by Piper Rayne
“Yes. Thank you.”
He smiles. It’s warm and kind and it puts me a little more at ease. “You’re welcome. Please sit down. I’m—”
I laugh. “I know who you are.”
He chuckles and leans back, putting his ankle on his opposite knee. “Sorry, I’m surprising a few businesses. A mutual friend called in a favor.”
“That’s nice of you.”
He shrugs and holds his calf in a casual way. “I think you know them. The Floyds. Bruce Floyd. I heard you’re Brockie’s girl.”
My gut twists. I brought this event up to Brock two nights ago at dinner at a fancy five-star place in the city. He didn’t act like he was really listening, but I guess he was. I can’t decide if I like that he called in this favor or not.
“Yes. We’ve been dating,” I say.
“For how long?”
“Um.” I swallow. “Just a couple months.”
“I think that’s pretty long in Brockie’s book, no?” He chuckles as if I should agree that I know I’m dating the town playboy. Some nights I wonder if I did in fact tame him.
But I plaster on my smile. Regardless of how I got here, I need to be here. For Eli, Elsie, my mom, and my dad. And myself, because this move is slightly selfish too. “I suppose so.”
He glances at a piece of paper in front of him. “I’m supposed to ask you all these questions. They’re boring.” He drops the paper back on the table. “Let’s talk about you.”
I twist my fingers in my lap. “What would you like to know?”
“The Bagel Place? Was it yours originally or did you buy it? You’re young.”
“It’s my parents’ actually. I run it though,” I quickly add. “But my parents started it almost twenty years ago. Before that—” I stop talking because I don’t want anyone involved with the show to know about the feud. Who knows what they’d think of my dad if they did?
“So you were always destined to take the place over?” Nick has got one of those charming smiles like he’s listening intently and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Kind of, yes.” I thought I was about to make my escape when Eli started school, but then my dad’s heart attack sucked me back in like a tornado.
“And you enjoy it?”
“I do. Very much.” I sit up straighter in my chair.
His smile fades for a second, but it pops back into place. “You should always do what you love. So what part is your favorite?”
“The business side mostly. I mean, I don’t mind the baking and making the cream cheese. Then again, maybe I only enjoy the inventory and numbers side because that’s the only time I’m off my feet.” I smile and shrug.
He laughs. “Well, I hope Brockie’s giving you a good foot rub at the end of the day.”
Yeah, right. I suggested once to sit at home and do nothing, and Brock gasped like a schoolgirl who’d just heard she’s the topic of a wicked rumor.
I smile rather than tell him the truth.
“You might be the only person I’ve met who says your favorite part is the business side. That’s usually the side restauranteurs hate. They like the creativity in the kitchen. Are you allowed to fiddle?”
“Fiddle?” I ask for clarification.
“Test things. Try new products. Do your parents allow you to mix things up?”
Truth is, I’ve never really tried. I just stand by what they started because it’s easier. I can imagine my dad coming in and asking why I changed something that’s working though. Changing things would rock the boat.
“Yeah, they allow me to,” I lie.
“That’s great.” He shifts in his seat. “I could see a business like a bagel shop growing boring after a while if you can’t try new flavors and products.”
Someone lifts the curtain to his right, poking her head in and softly speaking in his ear.
His foot falls to the floor. “That’s all the time I’ve got, I’m afraid. But I’m having dinner at the Floyds’ tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll see you there.” I nod and stand as he does. He extends his hand. “It was great meeting you, Miss Erickson.”
“Evan please,” I say.
“Evan.” His full mouth of straight white teeth gleam. “I have a good feeling about this opportunity for you.” He winks.
It’s not lost on me that he’s pretty much telling me that because I’m dating Brock, he’ll make sure I’m in.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Klein.”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Nick. Please.”
“Thank you… Nick.”
“Have a great rest of the day,” he says and walks away, leaving me standing there feeling a little speechless.
The blonde who brought me to him pokes her head in, startling me. “Ready?”
I nod and follow her back to the big room full of people I was in before. She rattles directions at me and says if I make the cut, I’ll receive a phone call.
When I walk out of the building, the sun is high, but there’s a chill in the air signaling the impending winter.
“Babe!” I turn to my left to see Brock standing next to his fancy fast car.
I walk toward Brock and he opens up his arms for a hug. He’s usually not an outwardly affectionate guy. Never holds my hand. I hug him and he squeezes me so tightly, my breath catches as he swings me around.
“How did it go?” He places me back down and his finger tucks a section of hair behind my ear. My eyes follow the path of his finger because all of this is odd behavior for him.
“I think you probably know how it went.” I raise an eyebrow.
A mischievous smile crosses his lips and he belts out a laugh so loud, it ricochets off every building on the block. “See, good things happen when you date a Floyd. Let’s head back to my place and you can thank me.” He winks.
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he arranged for me to do well here today or what Seth has told me, but I’m suddenly seeing Brock in a different light. Then again, can I really trust a guy whose family hates me and puts me down every time I see him?
“I have to get back to the shop,” I murmur.
He puts his hand on my hip and pulls me toward him as if he can’t go a minute without touching me. “I thought Elsie was watching it for you today?”
