Bake Sale Queen (Greenbridge Academy Book 6)

by Abby Knox

  “Thank you. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I know men aren’t used to tears.”

  “But I’m your friend. Friends don’t run away when the tears come,” he says.

  Quinn is becoming more and more difficult to friend zone than anyone I’ve ever met.

  I stand up and put the glass in sink. “It’s late. I think I’m just tired.”

  “Then let’s go to bed.”

  I stare at him hard. “Quinn.”

  “Not like that,” he insists, and I can tell he’s totally sincere.

  “And you have to teach at school tomorrow, or have you forgotten? You’re free to go whenever you want and I won’t be mad.”

  “Shush, let’s put you to bed.” He keeps his hand on my back between my shoulder blades as I make my way to the bedroom, which is just off the kitchen.

  I go into my small master bathroom to change into my pajamas and decide to put on my bathrobe, for an extra layer of protection. If he tries anything, I won’t stop him. But I hang on to some bizarre logic that maybe if I have an extra layer of material on my body, it will buy us extra time to come to our senses.

  My abbreviated skin care routine and teeth brushing gives me time to absorb the fact that there is actually a man in my bedroom. I’ve lived in this house for years and I’ve never once had a man in my bedroom. Not even a contractor or an exterminator.

  My stomach does a little jump. But he’s just a friend and that’s it. A teacher at the school, one who could eventually become your child’s teacher.

  For Pete’s sake, he’s practically a transient beat poet; this is not someone to build a relationship with. It’s hard enough when friends move away.

  What if you allow yourself to have feelings for him and then he decides to leave Greenbridge Academy on the next cool breeze? What if another job comes along and he decides to blow this popsicle stand? And you’d be left with what, exactly? Some happy memories of some good times in bed?

  Oh, there would most certainly be some good times in bed. Those lips, the playful sparkle in his eye, the way he holds eye contact a little too long. You know he’d be intense and crazy hot in bed if you gave him the go-ahead.

  “So sleepy,” I say as I tromp to the nearest side of the bed. Quinn is on the far side, lying on top of the covers, still fully dressed.

  “See? I’m gonna stay just like this, on top of the covers, just like a friend would.”

  His tone tells me he’s humoring me. I climb under the blankets into my soft sheets as he holds the duvet and blankets open for me. I yawn and say, “Why does it feel like you’re mocking me in the way you say that?” He covers my exhausted body with all the blankets and gives me another one of his expert squeezes.

  With a chuckle he points out, “I’m just following your rules exactly as you laid them out. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Okay. You’re right,” I say, my eyes already closing as I lie there facing him, safely separated by many layers of clothes and blankets.

  “Sleep now and I’ll make you my special French toast in the morning,” I hear him say as I drift off.

  At these words I slightly wake up again. “No, don’t touch anything, I have a special recipe…I'm gonna make you cinnamon rolls.”

  He makes an adorable yum-yum noise and tells me he loves cinnamon rolls.

  I sigh and can no longer open my eyes when I tell him, “You are a cinnamon roll.”

  Chapter Five

  Mal

  I wake early Tuesday morning to the smell of baking cinnamon buns and coffee, and the smell of someone clattering around in my kitchen.

  My kitchen.

  The one where I am the boss. I peek over at my phone on the nightstand and I have another cancellation. This one, an office to which I deliver muffins every week for their weekly staff meeting. This one is going to hurt a bit. I immediately call the client back, but it goes to voicemail.

  I lie back in bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what is going on. Maybe it’s not a trend. Maybe it’s all in my head. Shit happens. Things get canceled. I don’t need to take everything personally.

  Besides, it’s time to put on a happy face. There’s a hot man in my kitchen, using my oven, and I’m not even bothered by it, not one little bit.

  Normally if I hear Shelby rattling around in there before I get out of bed, I will throw on my robe and scrub in to take over the cooking and baking.

  Maybe this is a good thing that I don’t want to completely take over. Maybe it’s a good thing my brain and my body are telling me what they need. You need someone to take care of you sometimes, and just let go.

  I roll over and run my hand over the duvet and pillow where Quinn lay next to me last night. It’s still warm. It still smells like him, a little bit musky and like old books and earth.

  I grin as I gaze out the window at my blooming forsythia, its tiny yellow petals as bright as my spirit right now. I have a project to do, I have a daughter who makes me proud, I love my life. And most of all, I have a friend.

  Something catches my eye suddenly, and I now see a slip of paper peeking out from under the pillow next to me. I pull it out and unfold it.

  There’s a poem Quinn has written on it. I sit up and read it, my hand over my mouth.

  It’s a dirty limerick and I’m laughing so hard that it summons Quinn from the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand.

  “I wasn’t sure how you like it,” he says, handing the steaming mug to me.

  “That’s perfect,” I say.

  He watches me intently while I take my first sip of coffee.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” I ask him.

  Quinn glances up at the ceiling and bites his lip. “You don’t want to know.”

  The tone of his voice goes directly to my nipples, which tighten under my nightshirt. Thank goodness for thick fluffy bathrobes. But then I glance down and see that my robe has fallen open and one perky nipple is clearly visible through my white pajama tank top. I pull my lapels together and shift on the mattress.

