by Kira Graham
“Well, shit. We could play with the light switches again? That one was funny too.”
“Only until we fried the breaker box and Dad came home to find us,” I snort, shuddering because that was bad.
The poor guy was so pissed he really let us have it—and in Dad’s case that means crying. A lot. Until I’m filled with remorse and want to die. Mostly because remorse is gross, and as a part of the Sugar clan, it’s a foreign feeling I don’t want to feel ever again.
“That was whack? I didn’t know a grown man could cry for an hour. Though to be fair, your hair was hilarious.”
“That wasn’t funny. I had to have it relaxed, and my left foot still twitches sometimes. Doctor Bob said I could have sustained nerve damage from the electrical current. And I coulda fried my brain!”
“Girl, you need one first,” Gia scoffs, laughing her ass off when I gasp—and then my eyes widen when she walks around the counter, grabs her shotgun and nods at me to open the door.
We’ve stacked the boxes on the counter, and the customers know how this works. Call out a name, they come to the door, take their box and leave. Anyone else moves and Gia… well, she used to date a cop for a reason, and even after they broke up, the poor schmuck still likes her so much she can basically do anything and get away with it. It’s how we survived the Jackal hunt four years ago and ended up cornered by cops, holding a hobo hostage in his shopping cart and having to explain inexplicable things. Like why we were wearing nurse costumes and kidnapping a hobo.
In our defense, those were the rules that year. Too bad for Gia and me we found the wrong hobo. Freaking Simon.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she nods, the snick-snick of her gun and her wide-legged stance telling the wide-eyed patrons outside that she means business. “Slow and sure, now, Lu. Ten minutes. And, go!” she yells, her eyes unblinking as I open the door and grab the first box, calling out the name.
“Ivana! Ivana Dickalot,” I yell, holding up the box while the crowd goes quiet and I hear Gia snicker, my brow furrowing hard when no one comes forward. “Hey! Hello, are you assholes listening?” I yell, holding the box up and waiting for someone to claim it, which is sort of cruel but it’s the rule of Bonus Box, and these assholes know the rules.
“You gotta take it, whoever you are,” Gia yells, still snickering while I smirk and wait for the crowd to part.
I nearly wet myself when an old lady shuffles forward, hands me her ticket so I can check the barcode and match it to the box, and then I hold it out to her, still smirking and waiting.
“Ivana Dickalot,” she mutters, grabbing the box while I giggle and watch her storm away.
“Jesus, what crawled up her crotch? Obviously not a dick,” Gia huffs, our usual game usually a lot more fun than this.
Heck, one time one of the patrons even came up with a few better names for us to put on the boxes and we had a pseudo competition where people could post their names on Gia’s WhatsApp, and we gave a free three months of Bonus Boxes to the most creative. It’s a weekly thing, and the patrons know the drill. You call yourself by the name we’ve assigned or you lose the box, paid for or not.
“Okay! Ooooh, this one’s awesome. Ma Balsahery! Where’s Ma Balsahery?” I ask, enjoying the laughter that rings out when a thin blonde prances up, grinning, and gives me her ticket.
“Ma Balsahery! Thanks, hun. My boyfriend’s been wanting these for a while!” she trills, her grin earsplitting when someone laughs and asks her if her boyfriend is into hairy balls.
That goes on for a bit, Gia still holding her gun, me calling out outrageous names and people laughing themselves hoarse because of the people I’ve attached the names to. I even got a little eighty-year-old man who was more than tickled when he had to call himself Harry Ascrac. That one has us all busting a gut, and by the time a huge, barrel-chested guy with a beer gut and tattoos sidles up, a big grin on his face and the name Jenny Talia comes out of his mouth, my day is practically made. I laugh so hard I have tears streaming down my face, and even Gia’s lost her badass gun-toting attitude and is smiling at the hoard.
“Hugh G. Salami!” I yell, giggling while people laugh and rag me for being unoriginal, the guy in the front calling out obscene names that are so off the cuff I’m nearly blind with laughter tears.
“It is huge,” a voice drawls, stalling out my laughter and bringing my head up to see Cameron O’Dare staring down at me, his grin so infectious I’m stunned.
