by Snow, Nicole
“Shit, woman, I'm not ready to be a grandfather yet.” I wink. That gets me another round of laughter I'm half-convinced she must've stolen from an angel.
I nod, though, actually liking the idea. Someday.
“Well, I'm guessing my car must be warm by now. It doesn’t take long.” She fidgets, standing there, looking so vulnerable, so beautiful, I want to sink my teeth into her.
If I had an excuse to keep her longer, I would, but I know better. So I just open the door.
Silas instantly exits and holds it open. I take her hand and walk her to her car, trying to think of something to say here, too.
“Thanks again,” she says, opening her car door.
“I’ll pick you up on Saturday.”
She climbs in her car. “We can meet at the hotel. I’ll need to be there by noon to set up the cake.”
“Okay. You know I’ll help with that.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll have to change my clothes afterward and –”
“I said, I’ll help.” I shut her car door before she can object any further, and then tell Silas we’ll wait until she exits the parking lot before leaving.
I watch her as she gives me a shy little wave through the window. I'm lucky the windows are tinted and it's night. Too dark for her to make out how I'm grinning like I just got a royal flush in poker.
* * *
The next day, long after I’ve dropped Ben off at work, my phone rings.
I don’t recognize the number, so let it go to voice mail. It's from Rochelle, stating she miscounted her RSVPs, and there simply isn’t room for me to attend the wedding with Wendy. “Terribly sorry,” she adds.
Terribly sorry, my ass.
I laugh, then delete the message.
Might have to call a local place that rents Halloween stuff and find out about that gold suit after all.
I got Wendy’s cell number from Ben, so I send her a text, wondering if her sister has told her the same thing.
It’s Hunter, Sugar. How're you doing today?
Fine. Busy as usual, she types back. Ben’s doing an awesome job. Best new hire I've had. Maybe ever.
I nod, grateful to hear it, then reply, Good. Have you heard from your sister today?
No...why? She follows it up with one of those emojis that looks like something starting to sweat.
Satisfied, I type, No reason.
Hunter? She sends back. It’s her bachelorette party tonight. If there's something going on...
Damn. That concerns me. First, I type, You going?
I don't send it. A second later, I delete it and send, Where? You need an escape?
A spa. We're all having facials, manicures and pedicures, and then having our hair done as a trial run.
I snort, practically able to feel the estrogen through my phone. Sounds like the most boring bachelorette party ever.
A smiley emoji appears, along with I know!
So how about that rescue? My thumb mashes the screen.
I can think of about a hundred different things – and positions – I can show her that are infinitely more exciting.
Lol. Very funny. And tempting. But you know my mother would have a cow.
Then just tell her you're a vegetarian, I'm typing back, but before I can my phone pings again.
Got cookies to get out of the oven. Later!
Later, I send back with a sigh.
I stare at the phone, wondering how long it takes to get cookies out to cool. Eventually, I set the phone on my desk and pull up the website for the hotel where the wedding is on my computer.
I dial the number and book a room for next Saturday night, paying extra so I can check in early. Wendy will be working on the cake all morning, I'm sure, and this will give her a place to get ready.
No sooner than I hang up the phone, I hear a voice, roaring down the hallway like the world's drunkest ghost, closing in.
“Hunter-maaaaaan! You here?”
I click out of the hotel site while answering, “In my office.”
“Where’s Ben?” Sloan asks, tossing a large envelope on my desk. “Merry Christmas. Got some big ones today, Hunt.”
There are certain things only I can sign. Namely, checks over two hundred thousand dollars.
He’s suggested we up that so I’m not bothered by such minutiae, but I’m not ready to go that far into full retirement, or hand off huge money to accounting without my oversight.
The plan is, once Ben goes to college, then I’ll start working more again. Weekly, at least, rather than as needed.
“Ben's working. Loves his new job,” I tell him, putting the envelope in my desk drawer. “What are you doing next Saturday?”
He frowns, and then shrugs. “Nothing. Why?”
“I need you to stay with Ben. Saturday morning through Sunday around noon or so. Think you can cover?”
“Damn right I can. Where ya'll going?”
I cough, bracing myself for the heap of Sloan-sized shit that's surely coming in response. “Just a wedding?”
“Wedding!” His eyes narrow. “Whose?”
“You don’t know them. It'll be a quick thing, just a favor, really.” I lean back, watching him as he opens his mouth to say something stupid. “Don't do it, Sloan. Just tell me something...there’s a hockey game Saturday night. Is our box open?”
We have VIP suites at all the local sports facilities and offer them out to employees regularly. Special perk for Landmark being a major donor.
“Whatever, it's your funeral. Same difference as the wedding shit, am I right? I’ll check on the box and take Ben if it is. That'll be fun.” He slaps the top of my desk. “Gotta go! Just needed to drop that off. What time Saturday morning?”
“Ten at the latest.”
“Okay, Bud. See you later. What would you do without me?”
I grin, shaking my head. For once, he's got me there.
* * *
Wendy and I text a few times the following week, and I stop into the bakery to see her a couple times. Quick visits because she’s busy. So is Midnight Morning and the places next door.
