With a brow in the air, I had to ask. “How many bottles have you already had?”
“I think one,” she answered. “No, I shared that one with Amber. Wait, that was vodka.”
“You’ve already had half a bottle of vodka?”
“It was a small bottle,” she said giggling. “There were also those two bearded goats and the vodka cupcakes I made. I’m kind of a lightweight, regardless of what my hips say.”
My eyes traveled to her tantalizing hips in her tight jean shorts, and I immediately regretted it. I could feel myself growing hard, and since I was wearing a wetsuit under my clothes, a hard-on wasn’t something that could stick around.
“I would tell you what your hips say to me, but I’m pretty sure you’d slap me. I do have a surprise for you, and when we’re done, we can share that bottle of wine. You shouldn’t drink it alone. You might not make it home.”
“Keep your surprise in your pants, Brady,” she said, using air quotes with one hand while grasping the bottle tightly to her chest, “and I’m not sharing my wine.”
Stopping in front of the shore of Lake Pendle, I tugged the bottle of wine from her grasp. It wasn’t a struggle, but she almost tipped over trying to hold onto it. “The surprise isn’t in my pants, though, you’d probably like that if you gave it half a chance.”
“Probably,” she said, that giggle filling the air again. A part of me wished I was recording her right now so I could prove to sober Haylee that drunk Haylee thought my manhood was worth taking half a chance on.
“Sit here,” I said, directing her to an empty patch of sand amidst all the other onlookers. “The surprise will be out there,” I explained, pointing to the water. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Give me back my wine,” she slurred, her arms wrapped around her knees.
“I will...when I come back in an hour. I want to make sure you’re still here when I get back. This,” I said, holding up the bottle, “will ensure that you are.”
The huffing sound she made was loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear. “I can’t believe you’re holding my wine hostage.”
More like I was helping her sober up before she started drinking again. She’d thank me early tomorrow morning when she got up to bake without a raging hangover. “Not hostage,” I insisted, holding it to my chest. “I just don’t want you to drink it all without me.”
“I have to get to the bakery and bake,” she mumbled, struggling to stand but wobbling more than anything before she fell to her knees.
“God, no,” I exclaimed, grasping her upper arm and helping her sit on her butt again. “Promise me you won’t go to the bakery. That’s a dangerous place to be in your condition.”
Haylee tossed up a hand and let it drop to the sand. “I can’t go anywhere. I forgot my keys and anyway, you have my wine. I’m forced to sit here and watch your surprise,” she yelled, throwing those air quotes around again.
People were looking at us, but I didn’t care. I was having too much fun with drunk Haylee.
“Remember, eyes out there,” I said, pointing her head forward.
She started ooh and ahhing over the gorgeous blue water that she’d seen her entire life. Happy she’d forgotten about the wine long enough for me to escape, I darted over to the dock. After I stripped off my shirt and wrapped it around the wine, I tucked it away and strapped on a vest.
“Did you get lost?” the team captain asked when I was ready to go. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t. “I had to help a friend. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
The motor started, the crowd let out a ferocious roar, and I primed myself for the best sixty minutes of my week. At least it used to be the best sixty minutes of my week. Suddenly, the idea of sharing a bottle of wine with my cupcake filled that slot.
My cupcake?
Oh, boy.
WHAT A SHOW-OFF. THERE he was up there on top of that pyramid of water skiers like he was God’s gift to women. Okay, so maybe he was, but still, it was annoying. I brushed some sand off my thighs and tried to avoid watching the waterski show out on the lake. Unfortunately, my damn disobedient eyes kept going back to Brady in that ridiculously tight wetsuit. Was it even a wetsuit? It was more like a leotard that was waterproof.
My loud, drunken laughter had people turning their heads to look at me, but I didn’t care. The thought of Brady Pearson in a leotard was worthy of a few looks. His loaf of bread was prominent in it, and I was getting a little hot under the collar watching him up there, even from this distance. What must that be like up close and personal, I wondered. I shook my head and contemplated how he was going to get down from there. Wait. I peered closer with my hand to my eyes. Is he holding a flag with a strawberry on it?
