Must Love Cakes: Watkin's Pond, Book 3

by Virginia Nelson

  “You have to go. Darcy will flay you if you don’t go.”

  “But he’ll be there,” Carrie pointed out. “He never misses one of the local get-togethers.” They were a small town, after all. Pretty much everyone showed up at all the events.

  “Bring your two buddies. There is no way he’s going to mess with you if you’re flanked by Ben and Grady.” Manda paused. “Aw, man. Brax is coming looking for me. Gotta run. You sure you don’t want me to come over?”

  “I’m fine. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay, bye. And love ya.”

  “Love ya too.”

  Clicking end, Carrie glared at the video. “Look, dude, there is no way I’m finding my center today.”

  The video didn’t answer, the waves continuing to break on the beach and the man babbling onward as if her whole world hadn’t just changed and broken.

  Even the local recluse author showed up at Darcy’s party, his hot new wife curled into his side in a darkened corner of the room. Although Carrie didn’t want to be there, her skipping would’ve caused more talk than her attending, so she’d bit her lip and pulled on her big girl panties.

  And she’d forced both Grady and Ben to go too, per Manda’s advice, figuring misery loved company. Since neither of them were nearly as susceptible to peer pressure as she’d always been and usually couldn’t give a rat’s ass what the people in town thought of them, she’d used the business to convince them—because it would make the business look bad if they skipped one of the biggest social events of the season. Everyone who was anyone attended the party at the local vineyard owner’s home, so they needed to at least make an appearance, after all. She knew she could’ve mentioned to them on a personal level that she wanted them to come with her, but confessing seemed weak…the last thing she wanted them to see her as when the rest of the town no doubt already shook their heads in pity at the poor fat girl who got dumped by the douche.

  She was pretty sure she’d won the guys over with the mention of the open bar rather than the mention of business. Whatever, but they’d come and she wasn’t alone.

  For Carrie, knowing that Fickle Freddie would be there with his new girlfriend, if the rumor mill ground out honest news, it meant walking on hot coals for a night and she planned to drink heavily and set up a designated driver for exactly that reason. He’d dumped her the day before the party—something she should’ve seen coming according to Manda Watkin—over text. Carrie choked on the shot of tequila and wished she was the kind of girl who could sling back hard alcohol without cringing. Instead, her head jerked and her eyes pinched closed as the liquor made its way down her throat in a lump—raining acid as it moved—and then she stomped her foot once, as if doing so would make gravity work faster and settle the hellfire in her stomach where it belonged.

  A hard-ass she was not. Then again, few people expected a cupcake baker to be one—Buffy the pastry slayer? Just, no. Didn’t mean she didn’t wish to be a bold and brassy bitch, especially with her ex lounging on a nearby sofa, wrapped in a barely-past-her-teens girl like golden icing on a giant douche cake.

  “You okay?”

  Still blinking back tears from the shot and trying to hold it down instead of throwing up, Carrie forced a nod and cleared her throat. “I’m great.”

  “Liar.” Grady leaned on the smooth, black-stained bar and tapped his own shot glass twice on the shiny surface. The rented bartender recognized the motion and refilled it with amber liquid Grady downed with far more grace than Carrie. “I did volunteer to kick his ass.”

  Snorting, Carrie tapped her own shot glass, determined to drench her problems in José and forget the night ever happened. “What good would that do?” A hand slid along her back and Carrie choked on her own spit.

  Her other best friend and business partner, Ben, thumped her on the back with one hand before tapping his own glass for a refill. “You okay?”

  “Would everyone stop asking me that?” She snatched up her shot glass, only sloshing a little on her fingers.

  “You choked—” Ben began.

  “I asked about Freddie the Fickle. She’s touchy,” Grady explained and held his small drink up.

  They all clanked in a quick and sloppy cheer, and then Carrie forced more tequila past her raw throat. A slow burn heated her cheeks and her body felt looser, more relaxed than it had in a very long time. She leaned a bit—maybe listed would have been a better description?—on Grady and considered Ben from one eye. “I’m not touchy. I hate that bastard.”