To see him, to have him standing in front of my bakery in the freaking Bronx and laughing with everyone while we do something so unorthodox I know it’s ridiculous is stupefying.
“What the heck are you doing here?” I gasp, my giggles drying up when he steps in close, smiles at me and shrugs.
“It isn’t every day I find out the girl I’m trying to date runs a bakery named Sugar Buns,” he drawls, his eyes so focused on me I squirm a little and do something I haven’t ever done in my life.
I giggle while twirling my hair—and only realize it when Gia snorts, shoves me out of the way, and grabs the list.
Brain, you better start working, I huff, a thrill shooting through me and killing any effort the idiot may attempt when Cameron grabs my elbow, grabs Hugh G. Salami’s box and walks me back to the counter where he places his box and pulls it open.
“Jesus, it’s like a circus,” another voice mutters, and I turn around to see the guy who was with Cameron when he stole my kitten, his features so similar I remember it’s his brother Connor. “Is it like this all the time?”
“Only Thursdays.” I smile, waving at a third man who comes to stand beside Connor, his head a cap of black stubble that’s so silky-looking I immediately want to run my fingers through it. “Today’s Bonus Box day,” I shrug, laughing when they all shrug right back.
“Oh, come on. You have to know, if you ordered,” I snort, looking at Cameron and then back between them until Cameron sighs and curses.
“I got my PA to order the box. I had no idea what this was until I got here,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Hell of a marketing scheme you got here, Louisiana. Genius,” he says again, the praise making me blush and giggle again.
What is wrong with you! Seriously, stop looking at how cute he is, and stop falling for his charm. He stole your victory, Lu. He’s a victory thief, I hiss to myself. But honestly, he’s so yuuuummy.
“He’s right,” Connor says softly, frowning and leaning forward to reach in and pull out a raspberry-chocolate donut I came up with when Mom told me she’s allergic to the berries.
What? Never reveal a weakness, Patty; never reveal a weakness and give your enemy a gap. Is it my fault she trusts me just because I came out of her womb—
“Oh, for Christ’s sakes!” someone screams right before Gia storms up to me, snatches the phone out of my hand and slams it on the counter. “Would you stop reaching for that thing to narrate every damn moment! It’s getting weird—and you’re standing here doing it in front of the same hot guy who wants to ask you out. You’re failing to look cool, epically, Lu,” she hisses, grinning at Connor and the other guy and giving Cameron a shake of her head. “She was dropped at birth. Dad says the doctor was drunk; Mom says he passed out from the gusher she sprang when Lu clawed her way to freedom, but I personally think she’s just damaged. Take pity on her. Her face is tolerable enough, and she bakes really well.”
“Would you quit?” I hiss, leaning in close to glare while she sniffs and bobs her head at me while sniffing.
“Not until you stop talking into your phone, asshole. Half the time it isn’t even on.”
Okay, so that’s true! But sometimes I just get so into it I don’t notice. And the audio helps. At least that’s what Lee says. I’m trusting her, here, since she’s an ex-bride of Christ, but then again, she broke an unbreakable vow and since she’s Mom’s bestie, maybe this isn’t a good idea…
“Fine, but if Lee whines to Mom, you’re explaining it,” I huff, shaking on it as soon as she accepts because th
at’s her bag of chips right now.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, but what the fuck is this heaven?” Connor asks, pushing in between us to hold out the tiniest piece of Raspberry Bomb, his eyes wide, his mouth covered in sugar, and his expression so blissed out, I giggle while Gia groans.
“And another one bites the dust,” Gia grumbles, grinning when I shrug in mock humility.
Please. Like I have that trait. You’ve met my family. Those people are animals. I’d die in a week if I started being human.
“That, my friend, is a Raspberry Bomb.”
“Or Mama Killer,” Gia laughs, her eyes twinkling. “We had to rename it when Mom realized Lu was trying to kill her with sweets. You like?”
“Like! Like? I freaking love this. It’s like an orgasm on my tongue,” Connor yells, reaching over to take another only to yelp and pull back when Cameron slams the box shut.
