5
Butter Me Up
Roxy
A week thumps by, and winter starts in on her brutal assault, turning the walkways, the grass, the pine trees into frosted confections handmade by the supreme baker in the sky. It may be pretty to look at, but it’s cold as hell with a biting wind that cuts right through all ten layers of clothing I’ve piled on today.
Whitney Briggs has its fair share of fashion-minded coeds who run around looking like snow bunnies begging to get laid by the big bad abominable snowman—I’m presuming that’s Cole—although, he’s been off his game as of late. It’s as if that sugar coma I inadvertently launched him into has put his dick on notice, letting him know that maybe I do want a bite out of him after all. His thick-barreled biceps run through my mind—his tattoos laid out like a map that I’d like to trace with my tongue. Those long lashes, those sexy-as-hell lime green eyes that electrify me every time he walks into the room are about all I can handle. If I didn’t hate anything on this planet that has a procreative organ outside its body, if I didn’t hate men who shared their bed with more women than there are grains of sand on a California beach, then I actually think my vagina and his penis might be paired quite nicely.
I give a smug grin at the thought as I make my way to my first class of the day, Entrepreneurship and Small Business. I’m pretty psyched about this class for two reasons; one, I plan on opening up my own store as soon as I get out of this hellhole, and, two, I’ve sort of already started my own business right from the comfort of my very own apartment. Of course, one day, I hope to acquire an actual storefront. I’ll probably have to grovel to Ryder and beg him to cosign a loan for me, but I’m ready and willing to work very hard and pay back every red cent. If it’s one thing my parents instilled in me it’s to live debt free whenever possible. Another thing they’ve made clear as Waterford crystal is that once I graduate, I’m permanently cut off from any Capwell funds and free to make my own way in the world. It sucks knowing that all of the wealth my parents have amassed will be hitting the road once they croak to about a dozen different charities. Not that I’m opposed to helping charities, it’s just that I’m not so sure I’d leave my kids high and dry. I kind of like the idea of helping them get on their feet, helping them out with say a bakery if need be. Not that I want my parents to croak. I love them despite all the bullshit we’ve been through. I just plan on being a different kind of parent.
I run up the steps to Burgundy Hall where the business classes are held.
That’s funny, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about having kids before. An entire army of dark-haired boys with piercing green eyes flutter through my mind, and, alarmingly, they all look like doppelgangers of my sexed-up roommate.
Pft. As if.
I try to shake the thought out of my head, but those boys keep popping back up like ghosts. Something warms inside of me at the thought, and yet the sane part of me demands I lick a frozen pipe as punishment.
It’s warm inside the class. It’s a cozy lecture, which is what Whitney Briggs is known for—small and personalized class sizes. The chairs are set in a circle, and I go to take a seat and freeze dead in my tracks. Aiden and his dream queen sit square in front of me, holding hands, giggling into one another as if they were actually in love.
Oh, God.
Here it is, that two-second window I have to bolt and forget this nightmare scenario ever transpired.
Aiden looks up and does his best impression of a deer in the headlights.
Crap. This is never going to work. The world is too damn small to ever escape my heartache. I’ll just have to get over him the old fashioned way, by genuinely getting involved with someone else. A rebound relationship is the least I can do to give both my heart and my vagina a fresh start.
Aiden offers up a nervous smile as I slip into my seat.
I squint over at both him and the glorified set of vocal cords, and that familiar rage percolates to life inside me.
I’m sick and tired of getting pissed off each time I see them. There has to be some way to take back the power I gave him to break my heart on a loop each time they’re around. The guy to my left probably has a girlfriend he mauls every chance he gets, and that doesn’t even remotely antagonize me. It’s obvious I let Aiden burrow in too deep. Now I just have to figure out how to pluck him out. He’s like a parasite, hard as hell to get rid of but worth the effort if you plan on living a long, productive life. I’ll probably have to gouge him out of my heart with a pair of tweezers then set his ass on fire like a tick.
“Welcome, everybody, I’m Professor Novak.” A small, balding man takes the lead and sits among us. “I think we all realize how lucky we are to have such a superstar in our midst—Ms. LeAnn Cleo for those of you living under a rock.”
I glare over at both her and Aiden. I’d like to stone a few people right about now.
