by Ava Claire
“Delicious, huh?” Tamara piped as she served a leggy blonde her third.
The woman’s eyes bulged with embarrassment, but once she realized this was a judgment free zone, she swiped a couple of cards and nodded enthusiastically. “My trainer is going to murder me in the morning, but these are worth every single burpee!”
“Well, if that isn’t a shining endorsement, I don’t know what is!” Tamara cheesed, giving the woman a conspiratorial wink. She lowered her volume to a confidential level. “And don’t worry—we won’t tell if you don’t!”
I nudged my friend when we were alone, almost hugging her and jumping up and down. “They like me! They really, really like me!”
“How could they not? I mean, have you tasted this?” Tamara plucked one of the cupcakes, folded back the golden wrapper, and almost forced it in my mouth.
“I’m good,” I laughed, dodging her and biting back the urge to remind her that we were here to serve cupcakes, not eat them. One of the reasons I loved working with her was because she had this infectious, happy energy. I was the muscle, the brains that crafted the recipes and put my metaphorical foot in every bite, and she was the face, the saleswoman that got smiles out of the icy guests who seemed to think they were above this avant-garde affair. They smiled patronizingly as they silently judged the decision to go with cupcakes instead of a standard wedding cake.
Their skepticism melted the moment they took a bite.
I rounded the table, fixing the stand out of nervous habit, even though everything was perfect. Well, almost everything: we’d gone through almost all of the 300 business cards I’d brought along for the event! “Can you check my messenger bag for extra cards?”
Tamara jutted out her chest instead, shaking her platinum blonde locks before she let out a whistle. “Right after you check out that hot groomsmen that’s looking over here like he wants a taste—and I’m not talking about the cupcakes.”
“Hot-” I choked, heat flooding my cheeks as I started fiddling with cupcake placement like I was preparing for open heart surgery and I couldn’t be disturbed. I locked my jaw and steeled my spine, knowing exactly who she was talking about, and knowing I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his existence when he’d utterly forgotten all about mine. “The cards, Tamara.”
She gave me that stubborn, petulant look that made me want to laugh and strangle her. “The hottie, Nat!”
I kept tidying, my fingers rattling because the more Tamara fussed with herself, I knew the closer he was getting. A flash of territorial energy cut through me, but I spat it out before it got the better of me. “He’s all yours, if you want him.”
“Oh, I’d be all about it, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off your butt.”
And there went the business cards.
Flustered and muttering about how hiring my best friend to be my right hand woman was a bad idea, and how the ‘hot groomsmen’ could keep those devastatingly blue eyes to himself, I dropped to my knees. I tried to save my cards, crawling around and looking very unprofessional, but I had enough fire left that I decided that even if he delivered quite the diss before the ceremony, he wouldn’t have the pleasure of doing so again.
Two Italian leather shoes stopped short of stepping on one of my cards, but I still growled at him. “Can I help you?” I refused to look up at him, but my body was betraying me left and right, again, especially when I leaned back and realized I was practically eye level with his fly. Even with my ‘no dating, just fun’ philosophy, I was no cock connoisseur, but I knew that his would be one that I would never forget.
Though he had no problem whatsoever forgetting about a certain part of your anatomy.
“At that angle, I can think of a variety of ways you could help me-” He kneeled down beside me, swiping one of the cards. “...Madison?”
I snatched the card from him. “Close, but no cigar. You should quit while you’re ahead.”
He eased back to his feet and I couldn’t deny that dancing flutter in between my thighs. Deep inside, in a place where no one had explored, since him.
I put a swift end to those thoughts, gathering the final cards and ignoring his hand, gripping the table instead.
“So, are you here to insult me further?” I huffed, pulling myself upright.
“I’m here for something tasty,” he answered smoothly, and even if I wasn’t looking into those hypnotizing eyes of his, the way he said it told me he definitely wasn’t talking about red velvet cupcakes.
I didn’t think it was possible to match my complexion with the cake, but he was making me a believer. I glanced behind me, to the table, wanting some back up or at least a reason to not have to continue this conversation, but Tamara had abandoned me.
Mouth agape, I swept the general vicinity. She was tiny and quick on her feet, but she wasn’t The Flash. I halted when I hit the bar, where she was watching us with unbridled glee. She gave me a thumbs up that made Jason let out a rumbling chuckle.
“Friend of yours?”
“I’m not so sure,” I sighed, ignoring her and putting my display between me and my New Year’s Eve mistake.
Mistake? Right. A mistake that you want to make over and over again.
I was a nervous eater which meant I was chomping on a cupcake before I realized what I was doing. I caught myself and stopped chewing, but he was oblivious to the fact that I was eating my feelings, scanning the table with interest.
“So this is all you? Your creations?” He flipped the card, staring at the glossy little rectangle intently. “Natalee.” He stroked every syllable with his tongue. Savoring it. When he looked up at me, mid swallow, I couldn’t stop excitement from seizing every inch of my body.
“I have no idea how I forgot you,” he continued, his voice low and husky. “But I can guarantee you it won’t happen again.”
“Well, I’m sure the business card will help,” I fired back weakly. I was all bark and no bite, and from his smirk, he knew it.
