Cake

by Carmen Jenner

  “No,” I shake my head. “The only reason he talked Chase into breaking up with me is so that he’d have his wingman back. He’s a total man whore.”

  “A smitten man whore by the sounds of things,” she says, exiting the elevator when it dings open.

  “No. He . . . we . . . we loathe one another.”

  “If you say so.” She glances surreptitiously at my basket and grins. “Enjoy your night.”

  “You too,” I say, waving with my free hand. The security guard glances at me and I grimace before adjusting my coat over the basket and exiting the building. It takes far too long to hail a cab—when does it not in this city? If I had the use of both of my arms I could just call up an Uber, but I don’t love the idea of setting this thing down on the ground for even a second. New York streets are a hotbed of bacteria, and there isn’t enough Lysol in the world to destroy it.

  When I finally do make it home I set the basket on my dining table and feed the cats. Then I shower, throw a microwave meal in for myself, and settle into my couch, switching on the TV for some time alone with the Winchesters. I glance over at Dean on the dining table and roll my eyes. There’s no keeping these cats off my furniture. Ever. I ignore him and go back to my show, then he must decide the basket Leo gave me is new and shiny, and therefore he must destroy it, so he shoves at my jacket until it falls to the floor. He sniffs. I sigh and turn away. What the hell do I care if my cat wants to make a bed in a basket of dildos? Except . . .

  No. I am not using anything from that basket. I’m not even going to look at what’s in there. Not properly, anyway. I get up and shoo Dean away, and then I glance around my apartment as if I might get caught. Which is ridiculous.

  Finally, I grow a pair of lady balls and yank off the rest of the cellophane. This has Dean’s attention, and he jumps on the discarded wrapping on the floor and begins attacking it. Sam and Cas decide they want in too, and all three partake in the pouncing frenzy. I peer into the basket. There are all kinds of toys and paraphernalia in here. Everything from anal beads to various kinds of lubricants, big dildos, small dildos, hand-held clitoral stimulators, a flogger, nipple clamps, a rabbit, bullet vibrators, three different kinds of LELO vibrators, and what looks to be an opened box belonging to the vibrator that’s currently occupying my purse. I pull out the box and study it. It’s rechargeable. Of course, that’s why I couldn’t find a damn battery compartment.

  Cas has grown tired of Sam and Dean’s games, but he pounces on my purse when it begins buzzing again. I yank the offending object free. “Oh my god, why won’t you stop?”

  Holding the charging station, cord, and vibrator, I march into my bedroom and plug the damn thing in, then I slam the vibrator into the cradle and wait for it to do something. It stops vibrating, so that’s something, I guess. I stomp back to the living room, sweep all of the toys into the basket, and return to my bedroom, throwing them into my closet, never to be seen again. At least not until tomorrow when I’m choosing an outfit for work. That can be Tomorrow Poppy’s problem. Mid-week Poppy just wants to spend the night with the Winchesters. Alone.

  Chapter Five

  Everyone loves anal

  Poppy

  Two days later as I get ready for work, I still haven’t figured out how the hell to get that damn vibrator to switch off, and it’s driving me mad. I turn it off with the power button. Buzz, buzz. I throw it at the wall. Buzz, buzz. I’d throw it out the damn window if I could, but I’m late for work and I’m afraid it might kill someone. I’m meeting Claire at the office today, so I really don’t have time to get arrested. Imagine telling that story in jail. Although, it would be a great excuse to avoid this wedding. Finally, I shove the vibrator in my top drawer. I’ll deal with it later. I grab my purse and phone from the kitchen counter. I’m just about to check on the location of my Uber when I see I have a text from Leo.

  Leo: Buzz, buzz.

  I roll my eyes and let out an impatient huff.

  Leo: You still in the land of the living, Pop Tart? Or did you fuck yourself into a coma with my toys?

  I stare at the text and debate whether to reply, but I’ll be damned if I let him have the last word. I type out a quick response as I exit my building and hop into my awaiting Uber.

  Me: I haven’t used your sex toys, nor do I ever intend to. Who really knows where they’ve been?