  If she said it enough, maybe she wouldn’t actually cry. Or maybe she could at least pretend the tears she blinked back were from the pain of the alcohol? The worst part was that she wasn’t sure which he’d wounded more with his defection to another woman’s arms—her heart or her pride. She hadn’t really loved him, although she would’ve liked to be the kind of woman to love someone in a real, Hallmark relationship kind of way. She loved the idea of it, since he was the sort of man to leave Post-it love letters and bring her flowers at work, but the reality always fell a bit flat for her.

  Not to mention the sex. It wasn’t romance-novel variety sex. It had been…sloppy and a little awkward. And a whole lot of her shouting directions like a football coach. When they first got together, she’d practically had to draw Freddie a map to her clit since during one overenthusiastic make-out session he’d drunkenly thrummed her kneecap for a solid five minutes before she realized he was aiming for the stars but missing by a mile.

  Snickering at the memory, she inhaled the scent of Grady. She’d long accepted the truth—that reality and stories lived in different worlds, and that she wasn’t the kind of woman to inspire swelling movie-soundtrack-worthy romance. Most days, she was okay with simply being the kind of woman who ran a successful business and had great guys like Ben and Grady in her life. But some days…

  Some days, she wanted the epic love story. Didn’t everyone? And while Freddie hadn’t been fodder for fantasies, he’d at least been hers. Until he wasn’t, a very public and localized agony since small-town life ensured everyone—literally, everyone—knew she’d been rejected.

  Music thudded through her brain, almost too loud, and she tugged at her shirt to try to circulate air to her sweating breasts. Whether because of the tequila or stressing over her ex wrapped in waif-thin blonde, almost too much choking warmth flooded her system. She considered going outside for some air, but then Grady spoke and distracted her.

  “We could mess with his head.” Grady made the suggestion close to her ear, and she snapped her head back to glare at him.

  “What am I missing?” Ben leaned in closer, so he could hear the plan.

  “Grady says we could mess with him. How? I’m guessing, since it’s you, I’m probably not going to give this plan the green light, but…” Carrie trailed off and braced herself on Ben’s arm. He cooperated, as if sensing her balance wasn’t so fantastic, catching her elbow to keep her steady.

  “Okay, you know how everyone thinks we’re having threesomes?” Grady’s raised eyebrow sent a shiver racing up her spine—a sexy shiver—and she couldn’t keep from smiling. The tequila must really be kicking in…

  “Two men and one woman, friends? Running a business together in a small town? Yeah, I think we’ve all heard that rumor.” Ben’s snort was trademark Ben—snarky logic and almost painful cynicism riddled his tone.

  Someone always mentioned threesomes. Two men and a woman as a terrific trio in a small town? Pssht, must be fucking. She couldn’t refute that she’d heard her fair share of speculation, so she didn’t say anything, concentrating on staying upright. Years of those kinds of rumors left them all unfazed by it. None of them took it seriously, drunk or not. Or in her case, admitted to wishing…

  “So let’s give them something to talk about. Freddie the Fickle mean-mugged me the whole time you were dating, probably because he knows he’s not half the man I am
.” The irresistible lightning-fast grin on Grady’s lips probably packed more punch for girls who hadn’t grown up tending his scraped knees and bringing him chicken soup and donuts when he was sick, but Carrie wasn’t completely oblivious to his charm. Besides, he had a point—Freddie had always seemed a little worried about her relationship with her business partners.

  Ben didn’t seem convinced, tucking Carrie closer to his side as if to protect her from Grady. “I hardly think adding fuel to the threesome fire is going to help Carrie keep her chin up around the Douchemaster.”

  A giggle erupted from her throat before she could entirely control the impulse. “I dunno, it might. If nothing else, I won’t have to look at him practically getting a blowjob in front of all of our friends for a few minutes.”

  Ben’s hands on her arms clenched and he conceded. “So do you wanna dance?”

