Don't Go Away Mad (Burgers and Brew Crüe Book 2)

by Lacey Black

  Jasper shrugs. “Sure, why not? Isn’t the name of the game to make money, while doing what you love? Otherwise, why else do it? Lamonte’s had a great reputation and excellent cuisine. Their head chef was retiring after almost thirty years, and they were willing to pay me what I was worth.”

  “Wow, good for you,” I reply, only finishing about three quarters of my food before my stomach feels like it could explode.

  “I’d probably still be there, if not for beers and burgers with my friends one night several years ago. We had always said in college there was no place to eat good burgers, even went as far as considering what we’d do if we ever had our own place. Well, one night, we were sitting around at Walker’s house. He was bitching about the bar he was working at, when Numbers mentioned we should just open our own place. It was the first time we actually considered it, not just friends bullshitting, you know? We ended up deciding to check into it, which was the start of our partnership. That was about six years ago,” he says, taking another healthy bite of his food. “Are you done?”

  “If I eat another bite, I’m going to have to unbutton my pants.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could pull them back in.

  Jasper’s eyes flare with desire, the brown of his eyes turning black as they slowly drop down to my waist. He can’t see behind my apron, but I can feel his imagination running wild, as if he can physically see my pants unfastening.

  When his eyes meet mine, humor mixes with lust. “I could help,” he offers easily, his voice low and gravelly. It reminds me of that one time…the time we almost kissed.

  Rolling my eyes, I opt to keep this friendly. Mostly because it would be too easy to get sucked into naughty banter with Jasper. With that wicked gleam and devilish smirk, he’s what daydreams are made of. The problem is he knows it too.

  “No thank you. I don’t need assistance.”

  He tsks. “Too bad. Next time, maybe?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively to punctuate his offer.

  I can’t stop the giggle that spills from my throat as I shake my head at his antics.

  “So, how about you? What have you been up to for the last ten years?” he asks, finishing off his food in just a few bites.

  “Oh, nothing exciting,” I reply, referring to the fact he worked at fancy restaurants, probably making more money in a year than I’ve made in the last five combined.

  “I doubt that. We always had different food paths on the horizon, so where did yours lead you?” He’s referring to the known fact he was going places after graduation and I was headed home to bake.

  “Home, mostly. I worked at a bakery there until it was sold, and the new owner didn’t share the same vision for the future. My mom had been gone a little while by then, and Dustin and I were looking for a change.”

  “Why Stewart Grove?”

  “My brother found our condo online. It’s handicap accessible and perfect for his needs. Then, during his search of the town, he discovered this place for sale. Dustin’s stubborn and like a dog with a bone once he sets his mind to something. He knew I wanted to work in a bakery and convinced me to open my own.”

  “And how do you feel after your first official day open?” he asks, seeming to be genuinely interested.

  “I’m exhausted,” I reply with a chuckle. “We did really well today, which surprised me, considering my only advertising is word of mouth and social media. I sold out of a few things early on, letting me know how I need to make adjustments moving forward. Plus, I took three cake orders for this weekend.”

  He awards me with a sincere smile. When he does that, it makes me weak in the knees and a little breathy. “You’re going to be needing to hire more staff before you know it. Maybe even someone who specializes in a certain area, like cake decorating or breads and pastries, so you can focus on what you want. I could put some feelers out for you. I know a lot of people in this town now, a few which are in the industry. I’ll make a few calls and—What?”

  I shake my head. “You’re just as bossy now as you were in school,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t take it as an insult.

  When he barks out a laugh and shrugs, I realize he knows exactly how pushy he can be. “Guilty. I was just offering to help, but if you don’t want it,” he starts.

  “No, I do appreciate it, but I’ve only been open a day. I don’t really know what I’ll need yet. It takes time.”

  He watches me, those dark eyes assessing. “True.”

  “Besides, I’m not taking too many custom orders right now. I want to focus on selling stock in my case, like pies.”

  “Ahhh, yes. Pies.” There’s something in his tone that heckles my nerves.

  “Do you have a problem with me selling pies?” I ask, slightly confused on why he’d have an issue. I mean, I own a bakery.

  “Oh, no. Not at all,” he sings. “I recall your pies well.”

  Then it hits me. “You’re still mad about the pecan pie thing?”

  “Thing? You mean you barely edging by my top class grade with your rendition of a pecan pie?” His eyes flare to life with passion and maybe even a touch of anger.

  “My pie won me that grade fair and square, buddy. In fact, I’ve won awards for that pecan pie,” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes.

  “Fairs and festivals don’t count as winning awards,” he argues, stepping forward and slowly making his way to stand before me. When he does that, I have to look way up, reminding me of how tall he is in comparison to my short five-foot-two-inch stance.

  I stand tall, refusing to let him affect me in any way. “I’ll have you know; my pie was featured in Foodie News!”

  He snorts. “Like that’s a big deal,” he replies, even though we both know it is. Foodie News is a leader in both print and online food-related news all over the world. That feature was the highlight of my career, thus far.

  “You’re just jealous because you lost to a little ol’ girl and didn’t get the top grade. I bet that’s been a thorn in your side ever since,” I retort, realizing I’m poking the bear with a very big stick.

