I wasn’t getting dropped off at my car downtown by Marshall after we spent the entire day before in his bed.
“Sorry,” I said, putting my car in park. “Just had to take care of something.”
“I was worried to death! I get here, had to use my key, which I never have to do, and you were nowhere to be found. The lights were all off still, and the coffee wasn’t going like normal.”
I exited my car with my tail between my legs for not being a responsible boss and business owner, but also for feeling like I was getting the third degree from my mother.
“Well,” she said, blocking my way through the door. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
She even had the “mom voice” down pat. It was impressive.
“Like I said, I was taking care of something. I was a little loopy this morning,” I said.
I attempted to step around her again, but she stood her ground. She narrowed her eyes as she brought her face closer to mine. Phoebe was never afraid to look people in the eyes. It was often uncomfortable for others because so few people did this, really looked people straight on in the eyes, but she claimed she could see the truth behind them. I hid from the truth. She’d say, “If you know someone can see the truth, why would you hide from it?”
I let her have her once-over, and when she was satisfied, she backed away, letting me through.
“Did you start the peanut butter cookies yet?” I asked her.
I headed toward the kitchen and saw several piecrusts rolled out.
There was my answer.
“Ah no,” she said. “It’s Thursday. I did the brownies and cookies yesterday for today. Plus, it’s hot butter rum mini apple pies today.”
I grabbed an apron from the back of the walk-in pantry door, swearing under my breath. She was right, but I mixed it up; since the peanut butter cookies with raspberry Chambord filling were such a hit last week, I wanted to do them today, too.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, tying the apron my waist. “The peanut butter raspberry cookies were up today, too, so I was going to do those instead of the pies, but I guess I forgot to tell you and mark it down. But since you already started the crust, we’ll just do both.”
She shrugged and went back to the floured surface she was rolling the dough out on. “Weird,” she muttered.
“What?”
“I’ve never known you to forget a menu change. You said you were a bit loopy this morning, and I guess you weren’t kidding.”
“I guess,” I said, grabbing a large bag of sugar from the pantry.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you got laid.”
The sugar fumbled from my shaken arms as I heard what she said. My nerves took over, and in an attempt to avert a panic attack, I lost all sense, dropping the bag of sugar on my foot.
“Fuck,” I shouted. I immediately followed it up with an “I’m sorry” for cursing.
“Yup,” she said, smiling as she started to cut the pastry crust into rounds. “Fucking was exactly what I was thinking, too.”
That girl and her “eyes on eyes” truths.
I would admit nothing. I couldn’t.
We were under too much of a time crunch to banter about the state of my sex life, so we worked quietly until I knew I couldn’t put off the inevitable.
With the late start of what needed to go out today, the deliveries were going to be off as well, especially to Ginger. I didn’t want what happened between Marshall and I to interfere with the business relationship we had. An already fragile dynamic could break at any moment, especially after yesterday’s shenanigans. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice. I’d have to let him know.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and texted him.
Me: Hey. I got a late start this morning. Well, obviously. You were there. Oh. By the way, thanks for dropping me off at Ginger. Speaking of which, I’ll be or Phoebe will be in around four instead of the usual. I messed up with a menu change, and that’s all on me. I apologize. So, yeah, it’ll probably be me dropping off. Phoebe has to do the other deliveries. Is it okay if I not start the two-a-day deliveries until next week? We never did discuss when that would start because, well, you know. Anywho, it’ll probably be me dropping off. I think. Yeah. I already said that. Typed. Unless it’s weird now if I came in? So. Thanks. For understanding. About the deliveries. And thanks for last night. It was fun.
I hit send, and it was a second too late that it occurred to me what an idiot I was. The text was not only confusing, but also poorly written, unprofessional, and completely flippant for someone I had sex, really, really amazing sex with the night before.
Marshall: No problem.
Okay. Maybe I wasn’t flippant enough for it to be considered that because his response nailed it. That was it? No problem? It was almost disrespectful, and I could sense Lexie, the old me, emerging. My reaction would’ve been swift, sharp, and overreactive. I gave myself a moment to process it all and put myself in his position. If I had gotten a text like the one I sent to him, I would’ve replied in the same way he did.
Shit. I needed to smooth this all over, but how?
* * *
Ginger was already starting to fill in with the after-work crowd when I arrived at four. It wasn’t an ideal time to be making the drop-offs, but we had busted our butts to get it all done.
“Hey, Alexis,” Wells said from behind the bar, giving me a nod. “Need a hand?”
My arms were full of a few things I brought as peace offerings for Marshall and only a couple of pastry boxes. The rest were in my car.
I nodded. “Do you mind? My car is open, and they are in back.”
“No problem,” he said.
“Is Marshall in his office?” I asked.
“Yeah. Want me to tell him you’re here?”
“No, I’ll go check in with him after I drop these off in the kitchen,” I said.
“Cool,” he said.
I walked the pastry boxes to the back and placed them in the dessert area—which really was just my area. A member of the kitchen staff would set them up on trays, and when the orders came through, they’d plate them for customers.
