by R. J. Scott
The seating area was where I was now, staring out at the snowy garden’s lamplight catching on the icy pond and dark shadows of trees framing the scene. I had my Kindle. I had a cupcake in a mug. I had coffee. I didn’t need people, particularly ones knocking on my door this late at night. Checking my watch, I saw it was only eight p.m. It felt like midnight, the witching hour. The time when most people were asleep, and I was on my own and not likely to have my door knocked on.
“Hey, you in there?”
Brody. He was the last person I wanted to see right now, and not just because of the kissing and the connection, but because I was in my old PJs, my hair a tousled mess. He’d take one look and run.
“I just wanted to uhmmmm… ” He paused, and I waited for him to carry on, only he didn’t, he just knocked again. He wasn’t going to leave, so I rolled off the couch and padded to the doorway, intent on looking through the spy hole and then calling for him to leave. Only I opened the door because it was rude to talk to someone through four inches of wood or whatever these doors were made of, and I caught him with his fist curled and ready to knock again.
“Hey.” He dropped his hand and smiled at me cautiously and then lowered his voice. “I didn’t want to shout this through the door. Are you okay?”
At this point, I had two options, say I was fine and tell him I’d see him the day after tomorrow. Or I could let him into my little sanctuary and make him a mug cake and a coffee.
You need to pull someone into your world. That was what my last therapist had said, and she’d been the only one that’d stuck around for more than the one appointment. Her name was Iris. She was small, elderly, and knew everything. At least, that was the impression she gave me. I kind of needed someone to tell me that they knew what to do because I certainly didn’t. Then there was the kissing, that had been the most intense kissing I’d ever done, and I’d nearly melted into his hold. He wasn’t here swooping me up and bringing roses. He simply looked bewildered and concerned all at the same time.
Was it possible he’d somehow seen the real me?
Was it okay for me to let him into my world, or would he make me pretend everything was fine?
I was staring at him, and after a few moments he nodded then smiled softly. “It’s good to see you’re okay. Night, Justin.” He was nearly at the fire exit to the stairs before I called him back.
“Do you like cupcakes in a mug? Y’know, mug cakes?” I asked the cake master who baked for major celebrity weddings and birthdays. He turned to face me. His hand on the door handle ready to go.
“Do bears shit in the woods?” he replied and let go of the handle, then he patted his belly with a rueful expression. “I like all cake.”
“Do you want to come in? I can make you one.”
He didn’t hesitate, there was no thinking time, and before I knew it, he was in my suite, and I was shutting the door behind us.
“This is cool,” he said as he peeked into the next room.
“I upgraded,” I said hurriedly, in case he thought I was getting preferential treatment. “I like the space.”
“And why wouldn’t you? This is awesome. Look at this extra shower, it’s way better than what I have.” He wandered back out of the second shower room.
“You can come over and use it whenever you want,” I blurted, and he sent me a wide smile and waggled his eyebrows.
“It’s big enough for two.”
Oh God, why do I do with that?
“It is,” I said, and he smiled again. Did he imagine me and him in there? I’ve never made love in a shower before. The physics of it, the slippery surface, the hardness on knees, the lack of space.
“So you promised me a cupcake in a mug?”
Now that I could do, so I stopped thinking about Brody and me in the shower and went over to the little kitchen and pulled out what I needed, losing myself in doing this simple thing and making him coffee at the same time.
“I have decaf,” I offered.
“No, full is fine, I can sleep wherever and whenever.” He settled on the arm of the nearest sofa. “My family call sleeping my superpower, not that I’ve been doing a lot of it the last few months, what with getting ahead of myself to do this competition.”
“You’ve made a successful business as well,” I said. “I saw you did a cake for the—”
“Don’t mention the K cake, that was a nightmare from start to finish.”
“Still, good publicity, isn’t that what it’s about?”
“Never again will I do a cake for a reality star who thinks the world owes them something just because they’re all over social media or on TV.” He winced as soon as he said that. “No offense meant.”
“None taken. I’m not as invested in my career as everyone thinks.”
Wow. Where did that one come from? I’d never said anything like that out loud before. I loved my popularity, the way I could make an ingredient sell out at a local store, the way I was collecting money hand over fist and hoarding it away. I was a success, and I loved it.
Well, kind of loved it. I love the money, that’s for sure.
“Here you go.” I handed him the cupcake in a mug. “Lemon and blueberry.”
He fell on it like a pack of ravenous wolves and only glanced up at me after his third mouthful. “Ooops. I can’t get enough of these, used to make them all the time when I was in college.” He patted his belly. “I only have to look at cake and my belly is soft, let alone taste it all the time, but… ” He put another spoonful in his mouth and closed his eyes. “Simple,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “But so good.”
I could kiss him… but then all my worries and that black cloud that was hovering all vanished at the sight of him with his eyes closed, and his lips parted in a sigh. I wanted to kiss him.
I’m going to kiss him.
