by Bella Cruise
#
After dinner, a couple of drinks, and some Cards Against Humanity, Cal and I head back out to his car, calling our farewells to Ginny and Luke standing by their front door.
“I really like them,” Cal says, as he holds the door open for me. “It’s a shame . . . ”
And then he trails off, smiling grimly. He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I can catch his drift. It’s a shame that Cal’s leaving. It’s a shame that he and Luke won’t be able to have an epic bromance for decades to come.
“They’re great,” I agree. Cal looks at me, an eyebrow raised.
“I take it that means you and Ginny worked things out?”
“I did!” I exclaim. “And oh, Cal, it’s such a relief. No drama. We talked it out. I think things will really be better now. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I hardly did anything,” he says, shrugging, but I can see the bashful pride in his eyes. “It just seemed to me that a friendship as long-lived as yours and Ginny’s might carry some extra baggage. And that it’s worth unloading that, once a decade, at least.”
“You’re so right,” I agree, as Cal starts up the car. We begin to dawdle through the streets of Pelican Key Cove. But before we can leave, I have an idea.
“Hey, pull over. And give me your GPS.”
“What’s that?” asks Cal. He’s eying me suspiciously, and I don’t blame him. I look suspicious as hell as I lean over and try to look sexy as I key in an address.
“A secret,” I reply. But it’s not, not really. Not if you live in Pelican Key Cove and are, or have ever been, a teenager.
“I like secrets,” says Cal, grinning wickedly.
He follows the GPS’s robotic commands. Little overgrown bungalows dotting the sides of the road give way to swampy marshland. This is familiar territory, and it hasn’t changed a bit since I was a teenager. Back then, I used to come here with Wes, sit in his junker, and hope he’d get up the courage to kiss me. He never did.
“I feel like I’m going to be abducted by aliens out here,” Cal says when we arrive, peering up at the empty sky.
“No aliens. Just horny teenagers making out.” I slip down the spaghetti strap of my dress and lean forward, letting my cleavage show.
“And what about the horny adults?”
I arch my back a little so that my nipples, hard in the air conditioner of Cal’s car, show through the fabric.
“Them, too,” I say.
Cal reaches a big hand across the dark seat of his SUV. The engine’s still purring. The radio is on low. His fingertips grace my nipples, but he doesn’t grab me, not yet.
“You’re hotter than any cheerleader,” he says. I’m already wet. I part my legs a little, feeling my pussy ache and swell in my little thong.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Quarterback.”
Cal grimaces. “Not my sport. Try cricket.”
“Mr. Sexy Wicketer?” I offer. Cal laughs. It’s a big, hearty sound, and it seems to fill up the whole car.
“That works,” he says. And then, just like that, he’s leaning over the console to kiss me. His mouth is open, warm, and hungry. His hands circle my breasts, lightly at first, and then with increasing force. Pleasure warms me. He’s soon groping me hard through my dress. I arch my back, letting my breasts fill his hands. This never would have happened in high school, when I had absolutely no tits to speak of. I’m aching for him already. With a small laugh, I climb into the back seat, then beckon Cal to follow.
“Tight squeeze,” he says doubtfully. I hike my dress up high, spread my legs, and begin fingering myself through the black lace of my panties.
“I think you’ll fit,” I say. Cal scrambles over the seat after me and unbuckles his jeans.
His cock springs free, fully hard and dripping with his desire. I touch him, and stroke. Cal leans his weight against me, his cock pressing against my thigh, his warm, slippery moans sounding in my ear.
With one sure movement, he turns me over. I feel his cock against my ass as he yanks my panties down. Then the head rests against the swollen lips of my pussy. I’m aching for him. I want him inside. Slowly, he draws the shaft along my lips. I’m so wet that I feel slick and aching.
“Fuck me,” I gasp. He pauses just before my opening. I can feel his cock pulse there. One hand guides him inside of me. The other is tangled in my hair, holding my face against the leather seat.