“Ms. Cleo”—he continues—“please, tell us everything you know about business, about life, about love.” He laughs as he holds out a hand in acknowledgement of their blatant molestation of one another.
“Are you kidding?” She giggles into Aiden. “I would love to! But I have to warn you, I have a way of stealing the spotlight.” More annoying giggles ensue, and I’m pretty sure I have a mirror I can break in my purse to cut her with. “In fact, I might just steal your class right out from under you.”
“I can attest to that,” I mutter.
Professor Novak lets out a little laugh of his own. “Au contraire, Ms. Cleo. I would have to be willing, in some small way, to gift it to you. It takes two to tango as they say.”
I sink a little in my seat because he’s right. As much as LeAnn might have seduced Aiden from me, it wasn’t the first time he dipped his wick in foreign terrain. Aiden wanted her. He cheated willingly. And if I didn’t think I could have my heart stomped on anymore than it already has been, then I was badly mistaken.
It was almost easier to pretend she stole him, that he was kidnapped from my bed by her ridiculous back-up singers and taken to her sound-system-enhanced lair. But that’s not how it went down at all. Aiden’s dick simply pointed him in another direction, and he was more than willing to follow.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not likable—lovable.
Maybe I never will be.
The pity party hits its pinnacle on Friday night when I stupidly let Cole talk me into meeting him at the Black Bear for drinks. Of course, Cole will actually be serving the cocktails in question, and I’ll be required, by social etiquette, to tip him for the effort. I step in and glance around at the bevy of drunken bodies already thrashing to the death-metal blaring over the speakers—girls are jumping up on the far end of the bar unbuttoning their blouses and grinding their hips into one another.
Holt must be in charge of this three-ringed circus tonight because Bryson usually has this place on a much tighter leash.
A pair of hands cover my eyes from behind, and I jump.
I hate this game. I’m not perky enough to care who’s playing peek-a-boo with me, come to think of it, peek-a-boo annoyed the hell out of me as a child. I should pretend to return the favor and not-so-accidentally take their eyes out Three Stooges style. That ought to teach them for messing with mine.
“Let go, or I’ll bite.” I spin, fully expecting to find Cole and that deep-dimpled grin I’ve secretly waited all day to see, but it’s not, it’s that shit-eating grin I was hoping to never see again—Aiden. “You have a lot of nerve.” I take a step to his left, and he’s quick to block my path.
“Wait.” His familiar cologne wafts through the air, and suddenly choking on Drakkar Noir feels like a real possibility. And, to think, I bought him that pricey bottle. “I think we should talk.”
“Go cry to LeAnn. Maybe she’s interested in what you have to say.”
“Chill out, would you?” His eyes squint into me as if he’s genuinely annoyed. Aiden has the looks of a dark-haired Ken doll with his precision-chiseled features, those long comma like dimples that press in, those papery-blue eyes that mimic a clear stream, and now all of the things I once thought were special about him make him look like some cheesy third rate model trying to sell you a winter coat in July. LeAnn can have him, plastic balls and all.
“Look, Rox”—he grips me by the elbow and steps into me until I can smell his shitty breath—“I just want you to know that I’m thinking about asking her to marry me. Out of respect, I thought you should be the first to know.”
“Out of respect?” I gag on the river of words trying to burst from my vocal cords. “Try not cheating on your girlfriend of three years out of respect. Or”—I dig my finger in my cheek to exemplify what a sarcastic bitch I can be—“how about you exit one relationship before starting the next? But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I spot Cole over at the bar passing a drink to a patron through the legs of some bimbo busy twerking in his face.
“Let go.” I yank my elbow free. “My boyfriend is expecting me.” I scowl over at Cole for being useless at the moment. “And”—I turn back to the loser that I once let degrade my body—“just to be clear, I find you repulsive, Aiden. You could marry an orangutan. I couldn’t care less. I hope she cheats on you twice a week for the rest of your miserable lives so you’ll finally know how crappy it feels.”
He yanks me back in. His lips set in a snarl. “I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us. LeAnn is perfect. Look, I know you still want me. There are ways we can be together, and we’ll never have to worry about money.”
“Please.” I glance down at his crotch like a threat. “Like I’d ever touch you again. Enjoy your sugar momma while you’ve got her.”
I push him the hell off me.