  Grady scooped closer and nipped her ear. “Nah, not yet. First we draw attention.” It only took a second before Manda Watkin swooped in, tugging at his arm, a one-woman rescue party.

  “Grady, let’s go dance. People are going to think—”

  “She’s too much of a woman for one guy. About fifty pounds too much, right?” The harsh words carried over the silence of the song changing, and Carrie’s gaze landed, like a heat-seeking missile, on Freddie, still wrapped in his barely legal babe. The slice of his words was a razor, the wound so fast she didn’t even feel the pain for the first couple seconds. When it caught up, she blinked fast, refusing to cry in front of everyone.

  Before she could do more than try not to weep in a roomful of everyone they knew, Ben skated his fingertips across her cheek, drawing her attention to him. “She’s perfect for us, although it might take both of us to make up for the extreme dissatisfaction she’s had to endure at your hands. You never realized what a treasure you had. Don’t worry about it, Freddie-boy. We’re men enough for her.”

  Grady laughed, grabbed Carrie’s ass and tugged her body against his before anyone could see her blinking back more inexplicable tears. “Yeah, we’re all fucking like rabbits, right, Care-Bear?” He squeezed her arms, comfort in his touch, and she took a ragged breath to steady herself. Between them, they turned her, so she faced Ben.

  The childhood nickname turned her laugh to a snort when her brain caught up past the alcohol, her part in the façade forgotten with the dash of reality. Carrie held no illusions to her sexiness. She hated her body because of the crap with Daddy Doom, as she called the evil stepfather from hell, and she knew she’d tasted one too many donuts to be considered a stone-cold hottie in today’s world. The situation with Freddie only highlighted her problem.

  Now, back in the olden days, they thought big girls were hot. If you were eating enough to be plump, well, you were a supermodel.

  Not today. Carrie knew her flaws—too big breasts, ass that jiggled when she walked and a bit of a spare tire—no one saw her and thought “revving sex machine.” Being the fat kid wasn’t a bad thing, especially not with pals like her boys, and she was secure enough in herself to know some men liked what she had going on.

  The thought of her two very sexy best pals lusting after her might make her cream her panties when she was feeling lonely or horny, but she understood reality. No.

  The feel of Grady against the crease of her ass as he played to the crowd surprised a small gasp from her that wasn’t feigned for their audience. Enough men met her standards for her to recognize the thick feel of him as a man who hid a raging stiffie in his jeans.

  Giggling at the fact she actually considered Grady’s stiffness, she wrapped one arm around Ben as he sidled up to her, bumping his hips dramatically as he swayed her backwards onto the dance floor. “Yeah,” Carrie choked out. “I’m doing the nasty with them all day and all night, right, Ben?”

  Ben growled and grinned. Snapping into his part, he caught her hair in one hand and tugged her head back. “She screams my name more than she does Grady’s, don’t you, Carrie?”

  Snorting again with her increased amusement, she slid her free hand up his arm and allowed him to prop one of her legs on his hip. “You know it, baby.”

  Grady growled behind her, rocking her ass against his hips and sniffing at her neck. “She’s only saying that to spare Ben’s tender feelings. She screams for me.”

  “Kiss!” some asshole in the crowd cried out. The rest of the idiots picked up the chant and she rocked in her man sandwich, enjoying the safe feel of them wrapped around her drunken haze.

  “Let’s really give ’em a show, shall we, Carrie?” The laughter in Grady’s voice tilted her head back and she smiled sloppily at him.

  “You want smooches?” She couldn’t take it too seriously, hiding behind silliness. They were so far out of her league it wasn’t even funny. Even in her fantasies, she’d never quite dared to breach the walls of friendship and imagine herself actually bowed between them both. Although, since she currently experienced the reality of the sensation, she wasn’t sure if she could resist reliving the moment in the future—preferably with a battery-operated buddy nearby for relief.

  Grinning, he closed the remaining distance between them, his lips meeting hers.

