearing a reindeer antler headband with jingle bells and tinsel does not escape my attention. It shouldn’t be sexy, but she would be sexy wearing a roll of aluminum foil.

“When are you going to finally make a move on that?” Ian asks.

“Move on what?” I ask.

He glares at me. “Come on. I'm too old for this shit. Just answer my fucking question.”

I shake my head and take a swig of my beer. It’s lukewarm at this point, but I still swallow it down. Lukewarm and bitter is just about right for this evening. Because, yeah, I know exactly what he’s talking about. “I’m not making a move on her. Just keeping an eye on her. She works for me.” I shrug. “I'm protective.”

Ian tips his head back and guffaws. “Oh, protective. Is that what the kids are calling it now?”

“Fuck off.”

“Suit yourself.”

A college boy joins them on the dance floor. I know it’s a college kid home for the holidays because they all look the same; khaki pants and striped, collared shirts. I don't recognize him off the top of my head, but I probably know his parents.

Despite the fact that my girl is dancing in a group of other women, of course he zeroes in on her. He’s trying to talk to her, but she points at the speakers and then her ears. Doesn’t make him move away though. Nope, he just keeps sorta dancing next to her, though of course the fucker doesn’t really know any of the right steps. He’s just mostly staring at her curves, namely at her fucking tits.

I shift in my seat.

“What did you think of her new ink?” Ian asks.

I shoot a glare at him. Ian co-owns the local tattoo parlor,the Needle Bards, with his younger brother, Zane. So, he could be telling the truth, but I can’t quite tell.

His brows raise so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. “She didn’t show you?”

I narrow my gaze at him.

He grins. “A real pretty tat of a pomegranate on her shoulder.”

“You better be lying to me right now,” I say, my words come out through my teeth, my hands tight fists on the top of the table.

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