  Fire blazes in his eyes as he glares down at me. Though, it’s not a fear-inducing look. In fact, the way my body burns, I’d say it has the exact opposite response. Jasper takes one more step forward until we’re practically chest to chest. He leans down just a touch and whispers, “I haven’t thought about it since.”

  I can’t stop the snort that erupts from my body like Mount St. Helens. “Clearly,” I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes so dramatically, there’s no missing the fact I don’t believe him.

  His eyes narrow into little slits as he focuses on my…lips.

  My lips?

  “Do you ever thing about that almost kiss?” he whispers, his words coming out in little pants.

  All the time.

  “What kiss?” I ask, barely breathing as he inches ever so slowly toward my face, his lips drawing closer and closer with each passing second.

  Jasper smirks, clearly not believing my reply for a second. “No? Not at all, like when it’s late at night and you’re in bed? Or maybe in the shower and all alone?” He lifts his hand and brushes hair off my forehead, his warm touch lingering against my flushed skin.

  “No,” I croak out, my throat parched and gravelly.

  He tsks, the smirk turning into a full-watt smile. It’s breathtaking, really. I’ve never known a smile to be that beautiful, that mesmerizing. He leans down, his full lips dangerously close to my own, and I suck in a deep breath of oxygen.

  Is he going to kiss me?

  He moves slightly to the right, tucking loose hair from my ponytail behind my ear. His lips barely brush against my cheek, igniting a deep-burning inferno in my gut. Jasper holds my hair, his thumb making contact with my neck and sending shivers of lust bolting through my body. His hot breath tickles the shell of my ear as he whispers, “Liar.”

  It takes a few seconds before I can clear the sex-infused fog from my brain and consider his word. When it h
its me, I jump back, inhaling a greedy breath of air and narrowing my eyes even more. “Am not,” I argue lamely, wishing my nipples weren’t hard and poking through my top.

  Jasper stands up to his full height and gives me a self-satisfying grin. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, sweetheart.”

  I clear my throat, but before I can form words, Jasper speaks. “Well, it’s been great catching up with you, Lyndee,” he says, tossing his container in the trash can beside my industrial kitchen island and giving me another smile.

  “Whatever,” I mumble, tossing my own trash in the bin and following behind as he heads for the front door. I try to catch my bearings as I reach for the lock, hoping he can’t see the slight tremble in my hand as I give it a turn. “Thank you for dinner.”

  He turns around, standing directly in front of me. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’ll see you around,” I reply quickly, my voice a higher pitch than normal.

  He grins. “You definitely will, sweetheart. You definitely will.”

  And then he’s leaving, sliding into his incredibly expensive car and pulling away from the curb.

  What the hell was that?

  How can I let him affect me like that? After all this time? He still has a way of getting under my skin and making me want to rip off my clothes at the same time. Stupid girl. The last thing you need is to get all doe-eyed over Jasper Kohlmann. He’s hot but definitely not my type. I think it’s best to remember that. There’s no future with a man like that.

  Besides a few naughty romps in the sheets?

  Exactly. That’s all it would ever be, and that’s not what I’m looking for. I want a partner. A man who respects my desire to work and understands the commitment it takes to own and operate my own business. Jasper seems like the type of man who, if he ever settles down, would require his wife to stay home, taking care of the kids and joining the PTA.

  Besides, it would never work out. We butt heads too much.

  Good thing I’m not interested in him like that.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jasper

  When I can’t sleep, I cook, and tonight, I’m wide awake. Sure, I could blame it in part to my insomnia, but I know that’s not entirely the reason. I can’t stop thinking about Lyndee. About the fire that burned in her eyes, right alongside the lust. About the way her breathing hitched when I got close and the fact she stopped breathing altogether when my lips barely brushed against her cheek.

  I drove home hard as a rock and remained that way until I took a shower. It was images of her standing beside me or down on her knees that eventually helped take care of the situation with my cock. Only, it was short-lived. The moment I lay down in bed, it was raring to go once again, as I pictured her beside me, my pillows and sheets absorbing her rich, sugary scent.

  I’ve been in the kitchen for an hour, baking a pie. With Christmas around the corner, I’m working on a few desserts to offer at the restaurant. No, we don’t sell a lot of them, most patrons filling up on our delicious hamburgers and fries, but we do sell a few of our desserts. I usually make something that’ll keep several days. I change our dessert options often, depending on my mood or the season. Right now, I have a homemade red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, topped with a warm fudge drizzle, but I’m suddenly feeling like switching it up to pie.

  Chocolate candy cane pie, to be exact.

  Once my creation is in the oven, I set the timer and start washing the dishes. When I cook or bake at home, I use everything. I remember my mom always complaining about it when I was younger and wanting to help out. She spent most of the night washing all the dishes than enjoying the fact she didn’t have to do much to prepare the meal.

  With the dishes drying on the rack and having another ten minutes before the timer goes off, I head for the living room. I consider texting one of my friends—they’re used to my random late-night messages—but think better of it. I hate disturbing Walker, now that Mallory and Lizzie live with him, and Isaac sleeps like the dead, rarely waking during my midnight barrages.