“Yeah, and what did you get?” He calls after me. “A bartender? Hey, I know, maybe I’ll hire him to work at my wedding!”
The riotous crowd drowns out his sorry voice as I maneuver my way to the bar.
I’m shaking. Every muscle in my body drips with adrenaline.
What a butthole.
“He’s an idiot!” I say out loud, but my voice gets swallowed up in the noise from the bar.
I spot Cole serving some lush dressed in mesh from head to toe, and I shove her off the barstool and take a seat.
“Watch it, bitch.” She shoulder-checks me before getting her drink and doing a disappearing act.
“Nice going.” Cole cinches his lips up one side. “Because of your musical chair move, she didn’t leave a tip.”
I pluck a wad of twenties from my purse and stuff them in his hand. “That should make up for it. Give me a stiff one, and keep ‘em coming.” I growl like a tiger until he moves.
He narrows those glowing eyes onto mine. His lips twitch as if he were holding back a smile. “A stiff what?” I swear his crotch just swiveled, and I’m momentarily reminded that Cole specializes in stiff ones.
“I don’t know, genius. I don’t drink.”
Holt comes over with his smug smile, his chronic bedroom eyes. “What’s up, Rox?”
“What’s the girly drink of the night?” I demand.
His eyes widen a notch. “Pink Panty Dropper.”
Cole pumps with a dry laugh because we both know that’s his personal specialty.
“Then that’s what I want.” I shoot a hard look to my hotter-than-hell roommate with his full lips, his I’m-going-to-put-you-to-bed-myself lustful look in his eyes. “Give me ten.”
They both jerk at the idea.
“No,” Holt flat lines. He smacks Cole in the stomach. “One at a time. And never get close to ten.” He takes off to man the other end of the bar.
Cole plunks a small glass in front of me and pulls out two different poisons to mix up this magic potion guaranteed to make my panties flee voluntarily.
“So what’s sponsoring the panty raid?” He swoops in for a moment, and the thick scent of his cologne sends a spear of excitement through me. I like how Cole smells, masculine, alive, and, most importantly, different than Aiden.
“Men suck.” I glance over my shoulder and spot Laney and Baya walking in, so I flag them down.
“You’re painting an entire gender with a pretty broad brush.”
Baya tackle hugs me. “Who’s a pretty broad?” She leans over and slaps her brother on the shoulder.
“Never you mind,” I bark at him. “You just get to the business of mixing my panties a drink.”
“Whose panties are drinking?” Laney looks wide-eyed and afraid.
“This girl’s,” I say as I snatch the pink concoction from him and sniff it. Smells like mint and piss.
“She doesn’t drink.” Laney says to Baya, and they exchange looks as if an intervention were needed long before my liver has the chance to shrivel up and die.
“I do tonight.” I lift my glass in their direction. “Who’s going to hold my hair?” When I vomit, but I leave that part out.
The music goes off in a few violent jolts before cutting away to a new song that’s much more livable for my eardrums.
“Hold your hair?” Baya looks sorry for me.
I nod taking my first sip, and my face sours.
“You’re lucky your brother has to work tonight, or he’d be dragging you home by the hair.” Laney plucks the drink from me and takes a quick sip. “Let’s dodge this little pink bullet, shall we?” She tries to pass my glass back to Cole, but I’m quick to intercept. “My sister’s coming down, and we can totally make it a mission to get her laid. Won’t that be fun?” She nods at me like I’m a three-year-old.
“Oh, yes”—my voice drips with irony—“I would love to roll your sister in honey and throw her into the beehive that just stung me. Please.” I scowl up at Cole and his amply-endowed crotch. “I say we slaughter every human with a procreation station dangling from their bodies.”
Baya shoves her balled up fists into her hips and glowers at Cole. “Nice work.”
“What did I do?” He wipes down the surface of the bar in front of me, and something in his domesticated move endears me to him.
“You exist as one of them,” I mutter taking my drink by the balls and carefully pouring it down my throat.
Fire. I push it away as my body gives a mean shudder. “Gah!” It rips from me like a battle cry. “What the hell is in there? Rubbing alcohol?”
“Oh, sweetie.” Laney touches my cheek with her cold hand, and I only remotely feel it as my entire body goes numb.
“Shit,” I whisper as my head spins like a top.