I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, cradling his face, tasting blueberry and lemon and the sweetness of the cake as I deepened the kiss. I heard him put down the mug on the small table by the sofa. I felt his hands on me, and then abruptly we were both on the sofa. He was lying flat and I was sprawled over him, kissing him as if I didn’t need air.
This was not going to stick at one kiss. I wanted all of him, the taste and the touch, and the kisses. Feeling his hard cock against mine, I rolled off the couch. I was frantic with need. I pulled him with me until I was on the floor and he was on top of me, and only when his heavy weight was there did I relax and slow down with the kisses. He wasn’t stopping, and I wasn’t letting him. I gripped tight as he rested his weight on one arm and pushed his other hand into my pants, circling my cock and drawing a groan from me. Our tongues tangled, sliding against each other, not in desperation but in play. I could lay here all day and just kiss him, but my cock had entirely other ideas, and when he moved his hand just so, I let out a curse as the erotic touch sent sparks up my spine, and I groaned again.
“Is this okay?”
“More. Move.”
Only then did he begin to move his hand, and I scrambled to get contact with skin, but he was still in his jeans, wearing a belt, and I couldn’t get the right angle. He kissed my chin, then scooted down my body. I missed the weight of him, attempted to pull him back, and then pushed him lower when he kissed the V of my hips and my lower belly.
“You need to take off your jeans.” I sat up and rested on my elbows. “I want to see.” I’d never been this brazen before, not with any lover, never asked for what I wanted. He dipped his head shyly and then undid the button on his jeans and pushed them to his hips, leaving the cotton briefs, but I could see the outline of him and the damp spot, and I really wanted to see it all. “Take it out,” I pleaded, but maybe it came out more like an order because Brody scrambled to push his briefs down, and finally I got a real look. He was everything that was perfect, and the way he didn’t touch himself, just letting it stand there ready for me to touch, was more than I could take.
“Come here.” I want to taste you.
�
�I want to taste you first,” he said quickly and dipped his gaze again. “Can I?” He was so polite and there was no chance I was going to say no when he asked permission like that so perfectly.
“Fuck, yes,” I agreed, anything to ease the ache inside me that was begging for release. “Please,” I begged and groaned low in my throat as he didn’t hang around, licking and then sucking before swallowing me as far as his fist and increasing the pressure. I could see his hard cock, and I wanted to touch, but I wasn’t going to last with his talented tongue and the way he moved and the way he—
“Fuck!” I shouted as I was coming. I hadn’t even had time to warn him, the orgasm burst out of every cell of me in an instant, but he might have known, must have realized, and I ended up covering his hand in cum and wondering if I would ever be able to move again.
“My turn,” he said.
“Let me—” I began feebly and reached for him, but he shook his head frantically.
“I can’t,” he muttered. “Too quick… I… ” He fucked his hand with incredible concentration on his face, staring right at me, he finally closed his eyes and came into his hand, rearing up, his neck stretched, his lips parted. I’d never see anything so utterly sexy before.
Breathing hard he collapsed next to me, and wordlessly I passed him the towel I’d used to dry my hair after my shower all that time ago when I first came back to the room to hide.
“Thanks.” He waited until his breathing settled and then leaned up and over to kiss me again. I threaded my fingers in his soft hair and stared up at him. “That was… ”
“Yeah… ”
“We need to do that again. Maybe in the shower, maybe in a bed, I don’t care if it’s on the floor again.”
“All of those places. But right now, I can’t move.”
He reached up and yanked down pillows, giving two to me and propping up his head. The carpet was thick, and it smelled of warm floaty evenings and sex. Or was that just my wishful thinking?
“I’m sorry your flower shattered today.” For a brief moment, I wondered if this was a pity-fuck.
But really all he wanted to do was to talk about that. “Normally, people come in and mess with my stuff, making sure it’s camera ready, and I didn’t have anyone to do that, so I was going to fix it properly myself. I was too late to get to it. I should have done it right in the first place.”
He made this noise much like the judges did, a hmmm of understanding that made me think he didn’t understand at all.
“I see, but you do all your own bakes, right? I mean the videos you share, it’s all you, I know that.”
“All of them, everything you see that I post is mine.” I was fiercely proud of that but ready to acknowledge that maybe I wasn’t brilliant at the finishing touches, nor as pleased with some of the branded ingredients I had to use.
“But you have someone that takes the photos professionally.”
“Erin does. She has a team, and they come in and take beauty shots, fixing anything I messed up.”
“Hmmm.” He made that sound again.
“Why the hmmm?” I asked as carefully as I dared, waiting for him to explain that it appeared what I did on my Instagram was nothing short of lying. Hell, it’s what I thought myself half of the time.
“The flower would have fallen off anyway, gravity is hell on delicate sugar work that’s suspended like that.”
“Yeah but—”
“And even if you’d got to it, or some other person had, and tried to fix it, then it would have probably still fallen. I could see from the angle I was at that it was slightly tilted. That’s all.”
I sat up then, leaned against the sofa, and yanked up my pants as I did so. “You must think I’m an idiot to have to rely on others to fix my shit and to mess up in the first place.”