After I rounded my way to Marshall’s office, I knocked on the closed door.
“Yeah?” he called.
I opened the door a crack. “Do you have a minute?”
“I do,” he said. “Come in and close the door.”
I did and set the shopping bag down on the floor next to the door. He was wearing a white button-down, GINGER written above the pocket in white lettering, and dark pants. It was something different from his usual jeans and T-shirts, but it worked.
I didn’t know what it was, but he looked hot.
When the moment passed, there was something floating in the air that deflated my desire of wanting to jump his bones.
Awkward silence.
The kind of quiet that occurred when you’re seeing the person you had sex with the night before, and you both are unsure about how the other is feeling.
“How’s everything?” he asked finally.
“Good,” I said. “Well, busy. You know, late start and all, but it’s good.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His shirt stretched against his strong chest as he did, and my brain took a straight shot to the night before, recalling my hands all over that chest. The smoothness of his skin, the hard dips and curves, and the tattoos that decorated it all. My fingers were all over the chest, my hands pushing against the taut muscles as he moved in and out above me.
“Well, I…,” I mumbled, as I picked up the shopping bag. “I wanted to apologize for being late and assure you it wouldn’t happen again.”
I carried the bag over to him and set it down at his feet. He cranked his head to look inside, tilting his head in confusion.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
I leaned over and picked the first bag out of it. “I know things have been crazy since you moved here, and considering
you’re a guy, you probably eat crap all the time, so I went to a few of my favorite places in town for some lunch. I guess dinner now, huh? Whatever.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No,” I said, placing the first items on his desk. “These are my two favorite sandwiches from High Street Deli. One is an Italian sub, better than any you can get in Chicago, and this other one”—I poked the top of the wrapped sandwich—“is incredible. It’s called the Highzenburger. It’s a meatloaf sandwich on a brioche bun with bacon and cheddar and this amazing chipotle mayo. So good.”
I paused as his mouth gaped open. His reaction was understandable because Highzenburger was even better than it sounded.
“Anyway,” I continued, digging back into the bag. “This next thing is so, so good, and I’m not even sure if you like seafood. I couldn’t remember, but I took a chance,” I said, setting down a white soup cup and a massive hunk of bread. “This is the clam chowder from Splash Café. It’s the best I’ve ever had. Even when I lived in Boston for a while after I left Chicago, it wasn’t ever as good as Splash. Oh, and a sourdough bread bowl because…yum.”
“Al…I…I,” he stuttered.
“I know. It all looks so good, right? I have one more thing, though. For a while, indulging in the things from this place felt like I was cheating on myself, but once I got over the fact that bakers need treats aside from their own a time or two, I was hooked.”
I took some care removing the brown bakery box, the final thing in the bag, and placed it with the others. “These,” I said, flipping open the top, “are some of the best from SLO Donut Company. Now, I don’t ever claim anything I make is the most delicious or best. I leave that up to the customers. However, I don’t think it’s a jab at my treats to say these are another level good. Maple bacon and frosted animal crackers–topped doughnuts, bear claws, apple fritter, and oh my God…doffles.”
“Ah. What-els?” he asked.
“Doffles,” I repeated. I pulled the triangle-shaped delight out of the box. “It’s a doughnut waffle, and I can’t even think after having one.”
I took a bite of the chocolate doffle, with chocolate glaze and colored sprinkles, and moaned softly with how good it was. After a wipe of the fallen sprinkles from my lips, I placed the rest of the doffle back in the box. I brushed off my hands, and a few sprinkles landed on his desk.
“Do you ever wonder about the people who make sprinkles?” I asked, staring at the sprinkle of sprinkles. “There are people that work in a sprinkle factory. I wonder what their life is like, you know? Like is it like glitter and they leave a trail of it wherever they go? Do they find sprinkles scattered around their home? I’m sure it gets annoying, but I don’t know. They don’t taste like much of anything, but colored sugar on top of sugar makes me happy.”
When my focus moved back to Marshall, he was once again slack-jawed. This was understandable. I was babbling about sprinkle factories after shoving half of a doffle that I brought for him into my mouth.
“All right,” I said. “That’s all. I hope you—”
He stood up, placing himself close in front of me. Very close. I could smell the now-familiar scent of his soap and his home. His home smelled like him, and it wasn’t a fragrance. It was something that was all over my clothes this morning, and when I took them off to shower, catching the scent, his scent, gave me goose bumps all over my body.
His eyes lifted up to mine, and a casual grin emerged in a way only a man who knew how damn sexy he was could. “There was a lot of thought put into this, Al. Are you sure it isn’t more than just a business apology?”
The way he phrased it, the way he was looking at me, gave me a hint to what he was getting at. I wasn’t going to let him know that, though.
“I’m not sure what you’re presuming,” I said.
“What I’m presuming is this isn’t only a professional peace offering, but rather a thank-you-for-fucking-my-brains-out-yesterday-gift.”
