3
Bitter Sweet
Roxy
The women’s auxiliary league requests your youthful touch for the Valentine Benefit. Please consider. Let’s do lunch.
I sit and stare at the awkward text from my mother. Only she can make an unassuming text sound like a formal invite inscribed with gold foil over parchment. I feel pretty bad about ignoring my own mother, so I text back a quick, yes, before my neurons fire on all pistons and realize the malfeasance I’ve just caused. Granted it was an unenthusiastic yes. The last thing I want to do is embed myself in the auxiliary league. The next thing you know, I’ll be wearing pillbox hats and autumn rose lipstick just like Mom is prone to do.
I glimpse at the calendar on my phone. It’s New Year’s Eve, and both Baya and Laney are dragging me to the Black Bear tonight to witness a bunch of coeds getting drunk off their asses only to ring in the New Year with synchronized vomiting.
I roll out of bed with my eyelids gritting together like sandpaper and stagger my way down the hall, careful not to fall into Cole’s den of depravation lest I get entangled in one of his nightly orgies. Well, that’s not quite true. After the Angel fiasco last week, he’s had a few special “visitors” but they seem to have left as quick as they came. It makes me wonder about his rumored sexual superpowers. I thought, the way the girls were lining up around the block, he had enough in him to make it last all night, but, by the looks of things, he’s nothing more than a quick prick.
My eyes spring open for a second. God, I almost forgot that Valentine’s is the day after the Sticky Quickie baking competition. I really need to start gearing up and baking myself into a sugar coma if I want to walk away with the ten thousand dollar prize, not to mention the internship at the Sticky Quickie bake shop. It’s the steppingstone I need to launch into cupcake superstardom, plus it will give me the edge once I open my own shop. I can practically see the framed sign in the window, Winner of the Sticky Quickie bakeoff. Voted best cupcakes in town! That almost puts a smile on my face.
I push the bathroom door open, and a strangled scream gets locked in my throat as Cole stands straddling the toilet. The sound of his thunderous pissing fills the air, and I gag as I jump back into the hall.
“Hey.” He shakes himself off before pulling up his boxers. “Morning.”
“See this?” I rattle the doorknob. “It’s has a lock. Use it.”
“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” A half smile inches up his cheek. His hair is slightly rumpled. He’s still wearing those sleepy eyes, and his dimples dig in as if they, alone, were enough of an aphrodisiac to seduce me. They are, but that’s beside the point.
“Every side would be the wrong side of the bed if you were on it.”
“Very funny.” The smile glides right back off his face. “I’ve got about a dozen girls who would contest that fact right this minute.”
“And I bet they’re all in your room ready and waiting for you to get back from your little trip to the potty. Now, if you don’t mind, get the hell out. I need to shower. I’ve got a million things to do, and not one of them includes holding a conversation with a walking dildo.”
His head ticks back an inch. You’d think after a week of dispensing my best comebacks at him, he’d be a little tougher to impress.
“I don’t think there are any clean towels.” He laments while opening the cabinet under the sink. “I’ll try to get to the laundromat later. You can use my towel if you want. I subscribe to the ass-tag system, if you don’t mind returning the courtesy.”
“The what?” Now I’m the one stymied. Apparently stupidity is running rampant this morning around these perverted parts.
“You know”—he plucks at the tag hanging from his threadbare towel that comes complete with gangrene—“you wipe your…” His eyes travel down my body slow as frozen molasses and stop south of my thighs.
“Ass-tag—got it.” I hitch my thumb for him and his Neanderthal-like hygiene practices to get the hell out.
Cole steps in close as he edges his way out of the tiny space. His skin radiates like a heat wave in July as he passes over my body, and every inch of me comes to life in ways I’ve never felt before. I watch as he struts down the hall in his boxer-briefs, tight in all the right places, and wonder what the hell makes Cole Brighton so damn irresistible?
That night, by the time I get to the Black Bear, both Baya and Laney are seated at a small table in the back. I hitched a ride with Cole who’s actually working the bar this evening as a “cocktail architect” as he so moronically put it. Holt and Bryson spent the last week training him to become an official mixologist and it’s his first night flying solo.
“Break a leg,” I say just before we part ways.
Cole steps in close. His bedroom eyes smolder into mine. I had to take a breath earlier when I saw him with his ass-hugging jeans, and inky shirt, per Black Bear dress code. I wanted to tell him he looked good. That I’m sure he would a do a great job tonight, but the bitch that lives inside me is quick to smother the flame of any kindhearted sentiments that may have wanted to spew from my lips.