I fell over onto the sand, laughing silently, my body shaking at the idea that the hot, ripped guy who’s always taking up all the space in my bakery was wearing a skimpy wetsuit and flying around the water holding a flag with a strawberry on it. Sure, it took a massive amount of skill and muscles to pull off a pyramid on water skis without falling on your face, but a strawberry flag?
I grasped the paper program someone had given me at the start of the show and read the fine print. Sponsored by the Lake Pendle Strawberry Festival. Okay, now it made more sense. I grasped my knees to my chest and focused on the rest of the show. Brady did a backflip off the shoulders of the two guys he was on and landed in the water, waving to the crowd who all stood and cheered, yelling his name like he was Prince.
I glanced around embarrassedly when I realized I was also standing and yelling his name ridiculously loud. So much for playing it cool and not liking his surprise. I better find my poker face before he swims ashore and notices me ogling his hot body in his fancy suit.
While everyone else wandered away with their towels and beach chairs under their arms, I sat back down on the sand. I watched the sunset in the late evening breeze and waited for my bottle of wi—Brady. Sure, I had to work in a few hours, but if I stayed drunk the whole time, I wouldn’t even care that I didn’t get any sleep. The sun had set significantly lower in the sky by the time Brady showed up with his hair wet and a bag thrown over his shoulder. Unfortunately, it looked like his skimpy suit was no longer on his body. That was a disappointment.
“Hey there, cupcake. You’re still here.”
I stood and brushed the wet sand off my ass. “Of course. You took my wine. I would have appreciated you spending less time with your adoring fans, though. I’m thirsty.”
All he did was smile, and that annoyed the crap out of me even more than usual. “It’s a tradition that we talk to kids who are interested in potentially joining the team. It’s called community service and recruitment. You should try it sometime.”
“My life is community service and recruitment,” I insisted, walking beside him. “I depend on the community to buy my cupcakes, so I recruit the very best ingredients.”
Brady shoulder bumped me as we walked, and I nearly fell over. “Girl, you’re still drunk.”
“I don’t remember the last time I was this drunk. For a little while, there were two of you on that pyramid. Color me surprised when I realized it was you out there doing all those fancy swirls and twirls in a skimpy leotard.”
Brady’s laughter could be heard the full length of Main Street. “It’s called a wetsuit.”
“I call it a tight suit. I’m not complaining,” I said, holding my hands out in front of me and waving them around. “Your loaf of bread was definitely the highlight of the show.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “I mean, it was a great show.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Brady said, laughter in his voice. “I’m surprised you’ve never seen the show before. We perform twice a month during the summer and at every Strawberry Festival.”
“I don’t go to the beach much,” I said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m usually sleeping by the time the show starts. I have a business to run. I can’t be out gallivanting a
round all night like some people.”
“It’s barely nine p.m.,” he answered, laughter coating the words. “Why are you out gallivanting around tonight, anyway?”
“You!” I said, tossing my hand up. “And where’s my wine.”
“In my bag. I thought it would be smart if you were home before you started drinking again.”
“Shows what you know. Hand it over.”
“What are you going to do? Swig it straight from the bottle?” he asked with one brow in the air.
“Absolutely.” I made the gimme fingers until he pulled it from his bag and handed it over.
“Fine, but you might get a reputation if people see you staggering down Main Street drinking from a bottle.”
“Can’t be any worse than the reputation I already got,” I muttered, my words still slurring. I brought the bottle to my lips and took a long pull of it, handing it back to him and wiping my lips on my arm. “Ahh.”
“What the hell. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” He slugged back a hit of the wine, and the sweetness made him cough and choke until he got his breath back.
I grabbed the bottle from him. “Can’t hold your liquor, Pearson?”
“That’s the girliest thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life, and I work in a place that makes cupcakes.”