“Get your own then. Mine,” he grumbles, opening the box a crack and pulling out a Caramel Cookie, one of my favorites because it’s the best.
When he bites into it delicately, with manners that only someone rich would have, I share a look with Gia and then burst out laughing when his eyes widen and he shoves nearly all of it in in one go.
“Hhhmgah,” he groans, his eyes rolling back while I giggle.
Yep. Another one bites the dust. It’s like that because I’m magical. I may have been shit at school, I may have flunked out of college after the first semester—but this I am good at. I learned to bake when my nana lived with us before she moved next door to live with my aunt Milly. Not that she didn’t love living with us, but at some point she finally recognized Milly wasn’t going to marry a man and have kids—I mean, she had to just accept it when Mom outright stood up at Thanksgiving and yelled, “For God’s sakes, Ma, she’s a rug muncher—get over it and let’s move the hell on. Milly, more pie?”
I just about peed myself that day, and Milly was nearly hysterical with laughter when Dad mistook Mom’s question and accused her of being un-PC, which he said was Mom offering her own sister pie. It took about an hour to explain to him that Mom was holding out the pecan pie I’d baked, and by the time he’d stopped crying, Nana was done. She said if she had to accept her daughter is a lesbo then she at least didn’t have to live in a house where a grown man cries while watching Maury.
I agree, fully. My dad has a few kinks to work out here and there. Poor fellah. I’m pretty sure Mom’s dosing him with her estrogen though, so no judgment.
“What is that?” Cameron finally yells once he’s swallowed, his eyes on me with such adoration I nearly swoon.
Definitely gonna have to stop giggling here, and if I start to twirl my hair and gaze at him adoringly—too late. Shit. Why is he so cute?
“That is a Caramel Cookie. Good, huh?” Gia asks, laughing when the third guy takes advantage of Cameron’s distraction and steals one, his eyes and groan a picture of bliss when he shoves a Blueberry Twister into his mouth.
I know. I’m a god when it comes to baking. It’s just my thing—and as I watch three grown men eye the last remaining donut, I want to laugh.
“Good? That isn’t good. That’s the best thing I have ever put in my mouth,” Cameron sighs, before he grins and winks at me. “So far.”
I nearly pass out from the innuendo, and if Mom were here she’d be screaming her head off about our souls, but I’m still giggling, and one thing is very clear when Cameron leans in and looks at me, still clutching his box. I like him. I like how cute he is, how naughty he talks—and most of all, I really, really like the way he’s looking at me right now.
Too bad I’m celibate.
Chapter 6
Cameron
“Mom, no,” I grumble, sulking over my potatoes and wishing I could be anywhere but here because if anyone laughs at me again I will throw a tantrum.
Swear to God, they haven’t stopped laughing at me, and it’s starting to irk.
“Oh, stop sulking and just eat, Cameron. Honestly. So what if you’re just friends?” Mom mumbles, rolling her eyes when I poke out my lip.
“The point is, he wants to eat her pie, Nat,” Dad laughs, his salacious wink causing the whole table to burst into laughter, even four-year-old Des who doesn’t understand what’s happening, only that his father is laughing and he likes the sound.
I don’t like it. I hate it. I hate the ridicule and teasing, and mostly I hate that they have a right to it because… I’m losing for the first time in my life, and I don’t know how to turn it around. Lu just won’t unfriend me and let me date her, and I know this because no matter how many times I’ve begged, she just laughs, hands me another baked good and asks me about that murder cat she stuck me with.
“She owns a bakery. Won’t she sell you one?” Mom asks, oblivious to the innuendo my father just laid down, her brow furrowing when we all pack out laughing, even me, and I would have sworn I wasn’t capable of a drop of joy anymore.
Losing does something to the spirit, man. It does something I’ve never experienced before, and it’s something I don’t like. It’s confusing and hard to accept—and, worse, I’m starting to wonder if she’s refusing because—horror of horrors—she isn’t attracted to me. That can’t be true though; it just can’t possibly be true. I’m hot, I’m stinking rich, and I’m a great person. I donate money to all kinds of charities, I oversaw and personally funded the revival and renovation of a poor neighborhood—and no, it wasn’t me gentrifying the place and making rent unaffordable for the people who lived there. I bought an entire block of buildings, had them redone, and I’m still charging the same rent, which goes into a fund to help underprivileged kids from the neighborhood go to college.
