“That’s great.” I lean over and offer a quick hug. I’m not a hugger by nature, but this practically warrants one, plus there wasn’t one bit of relationship news attached, so a shallow part of me is forever grateful. “You totally deserve the role,” I say. “So when’s the big audition?”
“February thirteenth.” She presses into her seat and winces.
“What?” I can hardly catch my breath. “But that’s…”
“I know.” She hides behind her hands for a moment. “It’s the day of your big competition. But Baya will still be there.”
“I’ll need two assistants. And they won’t be providing any.” I sink further in my seat. “And, God knows, I have no other friends. This is going to suck big hairy marshmallow balls.”
“I’m sure Bryson would be willing to help.” Baya bites down on her lip as if she’s sure that’s the last thing he’d want to do. “Or how about Cole?” Her face brightens as if he were the solution to all my problems, and, knowing Baya, she believes he is.
“Cole,” I grunt his name out, stale as three-day-old bread.
I let out a hard breath.
There goes any hope of ever getting into the Sticky Quickie bakeshop. The only Sticky Quickie Cole Brighton is interested in helping me with happens to be in his pants.
I ended up hanging out with Laney and Baya way longer than anticipated, so by the time I run to the store, pick up my supplies, and get back to the apartment, it’s almost time to leave for the bus.
“Hey, good looking.” A lewd grin buds on Cole’s lips from the kitchen. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for what?” I rush over to the counter and spill out my supplies while rinsing the whisk.
“You know, the treat you left me.”
I pause for a minute as a million wild thoughts sail through my head at once.
Treat I left him?
Crap. Did I use his towel this morning? Did I forget to ascribe to the ass-tag mentality he attaches to his hygiene products? Maybe I flashed him my boobs while I was walking down the hall this morning. I’ve been known to do an entire stack of stupid when I’m half awake.
“What treat?” I pull out a mixing bowl and open a fresh bag of confectioners sugar.
“You know”—he strums his fingers over the counter—“the little pink tits.”
My muscles freeze.
“What did you just say?” I turn to face him. My entire body lights up like a flame at the prospect of what may have happened.
“The little pink tits. I scarfed down about six of them without milk. They were so freaking good, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Oh, crap. It’s like the whole world is out to get me.” I run over and find a sparse half dozen cupcakes staring me in the face. An entire string of tiny wadded up wrappers mock me as evidence of his booby apocalypse. “Those tits weren’t for you, Brighton.”
“What do you mean they weren’t for me? I handle the test batch to see if they’re poison, remember?” He shakes his head like a little boy, and something in me melts, except too bad for him because the bitch in me just strangled the shit out of that ridiculous part of me.
“Let me repeat, they weren’t for you—and the next time I leave a test batch, they will be poison. And little pink tits? Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He ticks his head back a notch. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re the pervert who’s planting erections in an innocent bed of frosting every time I turn around.”
“Ugh! Shut up! I suddenly want to plant a very sharp knife in that bed of frosting you call a brain.”
“Go ahead and do it, that way you’ll get to test out the kitchen facilities behind bars. I bet they have a lot of bake offs you could enter in prison.”
He has the balls to reach for another cupcake, and I slap his hand.
Gah! I’m so stupid. I should have left a note letting him know this wasn’t a test batch.
A quivering sigh escapes me as I look at the meager row of confections lining the counter. I really needed this.
“Marilyn Manson was my ticket to easy street,” I whisper. “As much as I appreciate public transportation, a tiny part of me wouldn’t mind a set of wheels to call my own.”
“Whoa.” Cole jumps up and comes over. Before I know it his hand is roving over my back, his woodsy cologne penetrates the vicinity, and it’s not until then do I even realize I miss the scent of a man. “I’m really sorry. Here”—he turns the oven on—“let me help you do this. I want to make this up to you. Two hands are better than one, right?”
“I have two hands, you moron.” I push him off me. “If it’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a guy faking nice while he’s about to cop a feel. Go find somebody to hookup with, or go shoot black tar heroine or whatever the hell it is you do on a Saturday.”
Cole locks eyes with mine and holds me hostage with those neon green traffic lights he sees the world through.
“Maybe I want to hang out with you on a Saturday—or a Saturday night.” He lets his words hang out there like an offer.
“I can’t date you, you’re a porn addict.”
“I’m not into porn.”
“No, you live it. And, in doing so, you’ve jacked up your Johnson.” He looks simultaneously confused and frightened, so I decide to draw him a picture. “When you put a domesticated pig out in the wild he goes feral within weeks. Face it, you’ve let your sexual appetite into the wild, and now you’re feral. One woman isn’t enough for you anymore. You have to work harder to stay stimulated because of your living-porn addiction. Wow, just think how depraved you’ll be by the time you’re thirty? You’ll need ten chicks in bed with you before your dick decides getting it up is worth the effort. Face it, my friend—you’ve screwed up your dopamine receptors.”
“So that’s a no on the date, I take it.” His dimples press in with the slight look of disappointment.
“No.” My chest heaves because, for whatever reason, it was tougher to turn down that date than I thought. “Now just get out, would you?”