“I think maybe break a glass is a little more appropriate,” he whispers right over my lips. “Or at least more my luck.” He gives a crooked smile. Something about his self-abasing comment endears me to him, and I’m quick to stomp that little bit of charity out, too.
“Here’s hoping for lots of stitches and a staph infection to round out the night.” I push my way past him and take a seat at the table with Laney and Baya.
“About time.” Baya shoots her brother a look across the bar as if he were truly to blame. “We’re just about to start our shifts.”
“So how’s it going?” Laney almost mouths the words.
I glance over at Cole who has already amassed a mammary-laden harem down at his end of the bar. Poor Holt. Looks like the tips will be down for him this evening. Cole’s a magnet for anything in kitten heels. I swear that man is like catnip.
“I guess it’s going okay. I mean, I bake, and he primarily sleeps all day.” I leave out the part about me letting him eat half of my test batches this week. I have a couple more catering events coming up, and after that fiasco at Jessa’s bachelorette party which will forever be known for its attacking penis cupcakes, I’ve been trying to figure out new ways of securing fondant sculptures to my cupcakes.
Laney glances over her shoulder. “No, not that.” She looks to Baya for a brief second. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?” I inch forward.
Baya clicks her tongue. “Of course, she doesn’t know. She lives under a rock. Didn’t you hear her? She’s been baking my brother cupcakes all week.”
“Oh please, I’m not above hitting you.” I turn back to Laney. “Dish.”
“Okay. Brace yourself.” She takes a deep breath as if she were doing just that. “Aiden and LeAnn have been voted campus couple of the year.”
“It’s all over the school paper.” Baya nods into this lunacy. “And the WB website has an entire page dedicated to them. I heard a girl in the counselor’s office say it was an ingenious marketing strategy for the school. They think LeAnn, alone, has the power to double applicants for fall, not to mention boost morale with the alumni.”
Laney closes her eyes a moment. “God knows we need it after that disaster of a football season.”
“Tell me about it.” Baya groans as if she actually cared about which direction the pigskin flew.
“Whoa, back up the train. How can they be couple of the year? I’m the one that was stupid enough to linger around Aiden for the last eleven months. How is he getting all the accolades, and all I’m left with are penis cupcakes?”
Laney and Baya root their jaws to the floor for a minute.
Bryson pops up. “Let’s do it, ladies. It’s time to get this party started.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, this party isn’t getting started until at least eleven-thirty.” Baya gives him a quick wink.
“Yeah”—Laney stands—“we were just about to get all existential and exchange resolutions.”
Both she and Baya offer half-hugs of condolence before they move along to their respective stations. Bodies fill in the dance floor, and the DJ starts pumping out enough bubble gum rock to rot our brains long before midnight.
“Everything okay?” Bryson lands a hand over my shoulder, and, instinctually, I want to fold into him. Baya is lucky to have someone as kind as Bryson to get her through this shit storm they call life. She chose wisely, unlike me who bared myself to the first bag of balls that seemed even remotely interested.
Aiden and his newly minted girlfriend stride into the bar with her wrapped in fur from head to toe and him in a dark, expensive looking suit. I guess he finally found his sugar momma. Ryder always tried to warn me that Aiden was after Capwell dollars, and now I’m seeing the fiscal light.
“Everything’s great,” I shout up over the music.
“If you ever need some spare cash, I can always use some help on the weekends.”
My gaze drifts over to Cole at the bar, and something warms in me at the thought. It’s probably just gas.
“I’m good, but thanks.” I try to muster as much enthusiasm as I can, considering he just offered to pay me cash for something I do around the apartment now on a regular basis—bus dishes for Cole.
I spot my sexed-up roommate at the far end of the bar and Cole nods over at me, flashing his million-dollar smile.
A surge of adrenaline spikes through me at the sight of those dimples, and I don’t like it at all.
Swear to God if I fall for Cole Brighton, I’ll stab my own eyes out with a fork.
He winks over at me, and my stomach bottoms out.
Something tells me it’s time to hide the kitchen utensils.
Cole
Bodies ricochet off one another long into the night. The room is dim. The music is ready to blow out both my eardrums, and to make matters worse, I’m sober. Not only am I sober, but I’ve somehow slotted myself as the dispenser of all that is good and right with the world—beer and vodka.
“Hey, man.” Holt slaps me in the stomach with a dishtowel. “How’s it going?”
“Going good, dude.” I rest my elbows onto the counter. “I never knew you worked so damn hard. Hats off. This is exhausting as shit.”