I drank from it longer this time, smacking my lips when I finished. “All the more for me,” I slurred, my steps uneven and crisscrossed.
“Somebody has to be sober in a few hours when it’s time to start baking, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be you,” Brady muttered, taking my elbow to help me walk in a straight line.
He dutifully helped me up the stairs to my apartment, took the key, unlocked the door, and helped me to the couch. I fell hard onto the cushion and brought the bottle to my lips again.
“I’ll be fine at four a.m. Unlike some people, I’m not a pansy-ass who can’t work with a hangover.”
“I can work with a hangover,” he insisted. “I just prefer not to. Sit. I’ll be right back.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” I yelled. “I’m your boss, remember?”
“Only when we’re downstairs. Up here, I can boss you around, too.”
“I don’t think that’s how this works!”
I GRINNED, ENJOYING this new side of Haylee. She was all kinds of funny drunk, which told me she would be funny sober, too, if she’d let her guard down. I bet Amber got to see her humorous side all the time. I was a little bit jealous that I didn’t.
While she was busy swigging her sweet wine, I wandered through her tiny kitchen and finally found a frozen pizza in the freezer. I put it in the oven to bake and noticed the calendar on the side of the fridge. The page for July was missing, unless I slept through the whole month, but I didn’t think so. When the coffee machine finished spitting out a cup of liquid gold, I carried it back into the living room, swapping the bottle of wine for the cup of coffee.
“I think you should ask for a refund on your calendar. It’s missing the month of July,” I pointed out, setting the bottle of wine out of sight.
“That’s because Amber ripped it up. She said I had to stop focusing on my birthday,” Haylee explained as she dutifully sipped the coffee. “She’s a real buzzkill to a girl’s goals in life. You know what? You’re a real buzzkill with this coffee bit, too. If Amber were here, she’d let me have the wine.”
“I’ve decided that Amber isn’t always the best influence.”
“Duh,” she said, her eyes rolling around in her head, and she had to work hard to make them stop. “We’ve been friends since we were four. That was the day she convinced me that old Mrs. Daniels wouldn’t care if we picked her flowers to give to Amber’s mom.”
“She cared?” I asked, laughter in my voice.
“Oh, she cared. Amber and I have been thick as thieves ever since.”
The timer went off on the oven, and I stood, pointing at her. “Stay put and finish the coffee.”
“Stay put and finish the coffee,” she mimicked. “You’re still not the boss of me.”
Some men might feel emasculated with the constant reminders that she was the boss, but I wasn’t one of those men. I preferred working for a woman. They most often were more willing to stop and think about other’s suggestions before insisting something be done their way. At least in my experience. Besides, Haylee was a lot easier on the eyes than my last boss, who had been six feet and nearly three hundred pounds.
After I stowed the rest of the wine in the fridge, I strode back into the living room, carrying the pizza and two plates. “Ta-da!”
Haylee lifted a brow at me and then started to clap slowly. “Wow. The baker managed to bake a frozen pizza.” She pushed herself up off the couch. “Standing ovation.”
I laughed and shoved her in the shoulder gently until she plopped back down on the couch. “Smart ass. Here, eat some of this now. Maybe you’ll be sober enough by four a.m. not to burn down the bakery.”
She bit into the pizza and moaned low in her throat. The sound made my dick jump in my pants on its own accord. All I could think about was that sound in my ear while I was bringing her to climax. The thought made me choke, and I coughed, covering it with a smile when she glanced at me sharply.
“You okay, bro?” she asked, taking another bite.
I swear she could see right through me and knew exactly what I was thinking. “Fine, thanks. I’m hungry, and it was too hot.”
“I bet you worked up quite an appetite out there preening for the ladies,” Haylee agreed.
“Waterskiing is hard work. It requires a lot of stamina. You should try it.”
“Never going to happen,” she said around the pizza in her mouth. “I can’t swim.”
“You can’t swim?”