Makes me wonder when and where all these shoppers work to get the money they're throwing around like confetti.
By the time Sloan arrives on Saturday morning, I have my suit in the Yukon, nicely pressed, along with an overnight bag. Ben knows I’m taking Wendy to her sister’s wedding and asks to tell her hi as I’m leaving.
Sloan follows me to the garage. “Who's this Wendy, my man?” He wags a brow.
“Nobody important,” I growl, an obvious lie. “Look, I need to be out of here at a certain –”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast. I'm not busting your balls. I'm honestly wondering, you after something with this chick, or what? Because if it's serious you can tell me to lay the fuck off, man. You don't need to hide it from me. Fuck, it's something beautiful if you think you've finally, after all these years, found yourself a –”
“Sloan!” I ignore his insinuation and open the driver’s door. “Wendy is Ben’s boss. Nothing more.”
Of course, that doesn't settle him. He's too good at picking up on me lying through my teeth and wants to know more.
Normally, I'd fish out a beer and tell him, but not this time.
I climb in and start the truck. “Thanks for staying with Ben today. You're doing me a solid.”
“Anytime, Mr. Mysterio! Fair warning, when you come the fuck back, I need details. How many times you had her, how hot she is, was it in the kitchen, and –”
“C'mon, Sloan,” I snarl, trying not to laugh, even though I'm also pissed off.
He's always been great at that. Winding people up and somehow making them think it's no big deal.
“All right, already. You go, dude. I'll look for the Chinese water torture manual in the meantime, so I'll be good and ready to pry it out of you when you're back.”
“Behave yourself. Have fun with Ben,” I tell him, waving one more time as I slam the door shut and open the garage.
He nods, and I start backing out. It's a quick drive to the bakery.
It’s closed today for the wedding and Sugar is probably the only person there. Ben was a little bummed by that this morning.
I park in the back, next to her car, and walk up to the door.
She opens it as I arrive. When I see her, my whole spine goes electric.
Who the fuck? Oh, but it's her all right. There's no mistaking that sweet moon of Wendy's face for anything, even if I've never seen her like this.
The worst part is, she hasn't even changed for the wedding yet.
Her hair glows in a shiny blonde ponytail and she’s wearing a button-up shirt, with the top couple notches left undone. I see myself pulling the tie out of her hair and throwing it across the room, letting everything hang down real graceful around her shoulders while I finish unbuttoning that shirt with my teeth.
My eyes go to those tits. They're perky, they're palm-sized, they're sirens. They make me want to suck and lick and bite. I have an insane flash of my cock between them, thrusting like mad, my head back in full roar as I spill everything I'm worth all over her beautiful skin.
I wish to holy hell there wasn't a bra in the way. Then I'd know if those sweet nips pebble just from seeing me.
My cock twitches, begging me to push her through the door and bend her over.
I know I'm more animal than man. And there's no excuse. Even if being a full-time parent hasn’t left much time for dating or sex, and that has me wound tight as a fucking spring.
“Hey,” she says. “I saw you pull in. The cake’s almost done. I’m just putting the flowers on it.”
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
Her smile, her gratitude, it's all downright sexy. “I already told you before. Nothing. But you can watch and have yourself a bite to eat, if you'd like. I made some sandwiches. It’s going to be a long haul before we get dinner at the wedding.”
She glances at my jeans then. I draw in a breath, cock still throbbing, wondering if I've been caught.
Fuck.
“Is that...what you're wearing?”
“No. Got my suit hung up real tidy in the truck. I rented us a room to get ready in after setting up the cake. We'll change there.”
Her cheeks flush and I see her teeth graze her lip. Then I'm just gone, back in my headspace, where damn near everything begins and ends with her under me. Naked. Moaning. Screaming.
“A suite. So there’s plenty of room,” I tell her.
She nods, still red as a cherry tomato, and turns around. I love how nervous she is. I just wish I could take it all away with my hands and beard and tongue all over her.
I follow her into the room where she’d made the unicorn cake. It's still on the table. Five layers of squares, covered in the same smooth white stuff she’d used on the unicorn.
Fondant, she’d called it.
That’s also what the flowers are made of. Each one is several small petals that she expertly arranges to look like a bouquet that's draped over one side of the cake.
“Looks like another winner,” I say, shaking my head. “How the hell do you do it?”
“It's nothing, really, but thanks.” She’s adding petals while talking. “Rochelle wanted it plain, so...plain old white it is.”
“Sometimes the plainest things are the prettiest.” I’m looking at her, careful how I say it.
She’s far from plain. Even with her hair in a ponytail, dressed in her work shirt, wearing no makeup, she’s the prettiest woman I know. And don’t know. “How long have you been here?”
“Since around six.”
“Shit. Did you bake the cake this morning?”
“No, last night. Just came in to make sure everything was right and to add the final touches.” She nods toward the delicate layers. “Each one of those squares has four layers, with flavored frosting between them.”
“Bull. Thought you told me this was plain?”
She shrugs, smiling coyly. “I couldn’t let it be that plain. Not taste-wise.”