  Jameson is the one I know will answer. The man sleeps probably as little as I do, though for different reasons. My insomnia keeps me from getting the necessary rest, but for Jameson, it has more to do with his own demons that haunt him.

  I fire off a text, even though it’s almost one in the morning.

  Me: You awake?

  The bubbles appear within seconds.

  Jameson: Yep. You cooking?

  Me: Baking.

  Jameson: Normally, I’d say Isaac will be happy, but he may actually be a little disappointed not to go to the bakery. Of course, he could still pop in there without really needing to, right?

  Fucker. Why’d I text Jameson?

  Me: Who said you guys are getting any of this?

  Jameson: Who else do you bake for? Unless you’re trying to impress a certain woman across the street?

  Me: No

  Jameson: No? Keep telling yourself that.

  Jameson: Is that why your car was there after you got off work?

  I sigh, wishing I would have just kept my phone in the other room.

  Me: I took her dinner. She was there late, getting ready for tomorrow.

  Jameson: You’re such a good guy.

  No, I’m really not. Most of the time I fantasized about kissing her.

  Jameson: So, how was her first day?

  Me: Sold out of a lot of product.

  Jameson: Good deal. I hope she’s successful. It’ll be nice having a bakery in downtown. Plus, she’s easy on the eyes. *insert smirk emoji*

  Jameson: No comment?

  Jameson: Fine, I’ll keep talking.

  Jameson: I think you really went over there because you like her and refuse to admit it.

  Jameson: I mean who wouldn’t like her? She’s pretty and smart and funny and has the cutest button nose…

  Jameson: I bet she doesn’t stay single for long.

  Jameson: Maybe I’ll head over there after work. See if she wants to hang out for a bit. You know…*insert smirk emoji* *insert eggplant emoji*

  My fingers are already moving before I can even think better of it.

  Me: The hell you will! You can’t sleep with her, Tank!

  The thought has me seeing red.

  Jameson: *insert laughing emoji* *insert laughing emoji* *insert laughing emoji*

  Me: I hate you.

  Jameson: You don’t. You love me.

  Me: What do I do? I can’t stop thinking about her.

  Jameson: How should I know? I’m the one in our group NOT in an actual relationship. I have no advice. Unless you want suggestions for positions in the kitchen to keep your ass from freezing on the stainless steel countertop. Otherwise, you need Walker.

  I snort out a laugh just as the sixty seconds to go notification sounds on the oven.

  Jameson: I guess my only offering would be if you like her, go for it. Life’s too short to settle for midnight baking when you could be enjoying midnight nookie.

  Me: Speaking of nookie, no Amie?

  Jameson: Not the same. That’s casual. Nothing more.

  Me: I hear ya. Anyway, I gotta take the pie out of the oven.

  Jameson: I expect you to save me a slice tomorrow. You made me talk about feelings like a couple of women. I deserve pie.

  Me: Fine. It’ll be in my office. Help yourself before Isaac finds its.

  Jameson: Deal. Later.

  Me: Night

  I make my way back to my kitchen, depositing my cell on the counter. I retrieve a mitt from the drawer and pull the baked pie from the top oven. The sweet aroma fills the room, making my mouth water instantly. I’m not big on sweets, at least not like Isaac or even Jameson, but I do enjoy the occasional piece of cake or slice of pie.

  Or maybe a chocolate iced Bavarian long john donut.

  You know, like the one smeared across my lips last week.

  I have to admit, it was damn goo
d, even if I only caught a taste.

  Speaking of taste, my mind goes right back to Lyndee and the almost-kiss. First, the one we nearly shared a decade ago, but also the one from last night. The one I wanted to happen more than I wanted my next breath, yet knew it was a bad idea all the same. It’s the reason I’m suddenly pitching a tent in my sweatpants at two in the morning.

  Ignoring my cock, I finish tidying up the kitchen. As soon as the pie is cooled, I add dollops of fresh whipped cream and a crumbled candy cane as the finishing touches. Placing my creation in a sealed container, I slip it into the fridge, flip off the lights, grab my phone, and head for the stairs.

  There are a few different things I can try, if sleep doesn’t come yet, though none of them are super effective. Besides cooking, working out in my home gym is my next go-to tactic. I’ve tried the whole music as background noise like Walker, but it doesn’t work for me. I mean, he uses it because he just needs sound to fall asleep and not for insomnia, but during desperate times, I’d try anything. Well, anything but medicine. Melatonin does nothing, and the few sleep aids I’ve used made me feel worse the next day than if I were just short on sleep.

  Slipping my phone onto the charger, I slide off my sweatpants and crawl into bed. I prefer sleeping naked, even during winter months. When I do actually sleep, it’s always on the hot side. I can get sweaty, and it’s not for the reason I’d prefer getting sweaty in bed.

  My mind returns to the one woman I can’t stop thinking about, and the cock I had finally convinced had no reason to be hard for is now standing like a soldier at attention and raring to go. “Jesus,” I mumble, closing my eyes, only that makes my situation worse.