Sugar Rush

by Leigh Ellwood

  She couldn’t decide which frightened her more.

  Chapter Two

  Her phone cradled in her left palm, Judy chuckled as Neve’s reply to her cat query popped up on the tiny screen. “I’ll do that,” she said as she typed with her thumbs, “and bring friends.” One touch sent the short note, and Judy scrolled the rest of her news feed for anything interesting before logging off for the night.

  How nice to know a local business vocally supported the gay community. Working in retail herself, Judy didn’t give a damn who her customers dated or married, and it never crossed her mind to berate anybody for their beliefs.

  If only others would follow the example of Sugar Rush, she mused, recalling with bitterness the treatment she and her best friend, Rachael, had received from other bakeries when they inquired about getting a birthday cake.

  We don’t do fag cakes, sneered one particularly odious man with flour-dusted hands. His accented baying still rang in Judy’s ears days later. After the third refusal, Rachael had thrown up her hands and said, “Fuck this. Call everybody and cancel.”

  Well, Sugar Rush would soon benefit from Judy’s sweet tooth. And maybe Rachael would reconsider her birthday—

  A bleeping noise broke into her thoughts, alerting Judy to a text. She opened the proper app to see the photo Rachael sent her. Following the snapshot of the elfish young woman with multicolored hair, awash in body glitter and sparkling bracelets, came a short rebuke. See what you’re missing?

  Judy snorted. The photo showed Rachael in a green strapless club dress, narrow chest puffed out to make her breasts look larger, sandwiched between two baby butches. One sported a leather jacket and a Fonzie-style cut—Judy tried to recall if Little Dude’s was hosting a theme party tonight. Not likely, she decided. Regulars enjoyed dressing up for the hell of it.

  They’re not my type. You know that, she texted back. Judy sighed and cursed herself. She should have waited until morning to reply, she realized. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but now that Rachael knew she hadn’t gone to bed yet, she’d text all night.

  “You should be at the club, you need to meet so-and-so,” Judy groused in Rachael’s voice as she padded to the kitchen for something to drink. “You don’t have a type, Judy, and you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t go along with the blind date I’m about to set up for you. Ugh! Get out of my head, Rach!”

  Judy fetched a bottle of juice and took a deep pull as she headed toward the bathroom. She realized she’d toted the phone with her and left it on the toilet seat while she showered. The next message from Rachael pinged just after she’d dressed for bed and slipped under her satin comforter.

  Not quite what she’d predicted, but Rach came close. FFS, what is your type? Pick something and I’ll find it. Just get your ass down here and get some prime pussy.

  “Later.” More like never. Judy powered off her phone and snuggled down to sleep, but a few minutes later she gave up and had the screen active again to her Facebook account.

  She checked a notification alert and saw more Sugar Rush fans had chimed in their support for the store. Neve Rush, assuming she and not some social media intern had administrative control of the page, hadn’t come back to say anything more. The earlier statement on being people-friendly sounded too sincere to have come from a PR machine, and Judy imagined the business was too small to hire out their social media work.

  Now, the chat message to Neve’s personal profile she’d dared earlier, that answer couldn’t have come from anybody else. Judy hadn’t expected Neve to respond, and she felt giddy at the casual invitation to check Sugar Rush for cat treats. If only other business owners used the same acumen to attract customers. Judy admired the woman’s willingness to make herself available.

  And if only she owned a cat… That remark had come totally out of the blue.

  She hoped Neve didn’t think her a creeper, contacting her privately instead of on the shop’s page. Then again, she could have ignored the message or deleted it entirely.

  Judy clicked back to Neve’s personal account, reminding herself why she’d bypassed the public arena. A page-wide graphic of pastel cupcakes and round, fondant-enrobed pops with sprinkles bordered the top. Neve smiled from a small avatar box underneath. Damn, she looked good. Judy stared for a full minute at those deep-brown eyes and that bright smile. Neve wore a knit cap in the photo, like a baker in a shop would don to keep her hair swept out of sight. Judy had been to Sugar Rush a few times but had never taken a moment to notice the women working there—apparently that was a mistake.

  She studied the profile, what information Neve made public, and wondered about her hair color and length, and how soft it might feel wrapped around her fingers.

  Judy’s free hand touched her t-shirt just underneath her breast and ghosted upward, stopping where her erect nipple dented the fabric.

  Neve’s information page offered no clues on her relationship status or sexual preference. When it came to fine-tuning gaydar, Judy managed to get it wrong more often than not, but she did know through a friend that at least one lesbian worked there. As for Neve… Well, Judy hadn’t mastered picking out lesbians online, but a girl could hope in this case.

  Judy circled a fingertip around her nipple before pinching the hard flesh. She sucked in a breath, enjoying the brief yet sharp sensation warming her skin. Neve’s gorgeous smile encouraged her to touch more, and Judy closed her eyes to conjure an active image of the lovely baker. She had just slipped her hand underneath her t-shirt to play with her distended nipple when an obnoxious honking sound—signaling Rachael wanting attention—interrupted her.