In one motion, he plunges into me. He’s rock hard inside my body, which is all soft and slippery around him. I shiver, my desire mounting. His huge cock fills me up, massive and sweet and aching. He begins to rock against me. My back is arched, my eyes cast up toward the moon. I cry out as he pounds his cock into me, slow, rhythmic strokes.
As he fucks me, his hand finds my nipple. It caresses, tweaks, twists. Goosebumps cover my belly. He takes me to the edge, and keeps me there, trembling, at that strange place that’s just between pleasure and pain. And then he leans down and puts his mouth against my ear.
“I love ye, Juliette,” he says, his accent suddenly thick in his husky, lustful voice.
I don’t even get a chance to answer, because he starts pounding me, hard. His cock feels rock hard. My pussy clenches and writhes around him. He’s balls deep in me, and fucking me so hard that every cell seems to explode. I brace myself against the car door, arching my ass up. As I come, my vision is a burst of color and light. I push my tits against the leather seats, feeling my clit swell. Just when I think Cal can’t get any bigger, any harder, he comes, deep inside, hitting all the places that I don’t even touch when I’m alone.
He stays inside me for a long time. I don’t want him to go anywhere. Our bodies sticky with sweat and cum, my hair all tangled around my eyes, I turn my head back and peer at him. he’s holding me with those big arms. I don’t think he wants to go anywhere, either.
“I love you, too,” I whisper. Cal leaves a trail of sweet, soft kisses against my shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The last time I said those words, I was twenty-five years old. Fresh out of culinary school. So naive that I would have believed anything my boss told me, no matter how unlikely. That those kids in his wallet were his nieces and nephews. That he didn’t have cell reception at home, and could only talk with me at work. That he loved me, and more, that he had never loved anyone before me. That I was special. I swallowed it all, hook, line, and sinker.
And yet with Cal, it’s not a line. I know that in every cell of my body. The future might be uncertain, but I know intuitively that I can trust him. And that knowledge has me flying high. For the next four days, I feel like I’m floating over the air. At home, at the cupcake shop, while biking through Key West. It doesn’t matter that business sucks or that Summer is snarky. Everything is cotton candy and bubblegum. The whole world is coming up Jules, all because Cal—Callum Fucking McKenzie, the Cake Nazi, for Christ’s sake—loves me.
Which is why it’s especially a shame that the next few days keep us away from each other. He’s busy wrapping up the pop-up; I’m scrambling to figure out some way to lure my customers back to the store. Things are picking up again. Most of our regulars have returned, swearing that Cal’s cupcakes couldn’t hold a candle to mine, but things are still slower than I’d like. After all, I still have to pay Summer’s salary and make things up to Mr. Honeycutt. As much as I’d love to spend every waking moment nestled in Cal’s arms, instead I’m busy brainstorming. Summer helps some. Ginny, too, at night while I’m alone in my apartment.
“So I’m thinking of doing some sort of promotion after Mecca Cakes closes up shop. You know, remind my customers that I’m still here.”
“I think that would be a great idea. I’ll be sure to pass your info onto my clients in my vendor booklet, too.”
“Full page advert, right?”
“You betcha.”
My call waiting beeps. It’s Cal.
“Gotta go, Gin. The Cupcake Casanova is calling.”
“Ooh la la.
Talk to you later, Jules.”
I switch calls. Cal’s voice is rich and throaty on the other end. Every hair on my body immediately stands on end. He has that effect on me, even when he’s on the other side of town.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too. How have your meetings been?”
“Awful. Boring. All I can think about is you in those red lace panties.”
I grin, tucking the phone against my ear as I lie back in bed. “They were black, actually.”
“I’m imagining them in red. That sweet arse of yours looks great in red. I need to see you. Friday?”
“That feels like a lifetime away.”
“Meetings all week. But I promise you, I’ll make it worth your wait.”
“I never doubted it.” I pause, my hand trailing down my body. “Are you hard already? I’m wet. I’m touching myself. I can feel it.”
There’s a pause, almost too long for me to bear. When Cal’s voice comes back, it’s low and rumbly.
“I am, love. I am.”