I’m a great person, and I’m funny and easygoing—so why doesn’t she like me?
“We’re not talking about pie, Mom!” I yell, my laughter dying because this sucks.
“We aren’t? Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’m lost,” Mom sighs, her soft, breathy voice and blank expression making Dad chortle and lean closer to whisper in her ear.
“Oh, my! Oooooh,” she groans, dragging out the word as it finally hits home. “She… doesn’t like you, Cammy?”
She sounds horrified and confused, and she should be. I’m freaking great! Aren’t I? I mean, maybe my nose is a little—stop that, Cameron. You’re fine. Lu is just… she’s just different.
Yeah. She’s not like other women, I think, my deflated sprits rising for a second until Connor murders them without remorse.
“She said, and I am paraphrasing here but it’s practically word for word, that she just wasn’t in the right place to date because she took a vow of celibacy.”
Cue utter silence, followed by pandemonium. Mom literally spits water halfway down the table, Dad falls back in his seat, his hand on his chest, and Keenan starts to choke on whatever he stuffed into his mouth before Connor dropped his bomb, his face turning red before his wife Cassia slaps him on the back hard enough to crack a rib.
“What?” he wheezes once he’s out of danger, still coughing but breathing.
Fucker.
“She said she’s doing the whole celibacy thing,” I mumble, still a little raw over it because what the heck was I supposed to say to that?
It’s not like I could tell her that’s dumb. That’d be disrespectful or something. Even if I wanted to fall to my knees and scream at the heavens, I couldn’t argue. What was there to say? Hey, Lu, I’m sort of already set on marrying you and giving you my babies, and I would really, really appreciate it if you’d just fall in love with me now so we can fuck?
Is that so hard, huh? All I want is to have her be mine so we can fuck and make babies and get married and somehow, I don’t know how, get rid of that homicidal maniac that’s masquerading as a kitten. That’s all. It’s not like I’m asking for a freaking organ here, people.
“I don’t… understand,” Cassia says slowly, struggling to keep a straight face when I glare at her and suck on my lips.
“Well, I do. Beca
use I’m pals with Gia, and Gia says that poor Lu had this awful boyfriend who broke her heart, and now Lu refuses, absolutely refuses to think about dating until she’s ‘felt her truth.’ Whatever the heck that means,” Connor laughs, blushing when Mom glares at him about his language.
“I call bullshit. Maybe she just doesn’t like him,” Keenan says, chortling when Des snickers along with him.
“She likes me,” I snarl, although to be honest, that isn’t an easy assumption to make.
Sure, we hang out. I mean, we’ve been friends for about two weeks now, and she came over to play with that infernal furball who is sweet as pie when she’s around but goes right back to evil when she leaves. I have the bite marks in my ass cheek to prove it. Christ, how does that little shit get that much air anyway, huh?
“She does. She said it to his face. And then she told him about a date she’s going on,” Connor laughs, making me hate him even more because everyone finds that hilarious, even Mom who is supposed to be on my side.
“Wait, wait, wait. I thought she wasn’t dating,” Cassia drawls, her eyes twinkling when I suck at my teeth.
“She said it doesn’t count if she has no intention of sleeping with them. I don’t know— she’s weird, okay? Her rationale is flawed all to hell and back and she’s just chipperly going about her business, giving me blue balls while I desperately think of ways to get her to go on a date with me. Two nights ago she let me take her for pizza, and when I pointed out that it isn’t fair she dates other men and not me, she said that she didn’t like any of them and that I get to be her friend. And then she talked about Jaja for nearly an hour, we discussed her sister-in-law Melody’s mystery mole, and I got a blow-by-blow of how she walked in on her mom and dad doing it on the kitchen table,” I grumble, still shuddering because I have seen pictures of those people and there is no way, no way in hell, that man finds those boobs sexy anymore.
And yet, they’re happily married, and Lu texts me pictures of them making out to prove that they’re in luuuuurve—at least that’s the way she says it.
