God, her laugh.
How can we make this work? I want to make it work. I want her to be mine in every possible way, yet she lives here and I live in California. I’m at the height of my career, finally finding my place with a team, relieved that they have no desire to trade me. I’m happy in San Francisco, with my Niners.
Maisey? She’s happy here too. She has her own business, she’s doing well. How can I expect her to close her business and move to a new state, change her entire life, just for me?
I can’t.
For once in my life, I don’t know what to do.
“Oh my God, this cake is a complete pain in my ass.”
I chuckle under my breath when I hear Maisey complain from the kitchen. She’s working on my parents’ cake at home, though first she baked it in the industrial-sized oven at Cake Nation, then brought the cakes home when they cooled so she can frost them here. She claims she can concentrate better when she’s at her place, but I don’t believe her.
I think she just wanted to hang out with me.
“Why is the cake such a pain in your ass?” I ask her as I walk into the kitchen a minute later.
She glances up at me, blowing the wayward hair out of her eyes with a frustrated breath, a frosting tube clutched in her hands. “Soooo many lines on this, and they have to be perfect,” she says, drawing the words out. “I can’t screw up. There’s no room for me to make a mistake.”
“You’ve got this.” I come up behind her, settling my hands on her shoulders. She’s so tight, I immediately start massaging them, easing the knots from her muscles with the hard press of my fingers. “So tense.”
“Hunching over a cake for hours on end isn’t good for you,” she says, sucking her lower lip between her teeth as she draws a gold line of frosting on the cake.
“I know something that’ll make you feel better,” I whisper close to her ear.
She smiles, but shakes her head. “I have to finish this tier first.”
Damn. Guess I’ll have to wait. The sex between us has been unbelievable. I can’t get enough of her. And I don’t think she can get enough of me either. We’ve done it everywhere.
Everywhere.
When I’m done massaging her shoulders, I move so I’m sitting at the table across from her, watching her work. “Found out today a few of my friends are coming to my parents’ party.”
“Friends from school?” she asks, her gaze still locked on the cake as she draws line after line of frosting.
“No, friends from my team. Football players.”
She glances up at me. “Who?”
“Jordan Tuttle and Cannon Whittaker. They go way back, went to high school together. They’ve been good to me since I’ve joined the team,” I explain. “And they were both so nice to my parents when they came to visit last season, I had to put the offer out there. Didn’t expect them to accept, but they’ll be here this weekend.”
“How cool.” She doesn’t sound that interested, but I think it’s because she’s so overwhelmed with decorating the cake.
Yet I still can’t help but feel a little butt hurt.
“They fly in tomorrow.” I stare at her for a moment, waiting for her to look at me, but she doesn’t take her focus away from the cake. Is it rational to be jealous of food? Probably not. “I’m hoping we can all go to dinner together tomorrow night. Tuttle brought his fiancée and so did Cannon.”
“They’re both engaged?”
“Yeah, they are.” I’m a little envious of their relationships too. They both fell head over heels in love with their women, though Jordan never really fell out of love with Amanda since they were high school sweethearts.
I can totally relate.
“I’d love to meet them. As long as this cake will be done in time. Oh, and I have to finish the wedding cakes for this weekend.” She’s gnawing on her lower lip again, her laser focus concentration in full effect.
“You can do it,” I say with all the confidence of someone who doesn’t have to work on anything. “I have faith in you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Her voice is sarcastic. “Glad to know you’re by my side.”
I rear back in my chair, confused. She’s acting pissed. It’s gotta be stress. I’ve given her no reason to be stressed out or upset. I’ve been the perfect boyfriend this last week.
The perfect temporary boyfriend.
Shit. Maybe that’s the problem.
“If you don’t want to go to dinner tomorrow, it’s cool,” I say, keeping my voice even. I don’t want to show I’m angry. I’m not really angry.
But if I keep poking at her, provoking her, then I’m going to cause a fight.
Sighing, she sets the frosting tube down, pushing her hair away from her forehead before she blows an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry if I’m being a jerk. I definitely want to go, but I won’t be able to if this cake isn’t finished. Plus, I have the wedding cakes to do. Thank God, they’re not too outrageous.” She props her elbow on the table, rubbing at her temple as she remains quiet. Unease slips through me and I wait for her to say something else.
With a heavy sigh she says, “I have to be honest with you, Tucker. I’m claiming I’ll get it all done, but I won’t. I know I won’t. I have too much to do, I’m feeling overwhelmed, and there’s no way I can make time for dinner with your friends tomorrow. I’m so sorry.”
I sit there, blinking at her. I should appreciate her honesty. I do appreciate it. But I also feel like she’s not making enough time for me, and it…sucks.
I make time for her. All I want is to devote myself to her completely.
Clearly she doesn’t feel the same way.
“You’re busy. I get it.” I’m busy from August until February—if we make the playoffs and ultimately, the Super Bowl. That hasn’t happened in my career yet, but I know busy. I’ve experienced it enough that sometimes I forgot where I was, especially in the early years of my career.
She’s studying me, her gaze narrowed.
Uh oh.