Realizing I was still holding a half eaten cupcake and probably had frosting all over my face to boot, I reached for a napkin.
“Let me.”
It wasn’t a question or a request. It was becoming clear that Jason Cox was a man that asked for forgiveness rather than permission.
He swiped his thumb over my lips, pausing on the spot just below my bottom one. Before I could protest or remind myself to breathe, he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it.
I trembled, remembering all too well how that tongue felt.
Tracing my erotic flesh. Diving inside me hungrily.
My head, my brain, struggled to hit the ‘abort’ button. To remind myself that he left me high and dry on NYE. That he almost made me wet my pants before the ceremony, and not in a sexy way, but all I could think about was his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Natalee,” he continued. That coffin was back with a vengeance, and he was pounding the final nail in it.
Here lies Natalee Madison’s common sense. RIP.
I had no reason to believe him, but something told me that he wasn’t the kind of man that did a whole lot of apologizing, so when he used those two words, he meant it.
Before I did something ridiculous like accept said apology, I picked up a cupcake and thrusted it in his direction. “Happens all the time.” I thanked my lucky stars when a group of tweens hustled over, their eyes glazing over the table with hunger. “Cupcakes, ladies?”
Jason got the message, but I caught him stealing glances from afar.
It was the dumbest thing I could have done, but I let him catch me smiling back.
Once.
Okay, twice.
CHAPTER FOUR: JASON
“Take the notecards, Cox.”
Jessie Stone’s growl left no room for debate, but she still hadn’t learned that I was at least as stubborn as she was.
I didn’t need any notecards to guide me through my toast to the newlyweds. What I needed, what I craved, was a do over with Natalee Madison.
I brought the glass filled with more scotch than ice to my lips, my eyes needing no GPS to know right where to go. It cut through the thunder of the drums, the haughty laughter and cell phones that gleamed as brightly as the stars overhead. Even the servers parted like The Red Sea, giving me a bird’s eye view of the one woman who made this whole charade worth it.
She must have felt my eyes on her because her friend, a busty blonde that should have been just my type but paled in comparison to Natalee, whispered something to the fierce brunette. Natalee’s sweetheart mouth rounded, like she was taken aback. Her skin, already the color of the midnight moon, turned downright supernatural, like she was being visited by unwelcome ghosts of her past.
Like that night that she found memorable enough to curse your name when you were reunited, but somehow, you couldn’t place her.
It didn’t seem possible because Natalee stood out, and it had nothing to do with her pants and blouse in a sea of extravagance. There was a fight in her, something that told me she was no stranger to men disappointing her, so she played the role of indifference. She hid her beauty behind buns and professionalism. She probably thought that her understated makeup helped her fly under the radar, but it made her shine brighter than anyone else in the room. Her big, green eyes that kept no secrets, glowed without the assistance of whatever sorcery women used. The lips that looked supple and delicious without lipstick. The high cheekbones that bloomed red without an artificial tint.
Jessie’s voice was like an unpleasant hum, a gnat I swatted away as I took another gulp, my view obstructed by an elderly couple that was dancing to some Motown classic like it was the first time.
I’d only learned her name twenty minutes ago, and already she was upsetting my routine. I didn’t notice faces; I noticed bodies. A nice round set of breasts, weighing out if the woman was the type who loved to have her nipples teased with gentle flicks or twisted until she cried out in equal parts pleasure and pain. The curve of the hips made me wonder if she’d like it if I gripped them tight while I took her from behind or stroked the line of it, digging my fingertips into the flesh while she rode my cock to ecstasy. And the ass? Well, that was my favorite part, stripping a woman with one look, fantasizing about kneading the cheeks.
Smacking them.
Faces were forgettable,but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of Natalee’s, especially when it became abundantly clear that she was working overtime to keep her eyes off me.
“-and do you remember our conversation about responsibility?” Jessie prodded, getting wise that if she parked herself directly in front of me, I’d have no choice but to pay attention to the words that were coming out of her mouth.
“Look, Jess-”
“I prefer Mrs. Stone,” she corrected darkly, her stern lips thinning until they were as sharp as a blade.
“Well, I prefer to finish my drink in peace,” I jingled the ice in my glass just to earn a fresh eye roll from her. “Speaking of drinks, I think I need another.”
Jessie didn’t budge. “Are you sure that’s wise? I understand the need to take the edge off, but you’ve already polished off the flask in your right pocket and that’s your second scotch.”
Now she did have my full attention. “Do you have a drone hovering somewhere, tracking my every movement?”
She took the dig as a compliment, beaming. “No drone necessary, Jason. I’m just that good.”
“Cheers to that!” I swiped a fresh glass of some fruity cocktail that was apparently Scott’s guilty pleasure. I winced when it went down, more sugar than the good stuff. He oughta be ashamed of himself.
Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose and her lips whispered something I didn’t catch. Probably a quick prayer. The emcee, some annoying local DJ that Denise interned with back in college, was trying to get everyone to sit down so we could start the toasts.
“Please take the notecards,” Jessie begged. “You’ll thank me later.”