He blinked up at me and then frowned before sitting and adjusting his jeans, crossing his legs, then leaning back against the opposite chair.
“No, I don’t think any of that.”
“You’d be the only one. I’ve had people tell me that—”
“I think you’re incredibly talented,” Brody interrupted. “I watched every one of your episodes. You were only nineteen yet you nailed it. Your skill at baking is amazing, and if you weren’t already a social media dude I’d ask you to come and work with me at 3B.”
“You would?” I briefly had this picture of the two of us baking side by side, and warmth filled me. Then one image of my stuff next to his hit me, and I knew I had to make him understand something.
“Our challenges in season one weren’t as hard as yours, it was the start of the show, so they hadn’t gotten all fancy with what they wanted,” I began, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“That’s blatantly not true. The bakes in my season were insane like we had to make five desserts in two hours, and it left all of us open to fail, but no one expected perfection.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
He sighed then brightened. “Do you recall the week one cake from your season?”
Remember? It was the absolute pinnacle of my entire life. Not only had I made it onto the show, but I’d made the perfect cake with the most spectacular jam and silky smooth buttercream.
“Yeah?”
“See? You won that hands down, and you can’t hide any lack of talent with a simple cake. Your skills are right there for people to see. No cream or layers or chocolate swirls or all the shit they had us doing. A bake can look like perfection, but at the end of the day it’s all about the taste. I make cakes every day, and I still throw a third of them in the garbage. God help me if they give us a task to do a simple cake.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He looked confused. “Why would I just be saying that?”
“To make me feel better.” I crossed my arms over my chest, ready to go into stupid self-pity mode because he was laughing at me.
He did snort a laugh, but it wasn’t aimed at me. “I’m saying that because it’s true.” He tapped my foot, which was right up against his knee. “You’re one of the favorites in this competition, and you know it.”
I’m not sure I agreed with his assertion. Only something about the way he said it sparked a light of confidence inside me. “Thanks,” I finally offered because he appeared to be waiting for a reply. “I’m doing okay with the endorsements though.”
“Is it hard to endorse a product you may not like?”
“Not if it pays well enough.” I smirked, but he was frowning, and I knew I’d messed up. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s compromise I guess, and in the end, the money goes into my happy-with-life pot.”
“Happy with life? Are you not happy?” He was troubled by my statement but without delving into my back story, how did I explain my rationale?
“Of course,” I lied. “My happy-with-life pot is a banked figure that I’d promised myself I’d reach so that I can do anything I want, take on any challenge, and never have to worry about money again.”
“Oh right. So you have a date when you stop?”
What would he say if I told him that I was so close to the number that I could smell it? How would he react if I told him how much it really was? “A loose one,” I hedged.
“Good, good,” he said the words, although I could tell he was confused, only it wasn’t me that changed the subject. “So what did you do that got you in trouble with the show?”
“Oh that. I stupidly sent Erin a collection of selfies for her to post, and she chose the one that included the corner of Ivan’s challenge plus his hand. I don’t know why I didn’t see it, but I should’ve. She says she didn’t realize, but I have this feeling that she did. So from now on I’m posting my own selfies because she can moan about brand positioning and all that shit, but I’m selling Brand Justin, and it’s my face.”
He nodded as I spoke, but I knew I was losing my cool, and I didn’t want to go back to feeling pissed off again. I’d felt like a kid getting told off for
something I hadn’t even done. But I had to take some of the blame for taking the damn photo in the first place.
His cell chimed, and he snarled at whatever came in then drastically hit buttons to send a message before turning the cell upside down. “My ex will not get the hint.”
Then his cell blared out a Britney Spears song, and he grimaced, but it wasn’t a real grimace, not cold like the reaction to the text but fonder. “Okay to take this?”
“Of course.”
He answered. “What now, asshole?” he asked whoever was phoning, although he was clearly teasing, so I guess it wasn’t the ex. “No, Joe. I don’t know where that is, and no you’re not going anywhere near the kitchen… no… for fu—okay, Joe! Jeez, okay, but I swear if I come back and there is one thing… okay… yeah, yeah, love you too, whatever, have fun.” He ended the call. “My older brother, Joe, he’s the sculptor—”
“Yeah, I remember, the one who used to make awesome snowmen.”
“Yep, well since he broke up with his last girlfriend, he’s bunking at my apartment, and he’s not allowed in the kitchen because I swear he’d burn water if I let him anywhere near a saucepan. Creating busts of naked men on my dining table and spreading plaster everywhere, yes. Cooking in my state of the art, pristine kitchen, no.”
I smiled along with his fake irritation at the brother he clearly loved, and all I could think was that despite the text from the ex, he had this wonderful family that balanced the anger and made him smile.
Lucky man.
Chapter Sixteen
You can always save the day with sprinkles
Brody
I nudged Justin’s foot again. “Do you keep in touch with any of your foster families? I don’t ever see you post about them, but then I guess you wouldn’t want to do that if you’re branding a certain way. I mean, I don’t know how it works.” I was just making conversation but wished I could pull the question back when he blanched and stared at his toes. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I tend to ramble on about—”