“You don’t have to act so pouty,” she says.
“I’m not pouting,” I immediately return.
At least, I didn’t think I was.
“This is my life.” She waves her hands around the dining room area, her expression irritable. “This is what I do. And I know I’m overextended. I do too much, I don’t know how to say no, and you know what? I’m okay with that. I want to be busy. I need this. I need to grow my career, and make Cake Nation a total success. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy now, but I want more. I deserve more.”
“I agree. You do deserve more. You work damn hard, and I’m so proud of you. You can do so much—” I start to say, but she cuts me off.
“Right. I know. This is the only thing I’ve done on my own, and I can’t throw it away for someone else. For something that has no guarantees.” Her chest is rising and falling frantically, her lips parted, her eyes wide, and I’m…
Confused by her reaction.
“What exactly are you saying, Maise?”
“I don’t know! The real question is, what exactly are we doing? We act like we’re together. I always want to spend time with you. I think you feel the same way. But can’t you see that what we’re doing is impossible?” She shakes her head when I start to talk and I remain quiet. Note the unshed tears in her eyes, making them shine. “I watched my sister and her husband suffer through this. Though their circumstance is different, and Brody was able to move his business here. I don’t have that option, and neither do you.”
Actually, she does have that option. I’m guessing she just doesn’t want to.
“Long distance relationships can work,” I suggest and she’s shaking her head repeatedly.
She doesn’t want to hear it.
“We can’t play at a real couple anymore, Tucker. No matter how badly I want to. In the end, I’m going to get hurt again, and I can’t risk it.” A single tear falls, sliding a damp path down her cheek and I’m tempted to reach across the table and catch it with my th
umb.
I hate to see her cry.
“I would never hurt you.” I rise to my feet, glaring at her, hating the flash of hurt, the flash of pain that streaks through me, sticking low in my gut. She’s basically kicking me out. Why? Because she cares about me too much? “That is the last thing I want to do.”
“Too late.” Her smile is tremulous, like she’s about to break at any moment. “You already did.”
Chapter Fifteen
Maisey
How I made it through the last few days, I’m not sure. After Tucker left my house that night, I broke down. Forget frosting his parents’ cake. All I could do was cry.
And cry and cry and cry.
Maybe I got it all out of my system, because the next day, it was business as usual. Or maybe it was because that’s all I could manage—cry for a few hours, then get back on my feet. I had things to do. A business to run.
I keep telling myself it was for the best, me ending it with Tucker right then and there. I have to protect myself, and him too. While it’s been a lot of fun, spending time with Tucker, and I know if circumstances were different, we could totally make it work. But I refuse to offer up my heart to him one more time, only for him to crush it.
No way could I suffer through that again.
So I concentrated on my work. The wedding cakes both turned out fabulous. Once they were done, I returned to the project I started, and I finished the McCloud anniversary cake late Saturday night.
And now it’s Sunday evening. I delivered and set up the cake a few hours ago, then rushed home, took a shower, and curled my hair into a 1920s style accompanied by a sequined headband and a feather. I carefully applied my makeup, told myself I would not cry tonight, and I arrived at the party fashionably late, wearing my gorgeous black and gold sequined flapper dress.
No way was I going to waste the forty-five bucks I spent on this dress I ordered from Amazon Prime. It’s beautiful. Form fitting, sleeveless, the hem made out of long black fringe, this costume makes me feel like a movie star. Wearing it is making me act more confident than I feel, which is a good thing.
I’m going to need as much confidence as I can muster tonight.
As I enter the ballroom where the party is being held, I see plenty of friends, including most of the McCloud family, and they all wave at me with giant grins on their faces. Seeing everyone renews my feeling that coming tonight was the right choice. I don’t have to skip out on this celebration to save Tucker’s feelings.
Besides, let him catch one last glimpse of me in this dress, just before I strut out of his life for good.
The party is in full swing. Servers move about the room carrying trays laden with appetizers or flutes of champagne. The place is decorated in black and gold streamers, and there are giant number-shaped balloons everywhere—so many 40s I wonder how many they bought. There’s a DJ on a platform right in front of the makeshift dance floor, and the music—currently a song from The Great Gatsby soundtrack—is loud. I see Tucker’s parents out on the dance floor kicking it up, both of them laughing.
My heart kicks as I stop to watch them. To have such a strong love like theirs, to be there for each other unconditionally for the last forty years…
What would that be like? I can’t imagine it. Don’t think I’ll ever be lucky enough to experience something like that either.
“You showed up.”
I turn to find Stella McCloud standing in front of me, gorgeous in a black sequin and lace dress that faintly resembles mine, clutching a glass of champagne.
“I did,” I tell her. From the way she’s looking at me, I hope she’s not mad. “I was invited.”
“Right. I know you were.” Stella smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But you broke my brother’s heart.”
Her simple words gut me, but I champion through it. Fake it till you make it, right? “He’ll be fine. Seriously. He’ll go back to California and forget all about me.”
“I don’t think so.” Stella shakes her head and takes a step closer, her voice lowering. “He came over to my house last night, and we talked for a while. I swear he was going to cry.”
