Sugarlips (Beefcakes Book 2)

by Katana Collins

  “Like what?”

  I arched a brow and jutted my chin toward the TV. “You’re going to miss the movie.”

  She shrugged. “You’re more interesting than that.”

  I glanced at my phone. Crap. I had to be awake to open the bakery in a few hours. Swiping a hand down my weary face, I sighed. “You’re going to think it’s stupid. Everyone does.”

  “Try me,” she said.

  “I’ve always wanted to run my own food truck.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Like John Favreau in Chef!”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Well, no. But kind of.”

  “That’s very trendy right now. What kind of food would you want to sell?”

  I shrugged. “That’s the problem.” Or rather, one of the many problems with my half-baked plan… no pun intended. “I don’t really have enough of a hook. I change my mind constantly about what the food truck should serve. At first, I wanted it to be crepes. Then I thought maybe donuts. It can’t be cupcakes because I’ll be competing with Beefcakes and that would be stupid. Not to mention, the cost of a food truck is high and then the permits can be tricky.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I have a sister who can help with the permitting.”

  “Yeah.” My voice sounded dull. I didn’t even know what kind of food I wanted to cook… this plan was so far off from being anything tangible that most days, I just gave up on it.

  “You should do it,” Chloe said. “Bringing a food truck to Maple Grove would be really smart. Especially parking around the public lakes and parks… there’s no easily walkable food in that area. You’d probably make a killing serving lunch there.”

  I pressed my lips into a firm line. “Maybe.” Problem was, I didn’t have a desire to provide meals… or lunch… or lobster rolls to New England tourists. Baking was my passion. Always was, even in culinary school.

  “At least you have a job,” Chloe sulked, sinking into the couch. “I quit mine when I got engaged. Dan convinced me I didn’t need to work and that we could live off his salary.”

  I scrunched my nose, grateful for the topic change, but also more than a little surprised at her admission. “Did you want to quit working?”

  She shrugged. “I like marketing and events planning. But planning my wedding was sort of like my job in a way. I think I convinced myself it would be fun to take that time off. Now look at me.”

  “Well… you’ll interview for jobs, and I’m sure you’ll get something insanely cool. I mean, look at you. Who wouldn’t want you doing their marketing and events?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. But she sounded about as convinced as I was about my food truck idea. We were quite the self-loathing pair.

  I tugged my phone free and sent a text to my younger brother, Finn.

  I’m helping Elaina’s sister tonight and it’s getting late with no end in sight. Can you open the bakery without me in the morning?

  His response came back almost immediately.

  I got you covered. I just have to leave by noon. I’ve got an appointment.

  Finn had an appointment somewhere? His use of that word specifically struck a chord in me. If it was lunch or hanging with a friend, he usually says ‘plans.’ My kid brother hadn’t held down a job in his entire life. Even still, it was none of my business. Especially since he was doing me the favor. Thanks, bro. I’ll be there well before noon to set you free, I texted him back.

  His response was almost instant. Perfect. Have fun. ;)

  I swallowed my groan.

  No… no winky faces. Just helping out a friend.

  I read the word again. Friend. It rolled around in my mouth. Like the first sip from a new bottle of wine, I tried to decide if I liked the flavor or not.

  Friend. I glanced down at where Chloe was now laying against me, her soft cheek pressed into my chest. Her body twitched as she laughed at one of the lines from the first scene.

  Was that what we were becoming? Friends?

  12:03 a.m.

  Baaaaaarf!

  I knelt behind Chloe, holding her long, mermaid hair back from her face while she emptied her stomach of the three cupcakes and half a bottle of tequila into the toilet.

  I rubbed my free hand over her back in circles the way my mom used to do for me when I was sick.

  With a final dry heave, she fell back on her knees, leaning against the wall. I handed her a wet washcloth, which she wiped at her mouth. One of her fake eyelashes had come loose and was hanging off of her eye.