  Leo: Ouch, that stings. Say, speaking of stinging, did you pull that stick out of your ass yet?

  Me: The only pain in my ass is you.

  Leo: Well, not yet, but I’m down for anal.

  Me: Why does that not surprise me?

  Leo: Should it? Everyone loves anal.

  Me: No, they don’t.

  Leo: You’ve tried anal? Do tell. I love story time.

  Despite myself, I laugh. Horrified by this, I glance up. My driver meets my eyes in the review mirror, and I cast my gaze back to my phone.

  Me: No. Not ever.

  Leo: No, you won’t tell me, or no, you’ve never tried it?

  Me: No, I won’t tell you.

  Leo: Remind me to get all the gory details from Chase then, will you?

  Me: You wouldn’t dare.

  He wouldn’t. Would he?

  Leo: By the way, want me to come over and show you how to use your toys?

  Me: Thanks, but I have it under control. I didn’t fail Sex Ed like you. Really is a shame, that. You’ve probably given half the women in Manhattan syphilis.

  Leo: Hey, I’m completely clean. I always wear a rubber.

  Me: What a pity. I was sort of hoping karma would bite you in the ass and you’d die from one of those venereal diseases you’ve contracted. After all, sharing is caring.

  Leo: You don’t want me dead, Pop Tart. You just want me.

  I scoff at my phone.

  Me: You’re right. I want you . . .

  I chuckle to myself to let him stew for a bit.

  Me: . . . to go away.

  Leo: You say that, and yet you’re still responding.

  I glare at his text, type out a reply, and then shake my head and throw my phone on the seat beside me. He’s right. What the hell am I doing? I hate this man, and yet here I am, almost looking forward to our stupid exchanges. There’s something wrong with me. I mean, something more than just being lonely. What does it say about me that I love texting a man who has tormented me from the time we were twelve years old?

  I need a hobby. No, better yet, I need this promotion, and then I’ll get a hobby, and maybe even one day when I’m not so focused on my career, a man. For right now, I need to quit talking to Leo Nass, and I need to prepare myself for my first meeting with my bride, because god knows it’s bound to be awkward enough.

  Chapter Six

  It’s never just a cake

  Poppy

  I adore cake. The frosting, the flavors, the design, and all of the options couples have these days from simple and rustic, to elaborate lacework, or even the new geode trend. I simply love cake. If I had to choose just one thing about weddings that I love more than seeing the bride in her gown and the groom’s face when he first sets eyes on her, it would be cake.

  I particularly love the idea of helping a bride and groom choose the cake that they’ll serve their guests. In my opinion, it’s one of the most important elements of a wedding. In fact, when it comes to flavors, filling, frosting and cream, I’m an expert. There isn’t a planner in all of New York that knows cake better than I do. So when Jacinta suggests that it should be me accompanying Chase and Claire to their taste testing, I really don’t have another option but to say I do.

  Inside? I’m dying. A slow, painful, brutal death because it should have been me in her place. It should be me he feeds tiny bite-sized morsels too.

  Chase likes cake as much as I do. The cake was the first thing we picked out as an engaged couple. He wanted a four-tiered, pink champagne cake with white chocolate ganache. I’d suggested the raspberry filling, a little tartness to take the edge off all of the sweetness. We
both understood how important this step was, and agreed you couldn’t just serve your guests any old thing. Simple elegance was best.

  So when we’re sitting in the office of one of New York’s finest bakers and cake artisans, and Claire suggests the cake she’s wanted all along is a two-tiered red velvet with distressed frosting, I know the exact response Chase is going to have.

  “Poppy, you agree with me on this, right?” Chase spears me with a look. This is the first time he’s said a word to me beyond “hi” since the breakup. I don’t really know how I feel about that.

  “Um.” I glance back and forth between them and take a sip of my champagne before I dare an answer. “Well, I can certainly see the charm in a naked cake, but I think perhaps for your location wouldn’t it be better to find some neutral ground, like say a white two-tiered cake with some tropical elements. Frangipanis, perhaps?” I turn away because even I have to wrinkle my nose up at that.