Oh my God. “Why would he cry?” I’ve never seen Tucker cry.
Ever.
“He misses you. Like I said, you broke his heart, Maisey. And plus, he was hanging out with his friends and their girlfriends and he said it made him realize he’s never going to find someone who’s perfect for him. Well. He did say he found her.” She sends me a pointed look. “But she doesn’t feel the same.”
I feel the same way, I want to scream at her.
“It won’t work,” I tell her, grabbing hold of her hands and squeezing hard as I stare into her eyes. I’m trying to convince her that I’m right. I’m also trying to convince myself. “I want it to, but it won’t. It didn’t before.”
“That’s because you two were young and he stupidly broke up with you,” Stella reminds me.
“The circumstances haven’t necessarily changed. He lives and works in another state. I live and work here. My life is here,” I say as I release Stella’s hands.
She pulls me into a quick hug and asks quietly, “But where’s your heart?”
My entire body prickles with awareness and I know someone is watching us. Watching me. I know who that someone is too.
Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Tucker across the room, flanked on either side by men who are just as tall, broad, and handsome as he is. He’s wearing a black suit, and he looks incredibly gorgeous. So gorgeous, just staring at him is making my entire body ache.
His intense gaze is locked on me. His expression like stone, his eyes…
Like fire.
That fire, passion, emotion, is all for me.
I turn away, my gaze meeting Stella’s once more, who’s watching me with a knowing look. I’m sure she just witnessed that little moment, and I need to act like it meant nothing. “He’ll be better off without me.”
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that,” Stella says with a sigh and a shake of her head, just before she walks away.
Leaving me all alone.
I grab a glass of champagne from a passing server and down all of it in one swallow, setting the empty glass on a nearby table. I’m standing on the sidelines of the dance floor, watching everyone laugh and shout and have a good time. Brooke and Brody are dancing, and the smile on my sister’s face is one of pure, unadulterated joy. I’ve never seen her look happier. It’s all because she found her true love, fought for it, waited for it, and he came back to her.
They are meant to be.
Me? I’m miserable. Thinking about what I said to Stella. What she said to me. My life is here, but my heart is with Tucker.
And when he leaves, he’ll take my heart with him.
Chapter Sixteen
Tucker
“That’s her, huh?” my friend and 49er quarterback Jordan Tuttle asks me, indicating Maisey with a casual nod in her direction. She’s across the room, my sister has just walked away from her, and I can’t stop staring. I want to go to her. I’m desperate to go to her.
But I can’t. She told me how she felt. She doesn’t want to continue this.
She doesn’t want me.
“That’s her,” I murmur, bringing my champagne glass to my lips, but I don’t drink. Instead, I’m staring at the golden, bubbly alcohol, fizzing like it’s a living, breathing thing. You drink champagne to celebrate something, and though yes, my parents have something pretty major to celebrate, I don’t.
I’m not feeling this party, the joyous mood, none of it. I can’t even make myself drink champagne. It all feels like a lie.
Everyone’s having the time of their lives, and I’m a miserable, sad sack of shit.
“She’s beautiful,” Jordan says, nudging me with his elbow, making me wince. “You should go talk to her.”
“Hell, no.” I take a sip of the champagne, make a face, and set it on the empty tray of a passing server.
“Why not?” Th
is from Cannon’s fiancée, Lady Susanna Sumner. That’s a mouthful, am I right? She’s nobility, her dad is an earl or whatever—I have no idea what that means—but it feels like Cannon is marrying into the royal family. He’s become a huge celebrity in the U.K. these last few months, which is crazy.
“She dumped me a few days ago,” I say, my voice tight.
Susanna frowns. She has the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen and they’re blinking up at me at this very moment. “Look at her right now. She seems so sad—as sad as you. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, she meant every word she said,” I say with a chuckle that doesn’t hold even a hint of humor.
“Sometimes we say things we regret.” Susanna rests her small hand on my forearm. “Haven’t you ever said anything you regret?”
All the time. I have numerous regrets, most of them having to do with Maisey.
“I think Susanna’s right,” Jordan says, and she turns to gape at him, which makes me think this doesn’t happen often. “You should go talk to her.”
“And what do I say to her?” I ask him.
Cannon chooses that moment to appear by his future wife’s side, slinging his arm over her shoulders. He’s been the hit of the night, dancing with all of my mom’s friends, joking with the guys, taking photos with everyone, and having the time of his life. For being such a large, quiet man, he definitely knows when to turn it on and socialize. “Tell her how you really feel,” he says to me just before he drops a kiss on top of Susanna’s blonde head.
“How do you even know what we’re talking about?” I ask him irritably.
“It’s all you’ve been talking about since we got here,” Cannon answers, shaking his head. Like he’s disappointed in me. “Man up and let her know that you’re willing to do anything to make this work.”
How can I admit putting myself out there—one more time—is terrifying? I sound like a wimp. “What if she rejects me again?” I ask. That’s my biggest fear. She rejected me once already a few days ago. She’s most likely going to do it again.
Is this some sort of revenge thing because of what I did to her when we were teenagers? God, I hope not.
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