I’m not much help to her. Mostly, I stand and watch her work, eating the chicken salad-bacon sandwiches she's made. They're basic, down to earth, and hearty. Damn good.
Then I back my Yukon up to the door when she says it’s time to load it up. We use a cart to roll the cake outside and slide it into the back of my SUV.
“I’ll follow you to the hotel.”
“No, you won’t,” I say. “I’m not driving this thing around town alone. Needs it's owner to keep it looking nice and pretty.”
I'm only half-joking. I haven’t been so nervous about driving since I was a kid, but this is no joke.
That cake is huge. A tower and a work of art. I couldn't even buy my way out of it if anything dire happened.
“Unlock your car, let's get your stuff, and go.”
For once, she barely puts up a fight. I wait for her in the driver's seat, warming up the car, trying to fight my never-ending hard-on. I catch myself grinding my teeth about a split second before she climbs in.
If I'm careful, that cake will make it to the wedding in one piece. I just wish I could say the same about my own two balls, which are turning every inch of my body blue.
And it's not stopping as long as I've got Wendy Agnes up close and personal.
* * *
The drive to the hotel is one of the longest in my life, even though it's only a few miles.
By the time I park in the back, behind the building and near a service door, my jaw aches from gritting my teeth while taking every corner, scared shitless the cake will capsize if we go around the bend too fast.
“Finally. That was a fucking nightmare,” I say, shutting off the ignition.
Wendy laughs. With honey-brown eyes sparkling, she pats my arm. “Tell me about it.”
“Ben owes you more than a door and mirror. He needs to comp your patience, too. If a kid had jumped out in front of me just now, I'm sure I would've wrung his neck.”
“Sure, Hunter.” She rolls her eyes because we both know it isn't true. Then she pops her door open. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
She carefully collects a rolling cart that we transfer the cake to and then wheel it down hallways and into a large banquet room where workers are draping tables with black tablecloths.
“Is the service in here, too?” I ask, looking at the strings of miniature lights twisted inside the white material draped across the ceiling.
“Yup. It's the place.” She points to an archway set up in the center of the room. “The guests will be at the tables, in their assigned seats, as planned.”
I take in the scene, imagining what this place will look like later. The sweetheart table they've got at the front of the room for the bride and groom looks like a throne.
“Christ. Your sister gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, 'center of attention,' doesn’t she?” I say as we slowly push the cart holding the cake, which is now taller than her across the room.
“It's her wedding.” Wendy flashes a forced smile that never falters. Even when she asks, “Bet you're sorry you got dragged into this one.”
“Don't gamble, Sugar, because you'd be out some money.” I wink at her. “I’m just eager to see how it all plays out.”
Still smiling, she shakes her head. “Come on. You've already won your gold star for participation, you don't need to act like you're actually enjoying this. Now help me transfer the cake onto this table. Then you'd better go move your vehicle before you get a ticket for being in a no parking zone.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Actually...this might take a while to set up. I still have to add flowers to the base.” She waves a hand at me. “Go. Or you will have a ticket. Trust me. I know. We've dropped off plenty of stuff for events here before.”
I laugh and go move the truck. Then I check in at the hotel and carry our bags up to the room before going back to the ballroom.
The tablecloths are all in place once I return, and as
I walk past them, I pause to get a better look at what the workers are up to now.
Is that...fish? What the fuck?
I blink, but it's still there. Apparently, they're really putting live goldfish in tall glass vases on the center of each table.
Wendy, still stationed at the cake table, looks up as I approach and point behind me. “Fish?”
She shrugs, looking down. “Best substitute we could find since the birds and butterflies were off.”
Fuck me. I don’t even want to know more.
“Cake looks awesome. That's one thing you won't hear anybody shit-talk while we're here.” I'm dead serious, too.
It's another masterpiece. She’s not only put a row of flowers around the bottom, she’s sprinkled tiny black hearts around the base.
“It's decent, thank God. If it weren't, I'd be afraid to think what might –”
She’s cut short by a scream. A bloodcurdling one.
Here comes the bride.
Rochelle, decked out in a white robe and with curlers in her hair, runs across the room, straight toward the tables like some kind of charging bull.
“Oh my God, no. No! This can’t be.”
Wendy smiles at me, then rushes after her sister. “What's wrong?” I hear her murmuring.
I’m not sure why, but I follow, just enough to eavesdrop.
“My fish...they're...they're dead! At least three, four, five...” Rochelle gives Wendy a traumatic look, still counting on one hand. “Holy hell. There has to be three in each vase and now there’s not enough!”
She whips around and grabs one of the workers by the arm, a young man who looks terrified. “Who did this? Who killed my fish?”
“Rochelle, calm down!” Wendy says, lifting her sister’s hands off the young man.
“Calm down? Are you out of your mind? How can I ever calm down when some stupid, incompetent moron is killing my fish? Ruining my wedding!”
Enough. I've officially fucking had it.
I want to pull Wendy away from this crazy bitch, and I want to do it now.
But Rochelle has eye makeup on one eye and not the other, making her look even more disturbed. I know deep down I'd better leave this to sisters to hash out, rather than throwing myself in the middle.