  Chase’s disbelieving expression says he doesn’t buy it either. “Frangipanis?”

  “Right, sorry, I forgot how much you hate those.”

  “You hate frangipanis?” Claire stares at her husband-to-be. “Why?”

  Chase gives her an incredulous look. “Because they’re tacky.”

  “Right,” Claire says with a nod. “Of course.”

  Chase’s phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. “Babe, do we really need to spend any more time on this? Poppy knows exactly what I want, don’t you, Poppy?’

  How could I forget? It was our dream wedding cake after all. His and mine, not his and Claire’s. “Of course. I’d be happy to take care of it for you.”

  “Great. I gotta go meet Leo for lunch. He wants to talk about my bachelor party.”

  “Bachelor party?” Claire chokes on her sparkling water. “I thought we agreed we’d just do a group dinner in the Maldives.”

  “Relax,” he says, rubbing Claire’s shoulders. I blush and avert my gaze because I remember all too well how good Chase’s back rubs felt. “He wants to do a small thing in Vegas. You know, just us guys?”

  “Of course he does,” I mutter under my breath and Chase smirks. He knows I’ve never been a big fan of Leo’s wants and needs.

  “Well, I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Maybe,” Chase says, nonchalantly. His phone is in his hand again, and he’s furiously typing out a text. I don’t miss that side of him, where it never really feels as if you have his undivided attention. “I have a meeting this afternoon and then I may need to work late.”

  “Oh, okay,” Claire says. “Well, call me if you finish early and we’ll have a late dinner.”

  “No, don’t wait up, babe. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Sure.” Claire’s smile dims. Her disappointment is palpable. I know how she feels because I’ve been there before with Chase, too. God, have I been there.

  Chase leaves with a goodbye kiss to Claire’s cheek. He points his finger in my direction. “Poppykins, you’re an angel. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

  Is he really not giving Claire any say in her own wedding cake? I hadn’t realized how controlling he was about everything. I mean, I guess part of the reason we got on so well was because we liked all the same things, but I’d never really seen this side of him.

  I turn my attention back to Claire. “So, you’re good with what he suggested?”

  “Oh sure. I mean, I’d thought we were on the same page about the bachelor and bachelorette nights, but that’s okay.”

  “No, I meant with the cake.”

  She waves it away. “Sure. It’s just a cake, right?”

  I stare at the woman as if she’s a stranger. Just cake? Has there ever been such a thing as just cake? Especially when it comes to wedding cake. It’s never just cake. I pick up my glass and gulp down the remainder of my champagne. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s only going to be cut up and eaten, so what does it really matter?” she says. I smile and nod, but the comment makes me want to stab her with my dessert fork. “I guess you have to choose your battles with him, huh?”

  I stare down at the napkin in my lap wondering if I should just bite my tongue, but despite how we’ve grown apart these last few months the bonds of friendship and sisterhood prevent me from keeping quiet. “Are you and Chase having problems?”

  “What? No. why would we be having problems?”

  “I just wondered. Never mind. No reason.”

  “I know this might be awkward for you, but we’re fine.”

  “It’s not awkward.” Not at all. God, it is the weirdest situation I’ve ever found myself in. I don’t wish either of them anything but happiness, but planning a wedding for your ex-fiancé and your best friend is awkward as hell. I don’t love Chase anymore. At least, I don’t think I do. Sure, my heart skipped a beat when I saw him, but it’s because he’s familiar. He is someone I loved for a long time; a huge portion of my life had been taken up with dreaming of my wedding to Chase. It is strange to be planning that wedding for another woman, but even though I was seriously hurt by the secrecy surrounding their relationship, I still love them both, and wish them well. I just wish I didn’t have to have anything to do with their nuptials. Every time I see an email from Claire in my inbox, it hammers home just how alone I am. And that I’ll likely die alone, like Leo said. My cats will eat me when they grow hungry enough and no one will really care. I mean, people will attend my funeral, and say, “How sad that she died all alone and her cats made a meal out of her,” but I doubt that anyone’s life will be seriously hindered by the fact that I am no longer in it. What a sad way to live.