  “Come on.” He offers a hand to help me up out of bed. “Let’s go eat some cinnamon rolls.”

  When we’re both comfortably seated at the breakfast island, the tension between us is still not dissipated. “Why don’t you tell me what you were thinking before? I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

  I watch as he tears off a chunk of the outer layer of the cinnamon roll and takes a bite. Our eyes are trained on each other while he chews. He’s daring me to look at his mouth. His tongue slips out and the tip of it licks the icing off his lips. Oh lord.

  “I was thinking about the perfect spot on a woman’s body,” he says.

  “The…the perfect spot?” My mouth waters, but not for icing, butter and cinnamon.

  “Mm-hmm. For some women, it’s the curve of her hip, the small of her back, the soft slope of her shoulder, or simply her face. You figure out pretty quickly what part of her your hand craves, what part your hand was made to connect with.”

  I take a bite and shake my head. “That’s a very poetic theory but it’s total bullshit. There’s no way you can tell just by looking.”

  He shrugs but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Suit yourself. Guess we’ll never find out.”

  “Guess we won’t.”

  Like a pair of overheated idiots, we continue eating the gooey cinnamon rolls and eyeing each other until the lust is palpable. So palpable I could reach across and squeeze his belly like fresh kneaded dough.

  I make the mistake of staring a little too long at his lips, and the slight gap in his teeth shows when he smiles at me.

  “What?” he asks.

  I point at his bottom lip. “You’ve got some icing. Here, I’ll get you a napkin.”

  “Are you sure that’s how you want to get it off?”

  The way he says “get it off” catches me completely off-guard. My pussy makes an involuntary clench. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to my body right now? I would be mortifie
d if he knew.

  I don’t know what possesses me, but I blurt out, “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I’m not sure I w…want you to use a napkin.”

  I hear the annoying noise of a text notification, but I’m so caught up in the moment, it sounds like it could be miles away. Cancel all of next week’s clients. I don’t care, because I’ve got more important things going on right now besides your cupcake emergencies.

  Quinn towers over me. I can’t tell if he’s going to kiss me first or if he’s waiting for me to do it. And before I can gather up my courage, our mouths are connected.

  The kiss is a ruining kiss, a kiss that spoils me forever for any other man. His lips are soft yet claiming, sweet and full but firm. Quinn’s mouth gives me the feeling of being drowned by stars.

  Chapter Six

  Quinn

  Mal’s plump lips taste like a sweet forbidden fruit.

  Her skin up close fills me with the scent of warm peaches.

  I thought I would enjoy the chase, but this instant connection of two souls is much, much sweeter than anything involved in wooing her.

  I’m done with all that.

  I will kiss no other woman.

  Regrettably, she pulls away from my kiss to say something. She seems to be gathering her courage.

  “Yes, speak to me, beautiful,” I prod.

  She closes her eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask hurriedly, worried I’ve offended her. “What did I say wrong?”

  “I’m just enjoying what you said, letting it wash over me for a second.”

  “Surely you’ve been showered with similar praise before.”

  Lovely Mal shakes her head. “Never. Not even by Shelby’s dad when I was 16.”

  “High crimes and misdemeanors.”

  She laughs and I have half a mind to scoop her up and devour every inch of her like a pint of ice cream.

  “But did you need to tell me something? Why are we not still kissing?”

  “It’s just that this feels so new, I don’t know where to put my hands.”

  Without hesitation I answer, “You put them on my heart and feel it thumping for you.”

  She grins.

  “How are you so perfectly charming?”

  “May I continue to kiss you, beautiful Mal?”

  When she agrees, I clasp her hand in both of mine and kiss the back of it, surprising her, to my delight.

  I kiss all the way up her wrist, savoring the feel of her soft skin and the peachy scent of it.

  Her hands on my chest while I claim her mouth again give me goosebumps.

  I want her. I want to take her back to her bedroom and make absolute mad love to her. Make up for all the time her body has been neglected, all the pleasure she’s denied herself.

  Something has awakened in her. Something primal and ferocious. The soft, shy woman has her arms wrapped around me.

  She may say she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Lies, all lies. She could make me fall to my knees with one brush of her fingers to my chin, my shoulder, my ass, my elbow.

  As our lips savor each other, her little pink tongue swipes against the skew of my mouth.

  Well, I must oblige. Pulling her close against me, I part my lips and allow our curious tongues to meet.

  Her gasps of breath clutch at my heart. To think I’m giving her this much pleasure. I almost feel bad I’m not verbally reciprocating. I’m too much in my head, committing to memory the sweetness of her mouth, the urgency of her soft, searching lips. What does she think she will find with this searching that she hasn’t already found? An image slams into my mind, of those gentle lips wrapped around my cock. It’s too much to hope for, but my hardening length doesn’t care.

  She has me figuratively wrapped around not just her finger, but her arm like an adoring snake. She’s Cleopatra and I’m merely an accessory to her royal beauty. I have the overwhelming urge to hold her face as we kiss.

  I could write a thousand poems about her lovely cheekbones alone, and it wouldn’t be enough.