  Forcing myself not to laugh or even smile, I reached over and pulled it free from her eye. “Is this the sort of thing you’re supposed to make a wish and blow?”

  She rolled her eyes, but still smiled, not seeming to be embarrassed at all by the fake eyelash resting on my finger. “That’s for a single, real lash. And birthday candles.”

  “Ah. Silly me.”

  I set the lashes on the bathroom counter, then wiped my fingers tenderly beneath her eyes, trying to help clean up the makeup that was now smeared there. She swallowed, her soft gaze landing on mine as I brushed my knuckle down her jaw.

  “There,” I whispered. “Beautiful, as always.”

  With a clumsy hand, she pointed up at the sink. “Can you hand me my toothbrush?”

  “Think you’re ready for bed?” I stood and grabbed the toothbrush, wetting it and putting a little toothpaste on it before handing it to Chloe.

  She brushed her teeth as I helped her to her feet, bracing her elbows to help her lean over the sink. She spat, then rinsed her mouth with the running tap water. “Can we watch another movie in bed?”

  “I-I don’t know if that’s such a good idea—”

  “Oh, come on. I’m not asking you to sleep with your penis in my vagina. I’m just asking if we can watch another movie in a different area of my house together. Best friends do that, you know. They have sleepovers.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her playfully. “I didn’t agree to be your best friend.”

  She tossed her toothbrush onto the sink and walked past me into her bedroom. “Not yet, but you will.”

  12:57 a.m.

  Damn, this is a comfy bed. What the hell are these sheets made out of? Silk? Satin? Heroin?

  Chloe was curled on her side in the fetal position. Her breathing was steady and deep, and she made the most adorable sighing sounds every few breaths. Somewhere between Elle Woods moving to Boston and her getting the Callahan internship, she must have fallen asleep.

  My arm was draped over her and she was tucked into me. I tried my damnedest not to think about how well we fit. We were big spoon and little spoon personified.

  But Chloe Dyker didn’t need a big spoon right now. She needed a friend. A best friend, apparently. She’d said so several times that night.

  As quietly as I could manage, I unlatched my fingers from where hers threaded between mine and rolled away, wincing as the bed squeaked with my movement.

  She stirred beside me, rolling on her back and rubbing at her puffy eyes. “Liam?”

  My spine went stiff. “Shhh,” I whispered. “It’s late. Go back to sleep.”

  She was sitting upright now, her eyes wide. “Are you leaving?”

  “I…” To be honest, I was thinking about it. What was it about Chloe Dyker that had such mesmerizing power over me? “No. I was just getting some water. Would you like some?”

  “If by water, you mean tequila, yes.”

  I made a face at her. “I think maybe you’ve had enough tequila for one night.”

  “How about a donut instead?”

  I nodded, and after a few minutes, I returned with a frosted donut resting on a small plate and two glasses of water, as well as a couple of ibuprofen. “Think you can keep these down?” I asked, placing the two gel caps into her outstretched palm.

  She shrugged and popped them into her mouth with no objection, washing them down with water. Then, she dove for the donut, dipping her finger into the frosting and licking it off her finger.

  “Hey,”
I laughed, moving her hand away. “We’re sharing that. It’s the last one.”

  She gave me an exaggerated pout as I dropped an empty waste can beside her on the floor… just in case. “I’ve just been dumped… you’re not going to let me have the last donut?”

  I crawled back into bed beside her and pinched off a piece of the donut. “Best friends share…”

  Her grin widened. “So, you admit we’re going to be best friends?”

  “I don’t know. You going to share that last donut?”

  Biting the corner of her bottom lip, she slid the plate toward me on the comforter and I took another piece. “How come you don’t sell donuts at the bakery?”

  I shrugged. “They don’t really fit the branding. Donuts are sort of a specialty thing and people don’t think to come to us for it.”

  She quirked a brow in my direction. “Doesn’t mean you can’t shift your branding to include it. Because these might be the best donuts I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something.”