A girl walks over, bopping up and down, smiling, perky as shit, and I suddenly wish I had left a tiny reserve at the bottom of my glass so I could throw it in her exuberant little face.
“Izzy!” Laney throws her hands around her.
Izzy is Laney’s sister who I think I met once, but our families don’t mix much due to the fact my mother likes to put her bitch face on to anyone outside her country club, thus the slight confusion I’m having.
They lose themselves in conversation, and a sea of bodies moves between us, causing their little circle to drift toward the dance floor, and the next thing I see is the three of them thrashing their limbs to some alternative 80’s music that’s being covered by the world’s worst singer. It sounds live….and oh, crap. Every muscle in my body freezes because I happen to recognize that mall concert, smoky-tokey voice as none other than Steal-Your-Man LeAnn.
Cole looks past me at the stage and shakes his head. “Sorry, cupcake. It’s karaoke night.” His dimples flex, no smile.
“That’s okay.” I flick my fingers at him, and he creates another Pink Panty Dropper like his life depended on it. “I had a little heart to heart with my ex at the door, and you know what I discovered?” I shout up over the music until my own voice sounds like some irritating garbage disposal.
“That you have the natural ability to verbally challenge the virility of a man?”
“Are you calling me a bitch?” I almost like him a little better now.
“No, I’m calling you witty. Most women would simply give him the finger. You like to add a sentimental touch he can reflect on later.”
“Witty.” I roll my eyes at the idea. “Second thought, next time I’ll just give him the finger.”
I swipe the drink from him and begin pouring it down my throat, enjoying the sting. I like pain you can feel, it’s much more useful than a broken heart caused by a dumbass boyfriend. That kind of pain just kills you for no real reason other than to exemplify the fact you were an idiot to begin with.
Cole moves back and forth serving up an entire rainbow of Panty Droppers, although I’m guessing those other drinks come with fancy names of their own, like Poison for LeAnn, or Arsenic for Aiden, the Ball Buster, the Bitch Slap, the Stick Your Penis in Another Girl and Die.
I knock back the rest of the hard pink lemonade and slap my hand over the bar until Cole starts mixing me another. I fall into his midnight-colored hair with my gaze and get lost in the sea of perfection that is Cole Brighton.
“I’m going to give you a tip you won’t believe.” It slurs from me.
“You’re going to flip my beav? Sounds dirty.” He cheers me with my own glass before sliding it over. “Looking forward to it. Will it hurt?”
I try to nod, but my head feels as if it’s weighted with lead as I nosedive toward the bar until my forehead comes to rest on the hard, cool granite.
“Whoa, princess. I think it’s time to call it.”
He reaches for my glass at the same time I secure it with a death grip, and his fingers clasp over mine.
“Yous feels nice.” I lift up to look at him. The light shines down, illuminating him like some alien being. Cole has the face of an angel.
He closes his eyes a minute too long. “I think it’s quitting time for you, sweetheart.”
“I thought I was your cupcake?” The words pop from my lips like rock candy.
His cheeks flex with a grin, and my stomach spins and burns, and I swear the blue bird of happiness just flew around his head. Or was it mine?
I bat the air for a minute as I try to right myself.
Baya and Laney come back with Dizzy Izzy in tow. She looks so much like Laney I have to do a double take.
Damn, she looks good in that zebra print she’s wearing. I open my mouth to tell her and yak on the floor between us with Laney catching my hair just in time.
Screaming ensues, hysteria fills the air, and that’s mostly just from me.
Laney helps me off the stool and over to the bathroom.
“Spank you,” I murmur.
“You wish.” She growls while scratching her nails over my back. “And you’re welcome.”
After a piping hot shower, Laney and Baya help wrap me in a robe and land my drunk ass on the sofa back at my apartment.
“I’ve got it from here.” Cole turns on the television and flops on the opposite couch. “Nothing a little cage fighting can’t cure.” He turns it up a little too loud.
“I swear I will vomit on your mattress if you don’t turn that shit down.”
“Anything for you, cupcake.” He reduces the volume until my ears stop bleeding.
“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” Baya touches her cool hand to my forehead, obviously checking to see if I’ve contracted Pink Panty fever.
“I’m fine.” I make a face because the room keeps spinning like a top, and it’s taking everything in me to keep from tipping over.