“I am the CEO of one of the most successful tech companies in the game right now, Mrs. Stone. I think I can handle a toast.”
I cast a final look toward the cupcake stand. From the steady influx of guests and those who snuck back over for seconds, I doubted I’d get a chance for one of my own, but I had no complaints. I got a taste of the icing, tinged with the sweetness of her surprise that I’d been so bold to make that cocktail napkin she’d reached for irrelevant.
The way she’d hitched her-
I dropped my glass, watching it fall in slow motion, expecting the crystal to shatter, sprinkling the floor like confetti. Like the confetti that rained from the ceiling of the Galt Ballroom before the clock even struck midnight that year.
There’d been a gorgeous brunette who sauntered into the room and struck a pose that would have made supermodels green with envy, then bursted into laughter—and swept the room with a smoky glare that went right to my cock. Her laugh, this musical sound that bobbed along the notes of the music and crinkled the edges of her eyes sent heat rushing to her cheeks. That smile should have made me think about how those lips would feel wrapped around me, but something was happening to my chest. Like a DJ scratching the record, it literally skipped a beat.
I was used to the kind of women who only laughed out loud, metaphorically speaking. They turned unabashed joy into something as one dimensional as ‘lol’. They spent their time concerned with appearances. This woman threw caution to the wind, and it wasn’t because of some catch phrase like YOLO. This was just her.
In that brief flash, I saw enough that I knew I had to know her. That I wanted to find out what other unfiltered sounds she made.
I blinked, wondering if Jessie had a point about me slowing down. My college days were far behind me and I couldn’t pound them back like I used to. Luckily for me, and whatever staff member was woefully stuck on clean up duty, Jessie caught the glass before it hit the floor.
“Good save,” I commented, craning my neck past her, seeking out the stand, but coming up empty. “The woman behind the cupcakes-”
“Miss Madison is probably headed to her seat, like everyone else but you, Mr. Cox.”
Not believing her, I kept my eyes on that cutesy little logo, the night we met coming back to me in bits and pieces.
I didn’t get nervous, especially when it came to women, but I had a slight twist in my gut as I’d strode to the bar, flabbergasted by the fact that the bartender, and every other man in the room, seemed oblivious to her, then instantly happy that they were too stuck on their cardboard cuts outs...because she would be mine.
Jessie gave me a push toward the table. I dodged a murderous glare from Denise and winks from Scarlet, shuffling over to the groom’s side. One of Scott’s friends, Rob, a stocky football player who spent way too much time reminiscing about all the pussy he used to get, pulled out my chair for me. He wasn’t usually so accommodating and I knew he was secretly hoping I’d be preoccupied with fucking one of the guests and he’d be ‘forced’ to give the toast.
“Thanks, man,” I said effusively, taking him and Scott by surprise.
You’d think I was some sort of asshole from their reaction to me being polite. I could be polite, if the occasion called for it.
I settled in the ivory seat and fixed my tie, zoning out Scarlet’s toast as I went back to more important things, like finding those piercing green eyes in the crowd.
If memory served, I’d given her my name and she’d kept hers a secret. I’d been on my A-game though, and names hadn’t been necessary at all when we hit the elevator.
Just in time, her emerald hued gaze leapt out from the back corner. And if I didn’t know better, there may have been the slightest curve of her lips.
A smile?
Directed at me?
Was she thinking about our moment from earlier? When I almost did something crazy, like grip that slender, enticing neck of hers and pull her in for a kiss? I knew from personal experience that she tasted like heaven and sin, wrapped all in one.
&
nbsp; “-Congratulations to the most annoyingly perfect and cute couple I know!”
Polite applause followed Scarlet’s maid of honor toast and I took a swig of my drink, rolling my eyes. Speaking of do overs, I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and do a hard pass on hooking up with her. Hell, I’d turn the dial back a little further and go back to that elevator on New Year’s Eve-
Rob nudged me and before I could call him on it, he directed his cloudy eyes at my glass. I was the only one at the table not holding mine up. I remedied the gaffe smoothly, then downed my champagne in a single gulp, garnering a parental sigh from Denise and an uncomfortable, ‘I’m gonna pay for that later’ chuckle from Scott.
Silence filled the room, but I barely noticed because I was trying to remember why I hadn’t invited Natalee to my room. There’d been no one else that night.
“Ahem.”
This nudge came from Scott and was sharp enough that I was pulled from the past, dumped unceremoniously into the present.
I massaged my bicep, frowning at him. “Did I burp?” I hissed under my breath. “Fart inappropriately?”
Denise popped her head over, like she was the teacher and we were a wayward bunch of rambunctious students. Her face was a plastic, seemingly happy thing, but she was killing me with her eyes. I never understood what Scott saw in the woman. The whole blonde, blue eyed, Stepford wife thing, complete with pearls, seemed like it would get old after about five minutes. And it didn’t help that she was the kind of woman that got off on making her man feel two feet tall.
“It’s your turn to give a toast, Jason,” she said acidly. “If you even have one.”
Scott clapped me on the shoulder, mirroring her tight grin.
Totally whipped. It was a damn shame.
“Of course he has a toast.” Scott’s smile wavered. “Don’t you?”