  She knew he was playing. She understood and they’d joked before and it was all for show, but—

  His lips on hers opened her mouth and her tongue met his automatically. The angle changed and the innocent play changed to very serious attraction with the speed of a whip cracking. Hand moving up to cup his face, Carrie bit back a moan, grinding, without thinking about it, into Ben as he held her propped in Grady’s embrace.

  The time…it seemed to stop as the feel of his plundering kiss raced her pulse. His body close to her back, Ben holding her to the front made her so hot and she wriggled, even as she told herself not to give away how much Grady’s kiss affected her.

  And then Ben tugged her free of it. She tried to breathe, to recapture her control. For a second, she thought Ben pulled her away to save her from embarrassing herself, but then Ben’s mouth replaced Grady’s and all thoughts of logic fled. His kiss, tasting so different than Grady’s, swept her back out to uncharted waters.

  Her other leg shifted her higher into his arms as Grady’s lips cruised from her ear to the curve of her neck. One of their hands caught her breast, tweaking the nipple, and she gasped free to blink up at them as her body raged for more.

  Laughter all around them. “That was one helluva kiss for a group who pretends not to be involved.”

  Carrie never identified the voice, busy not meeting the eyes of the guys as they released her and she adjusted her clothes. Working to laugh past it, she couldn’t ignore the pulse of need that seemed to throb with every glimpse of either of the men. Manda Watkin caught her arm, guiding her away. Once they hit the cold air and some semblance of sanity, Carrie forced her racing pulse and throbbing body back under her control, even as her hands shook in reaction. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

  “Um—” Manda seemed at a loss for words.

  “Give me a ride home?”

  “Sure,” Manda agreed. Firing off a text to her men, Carrie did the only thing she could think of which might save her some face—

  She went home and determined to pretend none of it had ever happened.

  Chapter Two

  Hefting a bag of flour, Grady glanced at Carrie. Her white shirt wasn’t buttoned up far enough. As she bent to get a pastry for a customer, the shirt parted and he caught a glimpse of the curve of her breast. The fabric of her skirt cupped her rounded ass when she swiveled on a heel to stand and he longed to slide his fingers under the dark green cloth, tugging it higher until it revealed the—

  “Grady.” The snap of fingers about an inch from his face broke his focus, and he glanced at Ben in annoyance. “I thought we talked about this?”

  Shrugging, Grady hauled the flour to the back of the shop, knowing Ben dogged his heels
. “We did. Let’s skip it this time.”

  Ben smacked one hand down on the counter, blue eyes snapping in annoyance. “Seriously, Grady, you can’t keep looking at her like she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  Ripping the bag, Grady dumped the flour slowly into the bin. “I’ll stop.”

  “Really?”

  Lips curled in a grin, he kept his gaze on the flour rather than looking up. “Sure.”

  “It’s that easy? It can’t be that easy. After a month of nonstop ogling, you’re just going to let this drop?” Ben joined him at the bin and Grady met his stare.

  “Not going to bitch about you bringing it up. Not going to debate. I’ve got one request, though.”

  “Shoot.” Ben leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, posture defensive.

  “I’ll stop wanting to fuck her the moment you stop. Admit it—ever since that night, you can’t get the thought out of your head either.”

  Ben seemed very interested in the seventies tile decorating the floor. “Carrie’s not—”

  “Not who you think of every time you jerk off? Not tripping your trigger every time you look at her? Not—”

  Ben cut him off with a wave of his hand. “So, I admit it. I can’t get it out of my head either. But she’s been our friend our whole lives. We have a business to run and—”

  “We have both wanted her for probably longer than we want to admit, and now that we have acknowledged it, I’m not willing to sweep it under the carpet and pretend it was a bump, a glitch, an anomaly, or whatever. Maybe you can lie to yourself and act like all is as it was before, but I’m not willing to act like I haven’t thought about it before. I’m not willing to act like I’m not thinking about it now. I’m not willing to let it go until you admit the same.” Grady bunched the empty bag up in his hands and tried not to gloat.

  “I admitted it, so stop.” Ben glanced nervously back at the swinging door to the front, almost as if he feared Carrie would come barging in on their conversation at any moment.