“Just while I’m here. You could stay and keep me company?”
“You know I’d love to, but my dad’s got about a million things he wants me to do.”
I nod. “Okay. Call me later.”
He chuckles and places a kiss on the tip of my nose.
What the hell is up with him?
“Babe, I’ll drive you to work,” he says as if that’s what he always does.
“Okay… thanks.”
I shift my weight to step back, but he grabs my hips, thrusting me into him. He kisses me as though he’s going off to war and he’ll never have my lips on his again. But it’s not lingering and romantic. It’s claiming and hard, and I don’t feel one ounce of arousal deep in my belly. He closes the kiss and pushes my hips back.
As my eyes snap open, he takes my hand and leads me to the passenger side of the car. He opens it, and his gaze lands to our right with a cocky smirk.
“Andrews,” Brock says with a nod.
Seth is leaning against the brick wall, scowl in place.
How long has he been there? But Brock’s arrogance as he bends to kiss me one more time before shutting the door confirms that his performance was all for Seth, not me.
I refrain from looking back at Seth because his expression is almost as if he’s… jealous?
Chapter Five
Seth
* * *
I walk into Ink Envy, my buddy Dylan’s tattoo shop, and slump into a chair in the waiting area.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dylan asks from the reception table. He walks around and sits across from me.
“Just a shitty day.”
“Did you try to hit on one of your clients?” Frankie, another
tattooist, asks as she dips her needle into more ink.
“No, I’m a professional.” You have no idea how many times I have to tell that to my friends. They think boudoir photography is porn. It’s not how I want to use my skill as a photographer, but it’s what’s paying the bills. My friends Blanca and Ethan threw some freelance work my way a few months ago, but they don’t need me on the regular.
“Oh, I think maybe he did hit on a client and they said no,” Jax, one of my roommates and also a tattoo artist, calls, dropping his sketchbook on the table in front of him. “It’s okay, Seth, just hop back on the horse.”
“Yeah, Jax can give you some tips. He’s never gotten off the horse,” Frankie snips.
Jax rolls his eyes. “You have it all turned around there, Spark Plug. I’m the horse that the women don’t want to get off of.” He winks at her, which pisses her off.
Dylan puts his head in his hands. “They never stop,” he mumbles.
“And let me guess, you’re referring to yourself as a horse because you’re hung like one?” Frankie doesn’t look up from where she’s working on her client.
“We can go in the back and you can confirm it for yourself.” Jax stands with his hands out at his sides.
The woman Frankie is tattooing perks up and Frankie forcefully pushes her back down on the table.
“It’s not always about the size, big guy,” Frankie says.
“And whoever told you that has a micro dick. Believe me, Spark Plug, if you took a ride on me, you’d realize how lame that statement is.”
“Give it a rest,” Dylan says. “We have a client here.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I mean, if he wants to whip it out right here, you’ll hear no complaints from me,” the woman on Frankie’s table says with a smile.
Frankie guffaws and Jax’s fingers go to the button on his jeans.
“For Christ’s sake, have some self-respect,” Frankie yells.
Jax laughs, sitting back down and picking up his sketchbook with a shit-eating grin so wide, it makes me think it makes his day when they go back and forth like this.
“You’re such a manwhore,” Frankie adds before the sound of the needle drowns out whatever Jax might say back.
Truth is, Frankie’s wrong. Jax talks a big game and I’m sure in the past his talk lived up to his actions, but he’s never brought a woman back to our apartment. If he isn’t working, he’s usually home. I thought when he moved in, it’d help with my own game. I had visions of Jax, Knox, and me going out to bars and having parties, a circulation of girls in and out every weekend, but sadly, we play our fucking Xbox more than we actually find chicks to fuck.
“I just… sorry, man, I’m going to Rian’s shop.” I stand.
“I’ll come with.” Dylan turns toward the bickering duo. “Try not to kill each other.”
He follows me to the shop next door—his fiancée Rian’s baking business, Sweet Infusion. The doorbell chimes when we step in, and the scent of sugar and icing hits us. Dylan flips over the closed sign and locks the doors.
“We’ve been over this. If it’s five o’clock, you’re closed. I don’t like the door open when you’re in the back, washing dishes,” Dylan lectures Rian as we walk into the back where she’s washing cake pans in the large stainless steel industrial sink.
She’s also unaware of our presence because she’s dancing to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. I do all of us a favor and turn off the Bluetooth radio. Rian whips around.
“That’s my cleaning playlist,” she says.
I slide up on the counter and scroll through her phone next to the speaker, with what looks like a playlist filled with seventies songs.
“You have to lock the doors,” Dylan repeats with a pleading look on his face.
She kisses him. They probably saw each other at lunch. Hell, they probably fucked… I raise my hand.
“What?” Dylan asks.
“Can you tell me the surfaces you guys haven’t fucked on in here?” I glance around.
Dylan scans the room and his lips purse. “Rian, you wanna take this one?”
She giggles. “Right where you are is our favorite place.”
I jump down as they laugh.
“Jeez, Seth, we don’t have sex in my kitchen. Health codes. Now.” She tilts her head at Dylan, and he chuckles. “Dylan’s office is another story.”