“It’s not always like this. I’m pretty sure it’s cruel and unusual punishment to start working on New Year’s Eve.” He nods over to a bevy of beauties at the end of the bar, and they lift their drinks in our direction. “The ladies sure like what they see. Any you care to sample, or, in your case, two or three?”
“Not funny.” I glance over to the far corner and spot Roxy standing there with her arms crossed, her death ray of a stare poised out at the crowd like she’s ready to impart a mass slaughter. “Maybe I do see someone I like.”
He follows my gaze. “Capwell?” Holt shakes out a laugh. “Dude, she’s one to stay away from. First of all, her brother won’t think twice before ripping your balls off and feeding them to you for breakfast. Second, her parents are both a piece of work in their own right. And, Rox, well she’s a walking ball of rage. I’d be afraid to point my hard-on in her direction.”
“What about that a*shole she dated? It seemed like they were pretty serious.”
“That guy?” He nods not too far from Roxy at Aiden and his new girlfriend, the one-woman karaoke show. “He was just after her for her dough, and when he found out her daddy wasn’t gifting his dear old daughter a dime, he moved onto where the grass and dollar bills were greener.”
“Nice.” So basically she’s been in the shitter for most of her life, and my heart breaks for her just thinking about it.
I watch as the douchebag she once dated heads in her direction while LeAnn trots off toward the restroom.
“You mind if I take a quick break?”
“Nope. Go right ahead.”
I speed over, and a blonde falls into my chest. Her shrill laugh lets me know who it is before she ever looks up.
Angel.
“There you are!” She stumbles to her feet. “I’ve been to every frat party tonight looking for you!” Her eyes narrow as if she’s genuinely pissed.
I may have led her to believe I was headed to a frat party after about the fifth phone call in which she threatened to sit outside my door and stake out the apartment until I got home.
“About that…” I try to maneuver around her, but she sidesteps right along with me.
A string of giggles stream from her chest. “It’s like we’re dancing!” Her boobs jiggle in rhythm as she hops up and down. “You know, there’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t think I can wait until midnight.” She bites down nervously over her lip.
I scan the corner from over her shoulder only to find that nutcase barking in Roxy’s face, and she looks as if she’s about to tear down the whole damn building in retaliation.
“Look”—I brace Angel by the shoulders—“there’s something I have to tell you, too.”
“Oh, goody!” She hops, spiking her stiletto into my sneaker.
Shit.
“I know.” She gives my ribs a hard squeeze. “Let’s both say it at the same time! One, two, three—”
“I’m in love with you!” she shouts over the music, loud enough to echo up to the moon.
“I’m in love with someone else!” I say in tandem, and her face drops. Her eyes round out before filling with tears, and she’s doing the nostril thing.
Crap.
“Hey, kid, it’s okay.” I give her arms a quick rub. “It’ll happen for you someday soon, I swear it. A girl like you won’t stay single long.” Stalkers rarely do.
Her face brightens. “You’re right. My mother always said if there was something I wanted badly enough, it would eventually come to me. And my daddy said—”
“That’s great.” I give her a quick pat as I push my way through the crowd and land in front of the sack of shit that has the nerve to breathe the same air as Roxy.
“And who the hell are you?” He roars it out as if I were simply the latest development in their argument. “Get lost. We’re having a discussion.”
Roxy steps up. “I’m not discussing anything with you. And, by the way, this is—”
“Her new boyfriend”—I flatten my hand over the idiot’s chest—“and if you don’t mind, it’s almost midnight—we need to practice for the big kiss.”
Roxy pulls me in by the waist. “And then we’re going to f*ck.”
My stomach pinches when she says it because God almighty knows I’d like to do just that. Aiden’s face bleaches out, and, for a minute, I see both panic and rage brewing in his eyes. Does this douche actually think she’s going to sit around pining for him while he moves on? This guy is nothing but an ego on a stick.
“That’s right, we f*ck a lot.” I poke a finger into his chest causing him to stumble back. His eyes slit to nothing. He pumps a series of quick breaths through his teeth like a bull at the gate. Who knew pissing off her ex could be such serious fun?
Angel starts marching this way, angry and volatile, and most likely loaded with more mommy-daddy stories than I care to stomach.
I pull Roxy in by the neck. “Kiss me.”
She bears into me with those ocean deep eyes, and my insides turn to water.
It’s like I’m falling.
She lunges at me with those full, ruby lips, and I collapse over her with a kiss that has the power to evaporate every damn person out of the room, and it does with the exception of Roxy.