She shook her head until she swallowed the bite of pizza. “Not well. I’m all hips and ass. It’s not pretty.”
I so badly wanted to say it was pretty. So pretty. I knew better.
She had a second piece in her hand when I glanced up again. She held up the pizza. “See, this is the reason I’m all hips and ass. Pizza and cupcakes.”
“You seem to think that being all hips and ass is a bad thing. At least that’s the impression I’ve garnered over the last seven years.”
The eye roll she gave me was powerful, and I would give it an eight out of ten if I were passing out scores. At least this time, she was able to bring them back to the center without as much effort. “As if you think being all hips and ass isn’t a bad thing. Give me a break. I have a bridge for sale if you don’t. Look at you with all your muscles in all the right places ‘n shit.”
I had to bite back my laughter, so I didn’t choke on my pizza. “’N shit? I worked hard for these muscles just like you’ve worked hard on those hips and ass.”
The pizza fell back to the plate, and the death glare she threw at me burned me to ash in the chair. “I’ve looked like this since the day I came out of the womb. Sometimes you’re the ass.”
“Why do you fight it then?”
“Fight what?”
“Being all hips and ass, to use your phrasing.”
The pizza went back to her lips, and she took a bite, silently chewing while she glared at me. “Darla McFinkle.”
“What about her?”
“She’s the reason I fight it. Her, and Jerry, Tim, Tieg, and that asshole I had brunch with today. Matt? Mike? Moses? Max?” Her hand waved in the air. “Something like that.”
“What about Darla? I’m confused.”
“If you’re confused, then you must be slow. Let me spell it out for you.” Her hands made a stick straight figure to her left. “Darla McFinkle. Tiny and adorable since day one.” She made a wavy line to her right. “Haylee Davis. A cupcake since day one.”
I raised a brow. “A cupcake?”
“Look at me!” she said, bolting upright. “I look like a cupcake. Thick on the bottom, thin on top.”
“Oh, I’m looking,” I drawled appreciati
vely. “I look every day, but I’m smart enough not to take a bite.” Her eyes rolled, and she sat again. “You’re saying that Darla is the reason you hate on yourself all the time about your figure?”
“You would too after twenty-five years. Her nicknames weren’t kind.”
“Where do Jerry, Tim, Tieg, and today’s asshole come in?”
She pointed at me while she chewed. When she finished that piece, she leaned back on the couch to relax. “They all spent a good portion of the date suggesting in not so subtle, and in a multitude of different ways, that my hips and ass were too big. The date I had today suggested I get a salad instead of a burger.”
“Well, fuck them then. If you’ve been this way since the day you were born, what makes you think you can change it because someone points it out? Tell them to kiss your sweet ass and walk away. Why do you give them the power to make you feel bad about it?”
“I tried that once. It backfired on me, and now Darla knows she’s got the power.”
“I know I’m sober, but that made no sense, so it must be because you’re drunk.”
Her finger waved at me from across the room. “You asked why I named the bakery The Fluffy Cupcake?” I nodded and leaned forward, ready for the story. “Darla has called me a fluffy cupcake since the first day of kindergarten.”
My finger went up in the air, and my mouth opened and closed a couple of times. It took me too long to come to a simple conclusion. “You named your business after the hateful nickname someone has called you your whole life?”
Her palm connected with her forehead, and she shook her head. “Dumb, I know. I thought I was thumbing my nose at Darla. Now she just gloats every time she struts in there like a queen. As if she got me, you know?” she asked, making the digging motion with her hand.
I shrugged and leaned back on the chair. “Only because you continue to let her think that.”
Haylee swirled her finger around my face. “You’ve bought into this whole giving someone else the power thing, haven’t you? Where the hell does that come from?”
“I had to learn early on that if I didn’t have the power, I was the one who got hurt. You’re living proof of that statement. I think you should own those hips and ass, and not just pretend to do it, either. You should own it and mean it every single time.”
Cupcake (The Fluffy Cupcake Book 1) Page 7