“Whatever you want, cupcake.” He takes a step into me. Those lush, full lips of his beckon me like some otherworldly aphrodisiac.
“Don’t call me that,” I whisper.
He takes a step toward me with an animalistic glint in his eye.
His lips twitch with a smile. He comes in close, then closer… His eyes round out as he comes in for the kill. There’s a boyishness about him that I find unmistakably attractive, and I wish I didn’t. I wish I could say I was immune to all of Cole Brighton’s wicked ways, but God knows I’m weak and about to fold. Not to mention the fact that one naked selfie of the two of us tangled up in each other’s arms would be a great congratulations-on-your-new-relationship gift to send my ex-boyfriend.
“I think I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers right over my lips.
“Relax.” I press a hand to his chest and push him away. “I’m not going to kiss you back.”
“Why the hell not?” His brows arch so far up into his forehead they almost reach his hairline. Cole looks genuinely stumped by this development.
“Because you like the ladies, remember? And you should probably be neutered.” I start in on frosting the cupcakes he christened with an indecent nickname because, God knows, I don’t have time to properly explain the order of the universe to Cole and get my little pink tits frosted in time. “Besides, I’m not interested in a hookup. That’s not what I’m about.”
Cole picks my chin up gently with his finger and makes me drink down his stare. “Maybe that’s not what I’m about anymore either.” I watch as he snatches his keys and heads for the door. “Look, I really believe there’s a nice person living under that layer of sarcasm.” He pauses like he wants to say more but has decided to swallow down his words instead. “I’ll be at the gym. Call me if you need a ride to wherever it is you’re going.” He pauses for a moment. “I promise you, the whole world isn’t out to get you, Rox. A lot of people would love to help if you just open up an
d let them in.” And, with that, he walks out the door.
Let them in?
I bet he’d like for me to open up and let him in.
I beat the shit out of the butter in an attempt to soften it, but, much like my heart, it’s a lost cause. It needs to melt slowly, sort of the way Cole is melting me slowly.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell when I let Cole Brighton bring my hormones to a rolling boil.
And, unfortunately, something tells me the weather forecast in hell is about to get a little frigid.
Cole
I think I’m going to kiss you?
I haven’t uttered those idiotic words to a girl since the fifth grade. And if I recall correctly, it backfired on me then, too. What the hell was I thinking, asking permission? Kisses are the one thing in life it’s not cool to ask for. You need to go in with command, take her lips by force, not whine on the sidelines like some pussy while begging for more.
I find a bench near the back of the gym and start loading up the weights. I want this to hurt. I want to feel muscles ripping, tendons shredding. I want all of the frustration of not having a single warm body in my bed for more than seven days straight to be translated into physical pain by way of a quasi-sports injury.
An all-too-familiar blonde gives a spastic wave from the entry.
Angel.
Crap. If this day wasn’t already lost in a shit storm, it’s about to rain again, and I have a feeling I’m going to be forced to like it.
“Hi there!” She bops over and tries to plant a kiss on my lips, but I turn and avoid the hot pink sticky gloss by mere inches. “Guess what?” She beams with an unrequited amount of joy that nothing short of a visit to the Magic Kingdom, escorted by the head mouse himself should warrant.
“You’re transferring out of state?” I mutter under my breath.
“No, silly.” She swats me over the shoulder. “My dad and his friends are coming down to stay at the local clubhouse for a while. He’s been asking all about you, and I’m just dying to introduce you.”
“Your dad?” It’s obvious I should be far more afraid for my welfare than my testosterone will allow. This chick is clearly batshit. “I don’t think I should be meeting your dad—anybody’s dad for that matter. We’re not at that level.”
“But we can be. Besides, I let him know you were a special friend.” Her watery blue eyes quiver as if she were about to unleash the floodgates. Something tells me I should build an Ark, crawl in, and shut the door very fucking tight.
“Angel.” I close my eyes for a moment hoping this is all just some bad dream. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression we were together. I swear to you, I’m nothing but a low life. I should be neutered.” I can’t believe I just quoted Roxy in the most offensive way possible. My balls just shrank three inches in disbelief.
Her mouth falls opens. Her eyes get all weird and squirrely like she’s about to cry or throw shit. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m seeing someone. Which is the exact same thing I said to you New Year’s Eve. Look, things are getting serious between my new girlfriend and me. We have very strong feelings for each other.” Anger and disgust being the most prominent at the moment.
“Oh, this is terrible.” She trembles when she says it as if I had just informed her I was suffering from some incurable disease. “My dad is going to flip when he finds out we’re not together.”
“Why?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Something tells me the psychotic fruit didn’t fall far from the tree.
“It’s not important.” She bites down on her lip so hard I’m afraid she’s going to shoot blood at me any moment now. “Hey, I know—” She twists into me with a mischievous, albeit vapid, glint in her eye. “Do you think you’d mind coming to meet him? That way he could see everything’s fine between us. You know, sort of a fake relationship.” She gives a slight nod.
“No can do.” I happen to have met my quota on those.