  “Mal,” I whisper.

  “Hmm?” Her eyes flutter open, and my God, those eyelashes. How had I not noticed their golden bronze color before, like her hair?

  I can die happy now.

  I’ve found my match. I’ve finally found her.

  Mal’s smile is wide and broad. Her teeth…I realize now that she hides them when she smiles; she always seems to catch this. But I’ve caught her off-guard. She’s genuinely happy and when she lets her guard down, I can see all her teeth. Little imperfectly set jewels, but perfect to me.

  “I found my muse.”

  Her eyebrows knit together in slight confusion. “Oh? What is it? Who?”

  “False modesty doesn’t suit you. It’s you. You’re my muse. Was that not obvious?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing is obvious. I will always need you to spell it out for me.”

  I softly kiss her on the nose, the forehead and both eyelids.

  “Then I’ll spell it out for you. I don’t draw but I want to draw your face. I don’t sculpt but I want to carve a graven image in the shape of you and carry it around with me like a little fertility goddess. I don’t play a single instrument but I need to write you a hundred love songs.”

  Her eyes shine and when I finish talking, I feel as though I’ve said too much.

  “That was unbelievable. I don’t even know what to say after that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I say. “Just let me get lost in you.”

  “Quinn."

  “I know. You’re thinking of your daughter’s happiness, and I don’t want to make anything awkward or difficult. So if we need to keep this quiet, or press pause for now, we can just…”

  “Maybe we should, but it’s not that. I haven’t had sex with anyone since Shelby’s dad. Fifteen years ago. I know it seems insane, but I’m nervous.”

  I grip her tight to me and kiss her again. I will keep kissing her and whispering to her. I am determined to keep doing this until she gets it through her head there is nothing unsexy about being somewhat inexperienced. Until she understands that she deserves some pleasure. She accepts my kisses again and relaxes her body into me. Her kisses bewitch me. Her sighs are like incantations that ensnare me. There is nothing else in the world but us.

  A phone rings. But it’s impossible that a phone is ringing, because we are in space right now. We are floating together in another time and place altogether where there are no phones.

  There’s the ringing again.

  Nope. No technology allowed in this dimension. We keep kissing.

  And again.

  Finally realizing it’s the ringtone I’ve set for the school, and that today is still, in fact, Tuesday, I pull away from her face.

  “I should probably answer that.”

  “All right, fine, check it,” she says, letting me go to occupy herself with breakfast cleanup.

  I place the phone on speaker, and I hear it’s the voice of Headmistress Moody.

  “Whoa,” Mal whispers, wiping icing up from the countertops.

  “Mr. Pope, unfortunately we have an issue with the gymnasium on the day you requested for the bake sale. I know last night when you emailed me the details, I said the room was free that day but I just checked my records again and somehow I missed something and the room has been previously booked. It’s strange. I’m very sorry. We’ll try to work something else out.”

  Mal puts her hand out and without thinking, I hand the phone to her.

  It’s not until she’s speaking that I realize we’ve just made the first misstep in keeping our relationship a secret. Because, why else would my boss think I’m with the school’s bake sale queen at 7 a.m. on a Tuesday?

  “What about the elementary school gym, ma’am?”

  Still, despite the blunder, it’s amazing watching Mal work her magic on this hard-as-nails headmistress, but really, this is too much negotiating for a simple bake sale.r />
  I put my hand on her shoulder and whisper, “Mal, it’s okay. It’s just a bake sale. There will be other writing workshop trips.”

  Mal mutes the phone and turns to me with a blazing look in her eye. I’m terrified, actually, and I’m in awe. I commit this look to memory to write about later. “There is no such thing as ‘just a bake sale.’” Her words come out full of grit. She could file down marble with those S’s.

  She unmutes again, turns back to Headmistress Moody still on speaker, and continues, “I don’t need a huge space. This is a decent-size campus. What about the theater? We could use the stage.”

  Moody replies, “I’m afraid that’s already booked up every day after school between now and the winter musical.”

  Mal nods and moves on as if this was not yet another speed bump. “Okay, how about the dining hall?”

  Moody tells her that will only work if we have the bake sale right away on Thursday this week. The dining hall is booked for repairs for four weeks after that for a total renovation, including the kitchen.

  Mal bites her lip, considering. “Thursday, huh?”

  “The best I can do. I’ll understand if that’s too soon,” Moody says.

  Mal glances at me.

  I lean forward in my chair and clear my throat. I have no idea what I’m about to step into with my brand new friend who I’m not-so-secretly in love with, but I also don’t care. I want her to win, and I want her to beat the shit out of whoever it is that seems to be working against her.

  “She has help,” I say.

  Mal looks over at me and smiles.

  As soon as we hang up the phone with Moody, we devise a plan. “I can get started today while you’re at school. And if you really do want to help, you can come by this afternoon. You can stay as long as you want. Shelby comes home tomorrow after school, and she can help me then.”

  “What do you want me to do first, boss?”

  It’s after school on Tuesday, and while I should be grading papers, I’m here, back in Mal’s kitchen. As if I could be anywhere else.