“Okay, we’re going to get back to the bar. I left my sister on autopilot, and she doesn’t have the best sense of direction when it comes to guys.”
“Sounds like we have a lot in common,” I quip, hugging a throw pillow.
I give a brief wave as they take off to continue their fabulous Friday night, which I sort of put a damper on with my spontaneous puke fest.
I look over at Cole stretched out across the couch in his Levis and Black Bear T-shirt.
“You can go back,” the words gravel out of me. “I’d hate for you to lose the hours. Trust me, I can conduct the remainder of this pity party on my own.”
“Are you kidding? And leave all this fun? Besides, I’ve never been to a pity party I didn’t secretly enjoy.”
“I’ll cure you of that.” I sink into the sofa. “Anyway I’m glad to announce I’m finally over the dingleberry that hijacked my dignity.”
He turns the TV down a notch and looks over. “Then what’s keeping the pity party rolling?”
“Life.” I lie down and prop my head on the pillow. “I can’t believe I got wasted as a way to commemorate my freedom.”
“Take note, you’re a light weight. I hardly put a drop of alcohol in those things.”
“Are you accusing me of being dramatic? You’re the one who kept shoving those dirty panties in my face.”
“All right, cupcake. I can see where this is going.” He flexes a wry smile, and I drool just a little. “Why don’t we watch something you want?” He starts flipping through the channels. “The Shopping Network? I hear they save all the best dildos for after midnight.” He winks over at me.
“Takes one to know one.” I’m not sure that made sense, but I’m still riding the ethanol coattails of those panty twisters.
“That it does.” He gives the remote another few good flips and lands on some stale comedy from the fifties that looks as if someone colored in everyone’s clothes with a crayon.
“Turn this crap. It’s making me nauseated.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He continues to flip through at a manic rate.
“Why are you so nice to me when I’m trying my hardest to be mean to you?”
“Because, deep down, I know you’re anything but mean.”
I let out a groan because I’m this close to vomiting out my affection for him, literally.
Cole pulls his shirt up to his armpits and pats his chest a few times while trying to land us on something mutually edifying. He adjusts his body until his chest faces me, never taking his eyes off the screen. Damn—washboard abs, the smooth, lean strips of muscle that striate over his torso, his naturally tan skin, just the peek of a happy trail leading from his bellybutton—Cole Brighton has the body of a sex god.
“How about The Outsiders?”
“Only featuring every 80’s star that ever lived. No thanks.” I insert the tip of my finger in my mouth as I continue to drool over the long mass of muscle he’s morphing into. I try to imagine myself coiled around him with those overblown biceps holding me down. I can practically feel his fingers digging into my hips.
“Here, this should do.” He tosses the remote on the floor as if to prove his point.
I glance over to find The Food Network on. A man sporting a manufactured grin gives us the tour of a donut factory.
“Oh yeah, baby.” Cole groans as if a couple dozen glazed donuts have the ability to get him off, and I’m guessing they do.
My eyes trace down his chest, down to his hips and stay a while just staring at his crotch like it was planning an attack. I crush my teeth over my lower lip and imagine what he might be hiding in there. Swear to God, I’ve never seen a bulge like that on a guy in a resting position. Aiden had the uncanny ability to look like a girl in blue jeans, and here Cole looks as if he’s hoarding some kind of sexual contraband of the anaconda variety.
Cole lets out a beast of a groan, and I glance at the television in time to see the donuts falling into the glazer, resurfacing with their sugary gloss, still wet on their backs.
“Aw, f*ck.” Cole writhes over the sofa, and a moan of my own gets locked in my throat. “I can’t take much more of this before I hop in my car and hit an all-night donut shop.” He picks up the remote and turns down the volume, hoping to defuse the food porn that’s gripping him by the balls, and my eyes sort of stray in that general region. Damn, by the looks of things, Cole Brighton has a supersized package. I bet he has balls the size of apples.
“Hey, cupcake”—he waves a finger in my direction—“my eyes are up here. Did you hear my question?”
“Walls?” Gah! Now there’s a regretful combo of balls and what. Note to self: Never, ever drink again. In fact, stay away from all liquids just to be safe.
He frowns a moment before returning the favor and trailing his gaze from my head down to my feet.
“You painted your toes.” His dimples flash in and out approvingly at my bright red polish.