  I tried to include donuts at the bakery a couple times, but they didn’t take off. People come in for cupcakes, croissants, and cakes. Not for a dozen donuts to feed their houseguests in the morning. “Well, maybe the next business we open will be donuts.” I smiled and brushed my thumb across her lips where some of the glaze was clinging. “Sugarlips Donuts.”

  Chloe’s eyes went wide. “Sugarlips Donuts,” she whispered. “I love it. It could be what you sell on your food truck,” she added, studying my face like I was her notes for a final exam. “You wouldn’t even have to bake out of the food truck. You could bake at Beefcakes and then just sell them remotely out of the truck.”

  The statement struck a chord in my gut making me sit taller in the bed. But as much as the idea initially excited me, the seed of an idea was still far from germination. “Even drunk, you can’t turn off your marketing brain, huh?”

  She smiled, but it was fleeting, dropping quickly like a butterfly’s wings. “Thank you,” she said. And for the first time all night, she refused to look me in the eye. “For staying tonight.”

  I nodded but didn’t quite know what to say. I don’t think this night shaped up how either of us expected it to… but I couldn’t say I was unhappy with the strange turn of events. “How about Pillow Talk next?” I asked, flipping through the streaming site.

  “What’s that?”

  I dropped my jaw, indignant. “Rock Hudson… Doris Day… a party phone line. Are you kidding? It’s classic.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me. “How do you know so much about romantic comedies?”

  “You really think only women can enjoy them?”

  “They’re called chick flicks for a reason.” I strained to glance at her without moving my head. This was more like it. From the sympathetic crying to enjoying Reese Witherspoon movies, this was the reaction I was used to getting from women—emasculation. But I’d thought Chloe might be different.

  I sighed. “When I was a kid… like, really little. Kindergarten age, I was sick a lot. Addy was the twin born first, and it’s like she got all the good genes and I got the shitty immune system. So when I was home from school, my mom and I used to watch movies together. And I’ve never felt the macho need to pretend I’m too good to enjoy a well-written scene at the top of the empire state building.”

  I felt her finger dip into my chin dimple again. “You’re mad.” It was a statement, not a question. And a true one, at that.

  “Mad might be too strong of a word.”

  “Annoyed?”

  I nodded, but then clarified. “Frustrated.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered and turned my face to look at her. “I’ve never had a guy friend who likes rom-coms as much as I do.”

  I smiled. “Well, almost. When Harry Met Sally is still a terrible movie. Even though it proves a good point that men and women can’t really be friends.”

  She smiled back, then tucked her head into the nook of my arm and chest. “We’ll prove they can,” she said.

  For the smallest moment, I found myself wishing she was wrong.

  1:47 a.m.

  A small sniffle came from beside me and my spine went stiff. No. She couldn’t be crying now, could she? We’d almost made it the whole night without any tears.

  I risked a small glance down at her face, and sure enough, a single tear streaked down her cheek.

  “Hey,” I said quietly, giving her arm a squeeze. “Everything okay down there?”

  Another sniffle. “Westley loved Buttercup!” she cried out.

  I tugged her into my arms for a proper hug, resting my hand on her hair. We’d decided on The Princess Bride when we couldn’t find Pillow Talk on any streaming sites. “Yeah,” I said. “He did. It was ‘Wuv. Twue wuv.’”

  She snorted a laugh that quickly morphed into more sobs against my chest. Her hands clutched the cotton of my t-shirt and I held her tighter as she cried. The kind of hard, limb-shaking tears that rock through your whole body.

  Oh, God… no. Shit. It was coming. The threat of my own tears. My chest ached. My throat was tight. My eyes burned white-hot and pricked with sensitivity. I glanced up at the ceiling, willing those stupid empathetic tears to evaporate like a puddle on the sidewalk during a heat wave in Nevada.

  I blinked and one tear fell, landing right on Chloe’s nose.

  She pulled back, blinking and hiccupping as she searched my face. “Did you… are you crying, too?”

