Wanting Mr. Cane

THREE

KANDY

I wish I could say I kept my hands to myself when it came to Mr. Cane. It would have made things a hell of a lot easier down the road.

But eventually, something was bound to happen. There was too much of a spark between us and we hit it off a little too well. The spark we shared was bright, risky, and tempting. All I wanted to do was touch it, see if it burned.

I don't know why I wanted him so badly. There was just something about Quinton Cane—something that made the pit of my belly flutter with chaotic butterflies and made my body pump with too much desire.

He was irresistible and I loved that he didn't treat me like a child.

But the night when something did happen between us, he didn't dare look at me like a child ever again after it.
That night was during a tragic point in my life.

It was scary.
Unexpected.

I was eighteen and had slept over Frankie's house for one of our monthly sleepovers. I did the sleepovers with her when Mom had to work late—mainly because I didn't like being in the house alone.

We were seniors that year. We didn't care about popularity or fitting again. We were a duo and we loved it. Frankie was boy crazy—she had a new boyfriend at least every other week. If I thought I was a rebel, she put me to shame. She'd dyed her hair a bright turquoise, even when her mother had told her not to. She didn't have her father in her life, and her mom was always traveling for work, which probably played a big role in why she wasn't very disciplined. She grew up on her own, and had set her own routine. She was still sweet. Still smart. And she still loved her mother to death. But, well to be frank, Frankie just didn't give a fuck.

"So, tell me all about that little lunch adventure you had with that sexy inked beast again!" she said, flopping down beside me, belly flat on her twin-sized bed. I'd had lunch with Quinton a little over week ago, had told Frankie the story several times during lunch at school and even through text messages, but apparently it wasn't enough.

I looked over at her. Her brown, almond-shaped eyes were focused on me, the softly tanned skin on her face covered with a green organic face mask. She was a beautiful girl, mixed with Black and Asian blood. She wanted to be a model. She was tall enough to become one.

"It was just lunch, Jess," I laughed. "I've told you this story like a hundred times."

"I know but there has to be more!" She bumped my arm. "You came to school the next day beaming, I mean legit glowing, K.J.!" She was the only one to call me K.J. She'd been calling me it ever since fifth grade. She claimed she didn't like the name Kandy, because it was too sweet for my bitchy personality, so K.J. it was.

I stopped scrolling through my Facebook timeline on my phone and sat up, crossing my legs Indian-style. Frankie sat right up with me, looking me deep in the eyes with a grin, ready for the juicy details.

"Okay. I'll tell you how I felt that day, but it could be no big deal."

"Fucking spill, bitch," she said, waving her hands.

I huffed a laugh, bundling my hair up into a loose bun, a nervous habit. "Okay, well, we had lunch at this fancy seafood restaurant and he let me order whatever I wanted, didn't care how expensive it was. And . . . I don't know. We  talked and laughed and things just clicked. I kind of got over my frustrations with him, and about the whole Kelly thing, and enjoyed the evening. We talked a lot, he looked me in the eyes and actually listened to me." I bit the corner of my bottom lip. "It might be nothing but—"