“Don’t look at my pigs.” I tuck my legs back and readjust myself on the couch.
Cole bucks out an obnoxious laugh that makes me want to choke a litter of kittens.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s just that I hear that I’m a pig all the time.”
“Oh, so you’re a pig, too? I suppose your next line will be ‘let’s go make some bacon.’”
His lip twitches as he fights to hide that sarcastic as hell smile. “You wanna get cookin’, good lookin’?”
“Right, like I’d ever make bacon with you. You’re a player. Sex is nothing more than a clinical experience. The next time I share my body with someone, I want it to mean something. I want to be in love.” I shake my head because we both know what a fairytale that is. True love is just as realistic as unicorns and vampires. Come to think of it, I’d prefer hanging out with a unicorn or vampire.
He narrows those thick, dark brows at me, and his eyes smolder into mine. “All right, why don’t we play a drinking game? You already did the drinking so we can segue right into the fun part.” He rests the remote over his granite abs, pointing downward toward the volcanic bulge that’s threatening to compromise the fabric of his jeans.
“Okay, what is it?”
“Never.” He gives a sly grin, and my stomach pinches with heat. “Never have I kissed a nun. Your turn.” He gives a slow seductive wink, and, suddenly, the alcohol has me believing I’m on the wrong couch.
“Never have I seen someone have so much sex. That would be you, by the way, you’re a freak, and, no, I haven’t actually witnessed your night moves. I’m relying solely on the moans and groans I’ve heard coming from your room. Swear to God, this place turns into a bona fide haunted whorehouse after midnight.”
“I haven’t had sex in weeks.” He flat lines.
“Oh, poor you. Are you cramping up? Do you need me to run out to some all-night sex shop and buy you a blowup doll?”
Cole spears me with those glowing green eyes. “You’ll do.” His cheek rises up one side because he’s too damn cocky to give into the shit-eating grin that’s dying to break out on his face.
I could give him the finger or shoot off another smartass remark, but I choose to take the highroad this once.
“Back to the game,” I snip. “Never…” I nestle into my pillow and consider it for a moment as my entire life unravels before my eyes. “Never did I think I’d be such a loser.”
“You’re not a loser.” His dimples press in, and my stomach ignites like a ball of Pink Panty Dropping fire. I seriously hope that’s not the puke wanting to impress me with a reprisal. “I’ll go,” he whispers. “Never did I think my dad would leave me.”
The mood in the room shifts. Cole keeps his gaze on the television, but I can tell he’s looking right through it.
“What happened to your dad?”
“He got hit by a car. He was a cyclist and died doing what he loved. Drunk driver clipped him—his helmet flipped off, hit his temple on a rock. The rest is history.”
“Oh my, God. I’m so sorry.” And here I was wallowing in my own misery. Poor Cole and Baya won’t ever get to see their dad again. “How old were you when this happened?”
“High school.” He forces a dry smile. “Anyway I probably shouldn’t have went there.”
“No, I’m glad you did. So, what was he like? Were you close?” I’ve always been fascinated with other people’s parents. Especially since the relationship with mine has been like walking on eggshells.
“He was great. He had his own construction company and always bounced his ideas off Baya and me. He took us into the office a few times. It was nice. We got to see him in action.”
“What’s your best memory of him?”
Cole takes a breath. His chest expands, wide as a door. “He used to come into my room each night before bed, and we’d talk about the day, just us guys. He would tell me all about his glory days at WB.”
“He went here?”
“Yup. He promised me college would be the time of my life.”
“Is it?”
Cole blinks over with glassy eyes. “I don’t know.” It rasps from him gruff and, despite our topic of conversation, sexy as hell. “I thought if I threw myself at anything that moves I’d have the time of my life, that it would fill this black hole my dad left when he died, but I don’t feel any different.”
I take him in with his dark lashes bowed, grief imprinted on his face. I wish he wasn’t hurting. That somehow I could take away the pain and make it all better, but I imagine death is an immovable stone that settles in your life that you can never get rid of.
“I know this is going to sound lame, but I can relate a little, you know, about the hole. Not in the same way you can—I mean, that’s way worse. But my parents left the same hole in my heart without meaning to. I think the only time they noticed I was around was when I was baking treats for them. The whole house would smell good, and for an hour or so everyone was happy. We felt like a regular family. Then my dad would get lost in his office, and my mother would be planning some big event. Ryder would take off with his friends, and it was just me again, all alone. I guess sometimes it’s nice to have someone make you feel special—to make you feel like you count.”