  I swiped the back of my knuckle beneath my eyes. “Yeah… uh. I’m a sympathetic crier,” I admitted. It was the last thing I wanted to admit to her. I wanted to be strong and macho. The kind of guy she could trust to support her and lean on in these times. But then again, if she was right and we were going to be best friends… she’d find out the truth eventually.

  I raised my brows, awaiting the onslaught of jokes and sarcastic remarks. I’d heard them all from Finn already anyway. I doubted there was a new one she could sling my way. “Lemme guess, this makes me a vagina?”

  Her own tears had stopped, but I could see the wet tracks of where they had run down her cheeks. She licked her lips—those fucking full, gorgeous lips—once more. “No,” she whispered and reached a hand up to touch my face. Her soft fingers dragged beneath my eyes, then down the bridge of my nose until her finger landed at my jaw. Her gaze was steadfast on my lips. “It makes you a pussy.”

  I grinned. “Did you just call me sexy?”

  She shook her head. “No… friends don’t call each other sexy, remember?”

  “Right, right. I almost forgot.”

  2

  Liam

  The next morning, I woke up slightly disoriented and very dehydrated. Even though I’d only had a little bit of tequila, it was a hell of a lot more than I usually had on any other given day.

  Chloe’s pillows were so much fluffier than my own. Her sheets were more luxurious than the cotton jersey sheets I buy from Target. And I could smell pancakes, bacon, and coffee from somewhere in the house.

  I bolted upright, suddenly remembering the night before, and reached for my phone. The battery icon at the top was blinking red—only two percent left.

  There were half a dozen texts, but I first opened the one from Finn to make sure everything at the bakery was okay. Just as I was opening a text from Neil, my phone blinked and turned black. Shit.

  With a glance at Chloe’s bedside table, I saw the time—8:30 a.m. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept in past seven… even on my mornings off. I was the guy who woke up early so that I could run along the lake trail before it got too busy. I found that keeping to an early schedule made those 3:00 a.m. wake-up calls that much easier.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face and used the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my eyes and gargled some of Chloe’s mouthwash before I went downstairs to find a surprisingly un-hungover Chloe cooking breakfast.

  Um, if you could call that cooking. There was a strong smell of charcoal surrounding the kitchen th
at you only get when you’ve been burning things consistently in the same pan.

  With the Motown blasting, she didn’t seem to hear me come down the stairs. Instead, she flipped a pancake, then pulled the spatula up in front of her mouth to croon along with The Shirelles in her makeshift microphone.

  “This is… er… quite the spread you’ve put out,” I said, coming into the kitchen.

  Chloe screamed and, when she spun around to face me, knocked the bowl of pancake batter on the ground. Cream-colored batter splattered everywhere, spraying up onto the cabinets and even our pant legs.

  Still leaning against the counter, she pressed her palm into her chest and heaved a panting breath. “Oh my God. You scared me. I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

  “Early? This is sleeping in for me.”

  She scrunched her nose like I’d said something truly horrific. “Eight-thirty is a late morning for you?”

  I laughed as she handed me an empty mug from the cabinet. “Well… yeah. It is for most people who work.”

  “Yeah, but it’s Saturday.”

  I nodded, pouring a mug full of black coffee and taking a sip. “That’s the busiest day at the bakery.”

  Her face paled and her mouth fell open. “Oh, fuck. I forgot about the bakery. And Neil and my sister are still in New York.”

  My gut tied in a knot. For the first time in months, I hadn’t been thinking about that stupid reality show my brother had entered in an effort to get us out of debt. And I hadn’t been constantly worrying last night how we were going to make the minimum payments on Mom’s medical bills that had been piling up in the months since her breast cancer diagnosis. Chloe had helped me escape… if only for a few hours. And it was glorious.

  Neil and Elaina had made it to the finals of the reality show, which filmed last night. So now? We were either going to have half a million dollars… or still be in massive debt.