Her tongue slips into my mouth, and I’m right there to greet it. We take it slow then detonate over one another in a powerhouse of passion. Her soft tits crush up against my chest as I sweep through her mouth over and over.
Holy hell, how could anyone throw away a girl like Roxy?
Aiden the A*shole just made the biggest mistake of his life.
And I have a feeling this kiss is the beginning of the best move in mine.
Holt sends me home at about two in the morning, and I offer Roxy a ride.
“Don’t think this is going anywhere.” She drones it out like she isn’t above drop kicking my balls into the next decade if I try something.
“Likewise, smartass.” I give a little smile as I let her into the apartment. Of course, I don’t mean it, and I’m sort of hoping she doesn’t mean it, either. “Thanks for helping me out. That chick has been closer than my shadow all week.”
“Sounds like a problem.” She tosses her purse on the couch.
Roxy comes toward me with that I’ll-cut-you look on her face but I don’t move, hell, I don’t breathe.
“If you ever think of landing those lips on me again, I will make sure it’s the last kiss you ever share with anyone.” Her chest heaves. Her cheeks darken a deep shade of red, calling her bluff.
“Oh, yeah?” I take a step in and push my face toward hers. “If you ever land those lips on me again, I’ll make sure it’s the last kiss you ever share with anyone”—a cocky smile cinches up one side, and I can tell it’s pissing the hell out of her—“other than me.”
Her throat jumps as she swallows hard.
“In your dreams, manwhore.” She flops down onto the couch.
I flip on the tube and land on the opposite sofa. It’s kind of nice to just hang out with a girl for once, even if she is rabid half the time.
“So what do you feel like watching?” I ask. Roxy is like a faucet. I never know which I’ll get, hot or cold. “Rom com? Horror flick? I bet you’d like to see a few zombies lose some body parts.”
“Yup, you got me all figured out. After all, nobody knows women like Cole Brighton.” She says that last part overly cheery like some goofy ad campaign.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I simply meant she looks like the type of girl who enjoys taking a bite out of a person—a big, bloody, painful bite.
“Save it. Watch whatever the hell you want. I really don’t care.” She twists her hair into a bun then shakes it back out again, and I sit mesmerized by the fluid way her arms move, the way her midnight-colored hair cascades down her shoulders in perfect waves. The apartment still holds the slight scent of vanilla, and I’m strongly associating that smell with Rox and her creamy-looking skin.
“So, what’s your major?”
She gives a hard sigh. “Again, no need for one-liners—really I’m cool with just watching TV.”
“It’s not a one-liner, I want to know. Mine is business. Now it’s your turn, that’s how polite conversation works.”
She smirks at me. Her eyebrow peaks on one side, giving her that sexy-as-hell look that makes my balls ache just a little.
“Business—not that it’s any of yours.” She folds her arms across her chest.
“You don’t need to get all defensive over nothing. This is a safe zone. You can let down your hair, both figuratively and literally, around here.” Her panties, too, but I leave that part out. “I’m not out to get you.” Yet.
Roxy spears me with a look that says I’ll twist your dick off if you go there again. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. This is the real me, the wall is up, and it’s staying up because I like it that way, so you can stop trying to scale it, and while you’re at it, put away your armchair psychiatry. There’s no use in figuring me out. I’ve already tried.”
A brisk knock erupts at the door, and neither of us moves.
Shit. If I see Angel on the other side, I might have to ask Bryson to play bouncer, and I haven’t done that in months. Then I remember he’s not home, and I’m screwed as shit.
The knocking grows increasingly aggressive, so I hop up and glance out the peephole.
Crap. It’s Tia and Mia from Victory University—two blondes that aren’t even related, and yet they’re pretty hard to tell apart. They come around every now and again looking to triple their pleasure, and I’m usually quick to comply. Maybe I’ll tell them I’ve had a rough night, that I just want some damn sleep for once. Not that it’s true. I just don’t feel like the hookup. Wait, did I just say that?
I crack the door open, and they trample their way inside, giggling and falling like they, too, have bellied up to the bar a good six hours tonight.
“Happy New Year!” One of them screams before blowing into her party horn. They stop short when they see Roxy on the couch. “You didn’t start the party without us, did you?”
Roxy drags her eyes from one to the other, and I can practically hear the sarcasm streaming from her lips.
“Trust me, girls, he’s saving the best moves for last.” She snatches the remote off the table. “Go ahead, cowboy.” She shoots me a look. “Corral these fillies into your stall, and take ‘em for a ride before one of them pukes on me.”
“About that.” I pull the girls in and start walking them toward the door. “I was just about to hit the sheets.”