He gives a slow nod, the look of sorrow on his face.
Then I do the unthinkable. I get up and go over, lying down next to him until our bellies touch.
“Never have I fallen asleep in the arms of someone like you.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him, wishing all his pain away—and my pain, too.
His eyes widen, his soft, warm breath tickles my lips.
“Hey there,” he whispers.
“Hey.” Way to bring the awkward to the table. “I may have no real social etiquette.” I bite down on my lip. “Like ever.”
Cole smolders at me with those bedroom eyes. His mouth curves out with the hint of a wicked smile.
Holy hell. Clearly I’ve made a huge mistake. Of course, he’s going to think I want to sleep with him. Isn’t that exactly what I said?
“I’m not sleeping with you.” It speeds out of me.
His chest thumps against mine as he fights to hold back that full blooming grin waiting to take over.
“I mean, I am.” I settle my arms around him and let my body mold to his. “But not like that.”
It feels good to touch him this way, platonically, of course, through several layers of clothing.
“Not like that.” He repeats, but it comes out more of a question. “Like this.” He runs his hands down my back and stops just shy of my hips. A chill runs up my spine like fingers gliding over the keys of a piano.
Cole presses his lips over my forehead before resting his cheek against mine.
“I think you’re special, cupcake. I think you count.”
I strengthen my arms around him and nestle in.
“I think you’re pretty special, too, Cole.”
Cole
The morning light trickles in through the curtains, and much to my surprise, Roxy is still snug in my arms as if she wanted to be here. I thought for sure once the vodka wore off she’d morph back into her lovable ball-busting self. In all honesty, there was something downright sweet about her last night, vulnerable even.
My fingers mold over her hips before skimming up the side of her body, and I dig my hand into her thick mane like I’ve wanted to for the last few weeks. It feels smooth, slippery, and I bury my face in it for a minute, taking in its strawberry scent. My boner ticks to life, but I don’t care. I’ve been dying to be this close—to smell her vanilla-scented skin, taste that cherry ripe mouth. I land my lips over her temple and linger.
“What?” She groans, twisting away from me as if trying to get her bearings. “Wait, what is this?” She looks around with those sleepy eyes, and my dick rubs up against her stomach. “Oh, shit!” She spikes up. “What’s going on?” Her hair is messy, her mascara smudged just enough, and it’s become pretty obvious I’m going to have to slick one off in the shower just to get through the day.
“Nothing’s going on, I swear.” I press back into the sofa. “It’s just a bathroom boner, I promise.”
She snatches the pillow and covers her chest with it. “Gross.” Her eyes flit down to my crotch.
“I’ll take a quick shower.” I get up careful not to touch her.
Roxy grazes her bottom lip with her teeth, her eyes never leaving my crotch. “I’ll make us breakfast.”
My heart warms just hearing her say that, and it startles me. Funny, when other girls have offered, it would make my blood run cold.
“You don’t have to do that.”
She gives a shy smile. “I want to.”
She wants to.
I float all the way to the shower. I shake one out just to get the tension to a bearable level and change for the day before making my way back to the kitchen.
The oven is on, and the counter has been taken over with a sack of flour and a bowl full of butter. I like where this is going.
“What’s for breakfast?” Actually, my stomach wanted me to rephrase that and ask when is breakfast. It looks like we’re taking the long road to nutritional satisfaction. But I don’t care as long as Roxy’s the one I get to kill time with.
“What’s one of your favorite foods?”
I knock my head back and think about it a minute. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
“Then that’s what I’m making. Peanut butter and jelly cupcakes.”
“Just like that?” If I had known she was going to do whatever I asked I would have requested something far more sinfully delicious—like Roxy herself.
“Just like that. I have to be ready to cook anything and everything on the spot. The competition is coming up, and I need to be ready for anything. This will be a good experience for me.”
“Sweet. In the meantime, I’ll make some bacon and eggs.” I pull out what I need, and within three minutes the entire apartment is lit up with the thick scent of bacon grease. I inhale a deep breath and take it all in. Roxy and bacon, now that’s one heady combo.