  “Poppy?” Claire says, pulling me from my reverie.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said maybe we should go to Vegas, too?”

  “Vegas?”

  “Leo and Chase are going.”

  “Oh, I can’t . . . I have work.”

  “But you have to—you’re my maid of honor. It’s your job to organize the bachelorette party.”

  “Right, of course, but I could always organize it from here, and you and the rest of the bridal party could go.”

  “I’m not going to a bachelorette party in Vegas without my maid of honor. Please? You’re my best friend.”

  And there they were. The five little words that could get any woman to do what her best friend wanted. Please, you’re my best friend. The phrase of guilt. And friend shaming. All my resolve collapses and I give Claire a tight smile. “Of course. I’ll just take a couple of sick days.”

  She squeals. “Oh my god, you’re the best. It’s going to be amazing. We need tickets to Magic Mike live, but none of those penis headbands. Chase thinks they’re tacky.”

  “Chase is right.” I make a face, but wonder how the hell I’m going to afford all this because of course as the maid of honor it’s going to fall on me to take care of it. Sure, everyone will say they’re chipping in, but will they? Probably not.

  I hope there’s hot water in the rooms because my Las Vegas experience is likely to be less Vegasy, and a lot more ramen noodly.

  Chapter Seven

  The devil made me do it

  Poppy

  It’s official. I now hate weddings.

  After ordering the cake Chase wanted and a long lunch with Claire where we went over dresses, themes, colors, and wedding favors, I hurried back to the office exhausted, heart-sore, and a little tipsy. Of course, Katherine felt the need to point out how long I’d been gone, and when I told her I was lunching with the client, she began ranting and raving about me trying to undermine her. This resulted in both of us being pulled into Jacinta’s office, and me being told to take a step back. I don’t really understand why I’ve been relegated to deck hand in the first place when it’s my supposed best friend and my ex-fiancé getting married.

  Okay, so maybe it makes sense. But Katherine doesn’t know them like I do. My co-worker doesn’t know that Claire has always dreamed of a rustic-style wedding in a Hudson Valley vine
yard, she hates peonies, and she doesn’t understand the point of spending thousands of dollars in a single day like Katherine is forcing her and Chase to do.

  This is exactly why I should be in charge. Sure, it is a little awkward, but I have a job to do, and I am capable of doing it. Only Claire has vetoed me having any further input than a regular maid of honor might.

  Today sucked. All I want now is a glass of wine, a whole carton of Magnolia cupcakes, reruns of Supernatural, and to snuggle my cats. When I get home though, I discover the meaning of demonic possession because they’ve been very bad kitties and ruined my living room curtains. I might burst into tears if one more thing goes wrong, so I feed them, and head straight for my bedroom where I curl up and fall asleep.

  An incessant buzzing wakes me, and I slam my hands down on my phone. It continues to buzz. Next, I try the clock radio, but it doesn’t stop. I glare up at the dark ceiling of my bedroom and it dawns on me where the sound is coming from. “Goddamn it, Leo.”

  I roll over and yank open my bedside drawer, determined to find it and throw it out the damn window. It’s clearly expensive and well-made, but I’m pretty sure even it couldn’t survive a six-story fall. I finally grasp it and yank it out, only it gets tangled up in the cord from the charger and I accidentally drop it on my stomach. The vibrations are strong, and an involuntary moan escapes me. I cover my mouth in surprise. I take a deep breath and lift the tiny device before I can get too carried away. The vibrations tickle my hand. I run my fingertips over the smooth silicone and wonder what it would feel like. Then I do something I swore I would never do. I lift my skirt, slide my panties down, and use the vibrator Leo gave me. After all, it’s not like he’ll ever know. It’s not as if I thought about him at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Beating at the meeting

  Leo

  My seven thirty is half an hour late. I fucking hate doing business with anyone who isn’t punctual but dear old Dad has asked me to meet with the head of promotions for one of our leading suppliers, who just happens to be a female and also the daughter of the chairman of the company. It sounds more like two old farts arranging a marriage than it does having their trusted employees form an alliance for future deals, but what Dad wants, Dad gets.