“No time like the present!” They sing in unison and bounce up and down like a couple of pornographic cheerleaders.
“I was sort of thinking—”
One of them cuts me off. “She could totally join us if you want.” Mia holds a charitable hand to Roxy.
“Yeah, for sure!” Tia sings. “The more the merrier!”
Roxy slits her eyes to nothing. “I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come on,” Mia whines. “Cole knows how to make you feel like you’re the only girl in the room.” She closes her eyes and moans as if we’re already there. “And the things that boy can do with his tongue.” She lets out a heated cry, and Roxy rolls her eyes.
Tia smacks her friend in the gut. “She’s obviously slept with Cole. Of course, she knows what he can do with his tongue.”
“I haven’t slept with Cole,” Roxy growls it out with venom as if they just accused her of a bank heist. “Nor do I intend to.”
“Oh!” Mia dips her knees. “You must be a lesbian.” She claps as if it were a novelty. “Cole can totally change your mind about that whole girl-on-girl thing. He’s really got a gift for—”
“Look, I’m not a dyke,” Roxy barks it out before reverting her attention to the television. “Believe it or not, there are girls who don’t feel the need to bed Cole Brighton, and I happen to be one of them.”
The girls straighten in tandem.
“The only one,” Mia huffs. They smirk at my new roommate before stalking off to my bedroom, incredulous that an anti-Cole supporter has penetrated the inner sanctum. Come to think of it, I’m a little disbelieving myself.
“You’d better get going.” Roxy kicks me in the shin on the way to the kitchen. “You don’t want to keep your guests waiting. Do what you do best—bang like a screen door in a hurricane.” She pulls out a mixing bowl and a bag of sugar.
My chest pumps with a laugh. I guess I could give a hurricane a run for its screen-banging money. The smile melts from my face as I follow her over.
“You eat dinner?” I’m not sure why I asked other than my heart breaks for her just a little the way she’s assaulting those ingredients.
“This is dinner.”
“You know you can’t eat that crap every day.”
“Oh, yeah?” She looks up with wild eyes. “What do you eat?” She pushes forward an empty fast food bag. “This?” She reaches back and thrusts a pizza box in my face. “This?”
“That happens to be very nutritious, it’s got bread, a vegetable, and a dairy. That’s knocking out three levels of the food pyramid right there.”
“Oh, please. Everyone knows the food pyramid is a sham.” She looks up exasperated. “Get out of my face, Cole. Go pleasure your harem. I really don’t give a shit.”
And there’s that.
My stomach sinks like a stone.
Wait a minute. Do I care if she gives a shit? My insides churn because, holy hell, I think I do.
“Do you think we could have something?” There I laid it all out. If she says yes, I’ll simply kick the girls out. And if she says no, I’ll still want to kick the girls out, albeit for a far less justifiable reason.
Roxy turns around, drills those nightlights she calls eyes into mine, and her features soften. “No, Cole, I don’t.” She reverts her attention back to the mixing bowl, and the air in the room stiffens to something just this side of claustrophobic.
“Yeah, well, I don’t either.” I have no clue why I threw it out there—maybe saving face. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been turned down for anything and still have four fingers and a thumb left over. It doesn’t feel good. In fact, it downright feels like shit.
I head over to my bedroom.
I think Rox and I can have something if we give it a shot. That kiss we shared tonight can testify to that.
My bed is already rocking by the time I get inside with two very naked, very wasted blonde bombshells. They scream in a fit of giggles as I enter their midst and land square between them. They start in on the alternate kisses, the ripping of my clothes, but I’m not feeling it. I lie back on the bed, and one of them offers up a quick hand job to get me going, but my dick is busy playing dead.
After about ten minutes, they sit up with a look of sexual frustration in their eyes that I’ve never seen before.
“Maybe we should go?” Tia fumbles for her bra, and my ego kicks in full throttle. If Roxy sees them leave, it’ll take her two seconds to figure out I couldn’t get it up.
“I think we should play a game.” I reach under my bed, where I know for a fact I have a testament to both Milton Bradley and the Parker Brothers, until I fish out Monopoly. “I call bank.”
We play until sunrise, and I make sure the girls giggle up a storm while I stomp the wall with my fist each time I pass go.
No use in letting Roxy think this is all about her. I’ve never let a girl get to me before, and I’m not starting now.
But too bad for me because I’m already gone.
Roxy Capwell already has me in the very worst way, and, tragically, she’s the only girl at Whitney Briggs who doesn’t want anything to do with me.
Ego blown.