Oh, God.
Oh.
My.
God.
He stepped closer, invading whatever space was left between us. “You have a little chocolate left right here,” he said, tapping the edge of my lower lip.
With a boldness I hadn’t been prepared for, with an unlocked door and the world on the other side of us to see, he took my face in both of his hands before using the tip of his tongue to run along my bottom lip. He moved back and forth, removing whatever was left of the chocolate I’d left behind, before kissing me. And by the time he slipped his tongue in to meet mine, the world could’ve been exploding and I wouldn’t have cared.
After several moments—or maybe it was a hundred, I couldn’t tell—his lips and himself, had pulled back. “You leave a little sugar everywhere, don’t you?”
My head and thoughts clouded from his kisses and words. I ran the tip of my index finger over the faded yellow edge of his bruised eye. “This is getting better,” I said.
“Yes, it is,” he said, winking. “It’s all getting better.”
I patted his chest and turned away from him, both uncomfortable and turned on by his flirty, forward ways. I knew what I wanted, why I was there bringing him all the things, but it still didn’t make it right. The fight occurring between my brain and my heart was fierce, and just when I thought I had conceded to one, the other came out swinging.
It was such a powerful dynamic between us, a blending of two people who could bring such catastrophe to others around them. I didn’t know how something that felt so right could be so wrong.
“What’s going on in there?” he asked.
With my thoughts, I had drifted both emotionally and physically away from him, leaving him still standing in the same spot. He could see, sense all of it, and I didn’t have an answer for him.
“What is it, Al?”
I shrugged. “What is this?” I asked. “Last night. Now. What are we doing?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but I do know last night was fucking amazing.”
“It was. The sex, you, it was great,” I said.
He recoiled slightly, whatever hint of a smile he still had post-makeout gone. “Great, huh? The sex was great?”
“Well, yeah. I was agreeing with you.”
“And there wasn’t more than that there with you, with us?”
“Like what? It was great sex. We’ve had this intense chemistry, and we gave into it, right?”
I could see anger rising through him, but I didn’t know why. There was no way he was feeling all the emotions, all the conflict, like I was.
“Do you think that was just sex?” he asked. “You think that was the only thing I wanted from you?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched in anger, his flamed red cheeks visible under his beard. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for my response.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t fucking know?” he shouted.
“Don’t yell at me, Marshall.”
He blew out a strong breath and raised his hand up. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled, but I can’t fucking believe you just said that.”
“So what? That I didn’t know if it was just sex? I don’t know. I don’t think you do, either.”
“I do know!” he said, his voice rising again. “It wasn’t or at least it wasn’t for me.”
I was so confused because this was not how it was supposed to work. Not only was it not supposed to be this way for us, getting all the emotional strings tied into sex, but it wasn’t supposed to be what guys did. It was what I was doing, but trying my hardest not to.
Then it hit me.
Marshall was acting like a girl.
A small giggle escaped from me, but when I tried to hide it, it came out as a snort. Of course, this only made any laughter I was trying to hide become more apparent.
“What?” he snapped. “What is so damn funny? Are you…laughing at me?”
I waved my hand around while I settled my snickers. “No. Well, y
es.”
“You’re acting so immature, Al. It’s nothing I would expect from you.”
Laughter emerged again. What was happening to him?
“Screw you, Al,” he said, plopping himself down hard in his chair.
“Hold up,” I said. “Sorry I laughed. It was that I was thinking—”
“Is this a fucking joke to you? Do you think I’m taking this lightly? I’m not.”
“Neither am I.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Of course, I don’t think this is a joke, Marshall,” I said, my own anger rising. “Do you think I go around sleeping with every guy that tries? I don’t. In fact, I think I made that clear to you.”
“Actually, you didn’t make anything clear. You said you hadn’t dated.”
“And I haven’t.”
“So what were you doing with me?”
“Marshall. Come on. Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Ask you these questions? Make you fucking realize everything I have to lose? Have you even thought for a second what Aaron finding out would do to me? It will kill me if I hurt him. And not only that, Ginger would be finished.”
My jaw dropped open because I couldn’t believe he thought this about me, that he thought I hadn’t been over and over these things in my mind.
“That,” I said, pointing at him, “is bullshit.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is. You don’t think I agonized over this? You don’t think I’ve laid awake at night feeling awful that I’d been inadvertently inserted into not only your life, but Aaron’s? That if he knew, not only about us working together, but now sleeping together, it would cause him pain all over again?”
“Exactly! We are both putting it on the line, both with the interest of Aaron and Delilah in mind, but you still think what we did, what happened was only about sex? That doesn’t even make sense.”
It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t what was running through my brain, making my body shake when I thought it all out. I was terrified, with a bottomless fear that was so dark it made my stomach hurt considering it. The truth rendered me paralyzed.
“What is it, Al? You have sad face,” he said, his words gentle. “Look, if I was too hard on you, I get it. This is super overwhelming.”
So Wicked Page 15