I can see his cock in my mind’s eye. I can see my hand, wrapped firmly around the shaft, can see my lips circling the head and working their way down toward his balls. In real life, in bed, my fingers are deep in my pussy. I’m wet as a Slip’n Slide, but then, I walk around dripping wet most of the time these days. I’m always thinking of Cal, his cock, and his love for me.
“I want you to touch yourself,” I say firmly. Cal lets out a long moan. My fingers begin slow circles around my clit.
“Are you doing it?” I ask.
He says it again: “I am, love. I am.” But this time the words come between panted breaths. I’m rubbing myself hard, my knees spread, my back arching against my sheets.
“I am too,” I say. My whole body tingles. On the other end, I can hear the rapid rhythm of Cal’s hand against his cock. His excitement gets me going even more. My ass clenches. My pussy throbs.
“Oh, Cal, I love you,” I breathe, as pleasure shoots through me in wild waves. I hear him let out a strangled cry. He’s coming. I am, too. God, I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Just the sound of Cal’s breath, hot and heavy, is enough for me.
Well, maybe not enough for me, I think, my hand still working slow fingers over my throbbing clit. Deep down, I know that Friday can’t come fast enough.
#
The next day, Summer and I are plotting our triumphant return as the premiere bakery on Key West. She’s drawn up a ridiculous “business plan,” complete with stick figures. Mine has fantastic hair and two round, bubbly circles for tits. Hers wears a mouth that’s a flat, cynical line just like the real Summer. But even though her drawing is maybe kindergarten-level in skill, her plan is anything but a joke.
“We should treat it like a Grand Re-opening,” she says. “We’ll act like our lull was intentional, something we planned. Maybe we’ll redecorate the store. Ditch this retro theme . . . ”
“But I love the retro theme!” I protest. Summer rolls her eyes.
“The retro thing sucks. It’s totally ten years ago. Unless you update it to a retro nineties theme.”
I grimace. “I lived through the nineties. They weren’t pretty, and they definitely weren’t delicious.”
“Just think,” Summer says, as if I haven’t spoken at all, “we can do neon macarons. Plaid cupcakes. Grunge pies. With, like garbage in them. Or needles.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her. She smiles wryly at me.
“Shut up. I’m awesome. We’ll name them after nineties musicians. The Tiffany will be a mini cherry pie. Cobain’ll be angel food with black icing. Because, you know, he’s dead.”
“Summer, focus.”
“What? I am.”
I throw down my pen on the counter. Then I stand there, massaging my brow. The truth is, even without Summer’s bad pun cake names, I’m not at all sure that relaunching the store will work. It’s entirely possible that I’ve missed my moment, that Rock N Roll Cakes now has a name as good as poison in the public eye. And if that’s the case, new decor won’t change a thing.
“My brain is mush,” I tell her. She’s busy drawing flannel shirts on our stick figures.
“Could be worse. You could be Courtney Love.”
“I’m going to take a break. Take a walk. Go visit Cal. Watch the store for me?”
“Fine,” Summer says sharply. “But you’d better not get pregnant.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I tell her as I head for the store. She just shouts one word at my back as I leave.
“Condoms!”
#
God, I’m excited to see Cal. I figure it’ll be a palate cleanser after spending all day wracking my brain over how to save my store and my butt. I have a diabolical plan to drag him away from work. Then we can joke, nibble each other’s ears, and eat too many baked goods. It’ll be a Wednesday afternoon to top all other Wednesdays. A real hump day, if you know what I’m saying.
When I get to Mecca Cakes, it’s packed, as usual. But I don’t spot Cal anywhere, not behind the counter, or mingling with the local clientele, either. I consider hopping in line to ask one of the counter girls, who I’m sure are relieved that their tenure as Cal’s punching bags will soon come to an end. But before I can, there’s a tap on my shoulder.
I turn, smiling broadly, fully expecting to see Cal there. But then I see Angelique instead. She looks even grumpier than normal, her mouth twisted in disapproval.