“Remind me never to go in there. Damn, Jolie sleeps on that couch.”
A huge bang on the glass interrupts us. I peer around the corner and see that it’s Blanca and Ethan. I leave the two lovebirds to go open the door for another pair.
“Hey, Seth,” Blanca says. “We come bearing good news.”
“That you guys canceled your church wedding and we’re heading to the Caribbean instead?” Dylan asks, emerging from the back with Rian.
“Funny. No, we’re thinking of doing a joint bachelor and bachelorette party,” Blanca says.
I scrunch my forehead at Ethan. Grow a pair of balls, man.
“Um…” I’m at a loss for words of how to tell them that’s the stupidest idea ever. “So you guys will sit side by side while strippers put their tits and dicks in your faces? Is this some kinky fetish? I’m not judging, but I think it’s something you should do behind closed doors.”
Blanca hits me on the back of the head.
Damn Italian women.
“No, there won’t be strippers.”
I stare blankly at Ethan.
He shrugs. “I’m not really a stripper kind of guy.”
My neck cranes toward Dylan and back to Ethan. “You’re not a stripper kind of guy?”
“No. I don’t care.”
“And I don’t want a dick swinging back and forth in front of me.” Blanca’s face contorts in disgust.
“Please tell me unless it’s Ethan’s. Or I might have to stand up at your wedding and protest.”
Her jaw cocks. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“He’s cranky,” Dylan says matter-of-factly.
“Horny is more like it,” Ethan says, and Dylan raises his hand for a high five.
Assholes.
“I’m not horny.” Although that would explain why I’m suddenly fantasizing about Evan. Maybe I do need to get laid.
“The fact that you’re upset that Ethan doesn’t want strippers at his bachelor party says you are. Go down to a strip club if you want to see them so bad.” I step back due to Blanca’s angry as hell tone.
They say I’m cranky? Look in a damn mirror, Blanca.
She inhales a deep breath, seemingly calming herself. “Listen”—Blanca puts her palm out in front of us—well, not us, me—“I have done so much for this wedding. A traditional Catholic wedding just like my mom wanted.” She glances back at Ethan and he puts his arm around her waist. “I don’t need a night of freedom away from Ethan. I want us all to go somewhere together and have fun. Everyone can have a plus one. Maybe we head to Vegas, or a beach, or hell, I’ll go to a cabin in Maine. I just want a few days of peace before the wedding. Is that a problem, Andrews?” Her brown eyes narrow.
“Fine. Cool. Whatever the bride wants.” I hold up my hands.
“Good. Everyone throw us any ideas you have.”
“Are your brothers coming?” Rian asks, and Dylan cocks his head. Even though I’m a dude, I’ll admit, Blanca’s brothers could grab a spot on The Bachelor if they wanted to.
“No, it’s just going to be us. You’ll have to wait until the wedding to see them.” Blanca rolls her eyes at Rian.
“Hey, it’s Sierra who drools every time they come over,” Rian says, putting her arms around Dylan’s neck.
A soft knock lands on the glass and we all turn our heads. My jaw drops when I see Evan. Without looking at anyone else, I open up the door and let her in.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask.
“You wish,” she says and beelines past me with a pair of bags in her hands.
“Seriously, she’s closed. Why are you here?” I’m full
y aware that I sound like a dick.
Blanca huffs at me and Ethan shoots me a look to say be cool, dude. But all I envision when I see her is Brock’s tongue down her throat. Why did I have to follow her out of the building earlier today? I should’ve stayed next to my mom as she talked with every business owner in town. What was I really trying to accomplish anyway?
Ask Evan if she saw it? The look on my mom’s face that struck us both silent? Even if she did, it’s not like either of us are going to do something about it. So my mom feels bad for the Ericksons. How could she not? This past year has sucked for them, and Evan is trying to hold it all on her shoulders.
“She’s here for me,” Rian says and walks Evan back to the kitchen area.
“For you?” I ask, following.
Dylan puts his hand on my chest to stop me. “Don’t be a prick.”
“Me? Prick?” I pick up his hand to remove it from me.
“You tend to lose your mind when she’s near,” he says.
“I do not.”
“You do so,” Blanca says, laughing. “I’m surprised she didn’t knee you in the balls just now. I would have.”
I circle around to her. “She’s not a short-tempered Italian.”
“You better watch it,” Ethan warns. “She will knee you in the balls.”
I disregard all of them and head to the back.
Rian is raving on and on about some mixture. “This is perfect. Thank you so much, Evan. Tell me, how did it go today?”
What? Are they friends? Instead of announcing myself, I eavesdrop further.
“I was so nervous but…” Evan looks over her shoulder and I duck behind the wall.
Dylan shakes his head at me. But thankfully Knox walks in and distracts them from watching me.
“I actually met with Nick Klein,” she says.
Fucking A. She got to meet the host. Mom and I were with who I suspect was some intern.
“That’s crazy. How do you think it went?” Rian asks.
“That’s the thing… you know the Floyds?”
Rian sighs. “Who doesn’t. I saw you at the gala with Brock Floyd. Are you dating him?”