Holt strolls in with those beefed up guns of his, already flexing, that golden hair of his swept back and glowing. Surely he’s enough to make any sorority girl scream with pleasure.
I nod over to him. “See that guy over there?” She follows my gaze to a poor, unassuming Holt Edwards who’s about to have his ass plated up as an offering. “As much I’d hate to pass you off on someone else—if you can’t be with me, I’d like to see you with my good friend, Holt. That way we can still be in one another’s lives even if it is on the fringes.”
She sucks in a quick breath. Her hand claps over her mouth like she might be sick.
“Oh, Cole!” She throws her arms around me in a tragic, yet, violent, embrace. “I knew you cared about me deep down inside. There was no way a man could make love to me the way you did and not care about me as a person.”
About a dozen people turn in our direction.
Shit. If ever the earth planned on opening up and swallowing me, now would be a good time to do it.
“What’s up?” Holt takes a seat across from me, and Angel jumps a little as if she were being called out on some serious BS. I know for a fact she’ll never fall for Holt in a million years because I was stupid enough to land her on the mattress first. Psychos are loyal that way.
“I’ll talk to you later.” She leans in and plants a wet one right on my cheek. “My dad will be in town for a while, so no hurry in meeting him right away.” She starts to head out. “Ta ta for now!” She curls her fingers with a brief wave.
“Thanks, dude.” I slap him five.
“I knew you were in trouble when I spotted a three-foot clearance between you two. Stay away from clingy girls, would you?”
“I plan on staying away from every one of the fairer sex—except maybe one girl.”
“Roxy finally get to you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Are you kidding? I happened bear witness to those lip locks the two of you shared at the bar. You do that again and I’m going to have to put out the flames with a fire extinguisher.”
“If you saw it, and I felt it, then why the hell is Roxy playing so hard to get?”
“Because you’re an idiot.”
I whip the towel off my neck and smack him.
“You are,” he continues. “She’s a girl. If you’re interested in her for something more than a one-night stand you’re going to have to pull back, start off slow—take her to dinner—share a pizza, have a few heart to hearts before you start jamming your tongue down her throat.”
“And how about you? You sharing a pizza with anyone? Are you filling your nights by the fire, talking about how much it hurts to have your balls wrenched by a girl for the very first time?”
“Funny you ask.” He blinks a smile. “You know what I’m doing? I’m not looking. You know why? Because that’s exactly when fate lets you find the one you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.” He lies back and starts in on the weights.
A dry laugh pumps through me. I wasn’t looking for anyone to share a meal with—anyone to pour my heart out to all night long—and yet something inside of me wants just that with Roxy in the worst way possible.
Days drift by, and it’s almost time for classes to start up again. I remember when I was a kid my dad used to say the older you got the faster the years would melt by with a high velocity, that I’d know the feeling when I had kids of my own one day. But I seem to know it now. After Dad died, it all sort of jumbled into one long dizzying blur of girls. I guess sometimes you can self medicate with people, or in Roxy’s case, without.
I wipe down the bar with a marked aggression. Too bad my dad won’t be there to see time fly with me or my kids. I’d give anything to have him walk through that door, any door for that matter. It was nice seeing Mom over Christmas. I’m glad she’s finally getting back out in the dating pool after years of losing herself in a sea of work, but, in truth, it hurt just a little to hear her say it. For some reason my mind has it that she and my dad will always be together. In my heart I hur
t for him just a little when she said she was seeing some guy named Tom. I’d like to see her bring Tom around. I’d like to show him a thing or two, starting with my knuckles.
“Hey, slacker.” Baya pops up on the stool in front of me.
“You’re early.”
“My shift starts in ten minutes.”
I glance over at the wall clock behind the bar and am shocked to see half my shift has drifted by.
“That went fast. I was just thinking how time seems to fly.” I pour myself a cup of ice water and down it to keep my emotions in check.
“You’re thinking about him again aren’t you?” Baya reaches over and touches my hand. She could always tell when life was getting to me. “Yup. It’s a little hard around the holidays.”
“Especially when Mom is gushing about her new boy toy.” Baya sticks a finger down her throat and mock gags. “That was a little more than I ever wanted to hear. But I get it.” Baya sags in her seat. “Mom is only human. And, face it, she’s out there in Texas all alone. I know for a fact she’s wanted someone other than you and me to talk to for years.”
“That’s what friends are for, not people named Tom with a dual degree in rocket science and brain surgery.”
She gives a little laugh. “She did paint him out to be pretty great, but Mom’s pretty great, too. I think she deserves someone like that in the least.” She takes a deep breath. “I think Dad would think she deserved someone like that, too.”
And there it is, the gut wrenching reality that my sister is probably right.
“I know. It’s just hard to picture. I guess I’m a one-man-one-woman-for-life kind of guy.”
Baya roars out a quick laugh. “You? Mr. Scoreboard? The boy who likes to round out the bases on opening night? Please.” She rolls her eyes. Baya is sweet and beautiful and smart as hell—and if she thinks I’m far removed from that reality then I’ve drifted farther than I think in my quest to have a “little fun” in college.
“Shit.” I shake my head. “You think there’s any hope for an idiot like me?”
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