“What are you doing here, Juliette Rockwell? Come for one of your little dates with Cal? Or are you here to spy on us again?”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “What’s it any of your business, Angelique? Besides, what’s there to spy about? The shop will be closed soon. This place will be an empty warehouse by next week. Wonder what will move in next. Probably another Starbucks.”
Angelique stares at me. Blinks. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, when the pop-up closes. Sure is a shame that you’re going to have to disappoint all these customers.”
“We’re not closing,” she says in a pinched voice that has no patience for me. Then her mouth curls smugly. “Didn’t Cal tell you? The pop-up was just a market test run. We’re not closing it down. We’re actually expanding.”
That’s when I notice something rolled in her hand. It looks like a set of blueprints. She follows the line of my gaze, and her devil’s mouth looks even more wicked. Showing her teeth, she hands the plans over.
“Don’t believe me? Here, look these over.”
My stomach sinks. I want her to be lying. The busy sounds of the bakery seem to fade from my hearing as I snatch up the plans and slowly, painstakingly unroll them. To be honest, I’m almost afraid at what I’ll find. If what Angelique says is true, then Cal was lying to me. Lying about leaving. Lying about my business being safe. My hands go numb as I look over the blueprints. Sure enough, they’re plans to expand Mecca Cakes into the next storefront. The name of the architectural firm on the bottom is Luke Porter Homes. Luke, that traitor. I knew no one could be that perfect.
Not Luke. And not Cal, either.
I know Angelique is watching me. So no matter how badly I want to ball up the blueprints in my hands, I don’t. Carefully, deliberately, I roll the plans back up and pass them back to her. I channel Summer—I try to look like an overgrown bored teenager. I figure, if it pisses me off when Summer gives me looks like that, then it’s bound to drive Angelique Sutton downright batty.
“That’s interesting,” I say, in a flat, dull voice. Sure enough, Angelique’s pretty, botoxed brow seems to wrinkle just a millimeter.
“Interesting? I thought you’d be upset.”
Of course I’m upset. I’m fucking nauseated. But I’m not going to show it. Angelique goes on.
“This will be the end for your quaint little bakeshop. But really, I could have predicted that for you months ago. Gimmicks like yours never last. You were dated before you ever opened.”
Anger fla
res wildly within me, but I won’t let it show. It was one thing for Summer to snark on my store’s theme. It’s another to hear it torn down by someone like Angelique, and so matter-of-factly, too.
“Excuse me,” I say politely, “I have some errands to run.”
I turn and walk serenely from the store, but inside I’m furious. Cal’s going to murder my shop, and he and Angelique will dance over the rotting corpse of all of my hopes and dreams. But not only that. Far worse is the stark truth that’s in front of me, undeniable and ugly. Cal lied to me.
I’m mad at Angelique. I’m mad at Cal, too. But most of all, I’m mad at myself. This is what comes from opening your heart to the possibility of love. This is what comes from dating chefs. I brought this upon myself. I should have known, should have seen it coming.
Fuck love. Fuck Cal McKenzie. Fuck me.
I beat myself up all the way back to Rock N Roll Cakes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The world is a blur around me as I rush through Key West. When I get back to the shop, Summer gives me a curious wave through the front window. I wave grimly back, but don’t go inside. Instead, I hop in my car and take off, speeding toward Pelican Key Cove. I’m about halfway there when the tears start, big and drippy down my cheeks. Damn. Damn. I should have known better than to trust Cal, especially with a bitch like Angelique by his side. If he didn’t tell me this, who knows what else he was hiding? Maybe it’s more than business between the two of them. Maybe history’s repeated itself. Maybe I was an idiot for thinking anything could possibly go differently this time.
God, fuck him. Fuck me.
I speed all the way to Luke’s house. It’s a wonder that I don’t get pulled over on the way. When I get there, I stomp up the front steps and ring the doorbell twice. It feels like it takes a lifetime for Ginny to come to the door. God knows what she was just doing—her hair is a mess, and she’s wearing one of Luke’s robes. After a minute, I see him follow her, wearing only a pair of boxers, an undershirt, and a discombobulated expression. Oh, so that’s what she was just doing. Or who.