Roxy slides open the center drawer and accidently brushes her bottom against my thigh.
“Oh, sorry.” She jumps up, red-faced that we’ve touched.
“Not a problem.”
Roxy dips her chin to her chest. Her eyes latch onto mine with a look that says she’s about to eat me for breakfast, and, holy hell, I hope she does.
“Get over here.” She points to her feet.
“Sure thing, cupcake.” My lip curls up one side because I happen to know it’s the last thing she wants me to call her, but she’s cute like one and I’m guessing tasty, so I don’t see me stopping anytime soon. “Hand me a fork.”
I do as I’m told. “You want a hand mixer? I think I’ve got one around here somewhere.” Mom sent a bunch of nonsensical shit when I first moved in. Not that I didn’t appreciate her efforts.
“Nah, this way I get to take out all my aggressions on these poor defenseless ingredients.” She smashes an egg over the lip of the bowl, and my balls shrivel.
“Whatever turns you on, cupcake.”
“Why are you calling me that?” She cracks another egg, then another.
“Because a cupcake is soft inside like you.” I blink a smile at her before shutting off the stove over in my arena. The eggs are scrambled to perfection, not too dry, not too slimy, and the bacon has reconfigured into crunchy curls just the way I like it.
“Yeah, well, you’re going to ruin my image, so you better knock it off,” she grunts it out while teaching those ingredients who’s boss.
“Cupcake,” I say it again as I pull out two plates. “Cupcake, cupcake, cupcake.”
She drops the fork, and it clinks against the side of the bowl.
“Wow, Brighton, you can’t go twenty-four hours without crawling onto my last nerve, can you?” She glares over at me, and I know for a fact any vulnerability that she may have displayed last night has left the building. Roxy is back, and she brought her game face to prove it. Her eyes slit to nothing. She leans against the counter with her bare foot up over the cabinet, her long, lean body flexed backward, that black waterfall of hair caressing her shoulders. Hot damn. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she were posing for me.
“Twenty-four hours?” I walk over and set the plates down as my body heats up behind her. “Is that all it’s been?” I whisper directly into her ear, and she takes an audible breath.
She’s got to be feeling something. I’ve never had such a bionic hard-on to contend with before that hasn’t been reciprocated on some level. And a piece of me will f*cking die if she’s not feeling it. Roxy has single handedly disabled my ability to get it up for anybody else, and I’m stumped by her superpower.
I linger over her neck and take in her scent, butter and sugar, vanilla layered just beneath that. F*ck. Roxy smells like a cupcake, and now my lips want to try her out to verify whether or not she tastes like one, too. I’m betting yes, sweeter even.
Her breathing picks up pace. Her heart starts thumping so loud, I can hear it thundering, see it palpitating from beneath her shirt like a mini earthquake.
My lips press over her neck, soft as a feather. I dot a trail of soft kisses up the side of her cheek, slowly meandering toward her mouth. She hasn’t sliced off my balls yet, so this has to be a green light.
“Are you going to molest my face all day with your lips, or are you going to kiss me?” The words come from her shaky as if she meant them as a barb, but they get lost in translation.
My lips pass over hers like the dusting of the wind, and I pull back to gauge her reaction.
Her eyelids flutter. Her lips edge forward for more, and I land my mouth square onto hers because that’s exactly what I plan on giving her, more.
A groan rockets from her chest as I compress my lips hard over hers, and Roxy gives. She opens her mouth, and I fall in with my tongue sweeping over hers hungry and fierce just like those kisses back at the Black Bear, only now there isn’t an audience. This is no bogus liplock drummed up in the name of some fake relationship. This is the real deal happening in real time. Roxy isn’t fighting it, or manufacturing some scheme to make someone jealous. Roxy wants this kiss as bad as I do.
We’re all moans and groans. Her teeth scrape against mine, and I bite down playfully over her tongue. I pick her up by the thighs and set her on the counter as she relaxes her arms over my shoulders.
Roxy slips her mouth over to my ear creating an erotic trail of heat and moisture that cools instantly in her wake.
“F*ck me,” she whispers it low and husky.
The exact words my hard-on wanted to hear.
I pull back and take her in like this, hotter than a kitchen fire with her hair tousled, her eyes smoldering into mine, and I do something I hope I won’t live to regret.
I say, “No.”