  “Damn you,” she muttered. Judy felt the jolt of frustration shock straight to her pussy, which throbbed for attention. She’d end up using her toy tonight for blessed relief, she knew. Why didn’t she set the phone on silent?

  She called up the video chat and greeted the close-up of her friend’s smiling, albeit intoxicated expression. “What?” Judy demanded. “I’m in bed, I’m not coming.” Not yet, anyway.

  “Duuuuude, I’m having a three-way. Right. Now.” Rachael’s words ran together in a slurred mess, but Judy easily discerned the message. The camera’s point of view dipped lower to capture Fonzierella’s profile, her lips pursed around one of Rachael’s pink nipples.

  “Oh God.” Much as the bragging and visual aids disgusted her, the way Judy’s body betrayed her stung even more. Her pussy ached harder with the realization Rachael was getting some tonight while she slept alone. Yes, she chose not to go clubbing, but Rachael—while cute in a comic-book-geek-girl kind of way—barely turned heads. Or so Judy had believed. Perhaps in this case, confidence and personality trumped va-va-voom beauty, ergo the second butch, also in range of the little camera as she knelt between the V of Rachael’s legs.

  “Where are you?” Judy demanded. She watched the scene streak upward to show more of Rachael’s naked body, and she glared hard when her friend’s sleepy expression filled the screen. Even in the bad light, Judy noticed bloodshot eyes.

  “Looks like you scored more than sex,” Judy murmured. She added loudly, “Well, happy early birthday to you. I don’t know any kind of present that will top this.”

  To confirm Judy’s suspicions about her friend partaking of weed, Rachael coughed out a puff of smoke. “We moved the party to Jimmie’s,” she said, referring to a mutual friend whose sexual prowess far surpassed that of Rachael and anybody attached to her at the moment. She didn’t need Rachael to pan the apartment to know some kind of raucous orgy was in progress. Judy preferred to keep Jimmie, the only female contractor in town, literally at arm’s length.

  “And don’t worry about my birthday,” Rachael continued. “I told you, we’ll just get something for dinner.”

  “But I was just looking at—”

  “Are you really trying to argue with me while I’m getting my pussy licked? Get in here with me, girl!”

  Judy sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “God, you are a sti
ck in the mud, Judy. You could get laid just by walking through the door if you came here now. Against the fucking door.” Rachael winced and her lips puckered into a tight rosette that squeaked in air. “Fuck, that tongue is working some kind of shit on me…”

  “I should leave you alone. Night.” No way in hell did she want to watch her friend climax. She cut off the call before God knew what else might come into view. Jimmie’s knowledge of construction and tools guaranteed at the very least a St. Andrew’s cross in her living room, perfect for restraining femme subs with luscious bottoms for spanking.

  Judy powered down her phone and placed it on the nightstand, and after a second slipped it in the drawer. Out of sight, out of mind…yeah, right. No amount of eye bleach existed to erase those images.

  Banishing her one link to the outside world helped her cool down, and in the process her body stilled and all tingling faded. Judy thought of Neve again, curious about her life and work. She admired the woman’s determination to run her business as she saw fit, without bowing to public opinion. Judy hoped to instill the same work ethic when she amassed the resources and capital to start her own enterprise. She enjoyed working for Main Street Hobbies, but the store lacked the focus she desired in a business. She looked forward to the day she cut the ribbon on her own knitting shop.

  Judy snuggled under the sheets and folded her hands over her chest. Had Rachael not called, she’d probably have rubbed her clit to an explosive orgasm, holding an image of Neve in her mind. It could wait now. Toys and self-gratification sufficed once in a while, but she longed for companionship and closeness, somebody with whom to share her dreams.

  Tonight, she’d rest and fantasize about that.

  Tomorrow, she’d settle for a cupcake. And maybe, if she could convince Rachael to go through with a party, something bigger.

  Chapter Three

  Spot on seven a.m., Neve pulled into the small lot of the strip mall where Sugar Rush anchored the far corner. A yellow Volkswagen Beetle occupied her usual spot, and all neighboring slots had been taken as well. Unusual for a weekday morning, she observed, especially since none of the other businesses would open until nine.

  She looked toward the building and saw the crowd of people gathered around her shop. Oh Lord. Neve steered into the first open space she could find. Please, no pitchforks.

  As she approached the front door, she estimated about twenty people stood by the storefront windows, either looking inside or chatting with each other. Some had arms folded tightly against the cold morning while others sipped from covered to-go coffee cups. Nobody carried a sign or a brick, which boded well for the early hours of the business day, at least.

  “Excuse me, please?” She had to shoulder through men and woman of varying ages to get to the door. The key in her hand caught their attention and the questions immediately followed.

  “Do you work here?”

  “How long until you’re open?”

  “Do you serve breakfast? Coffee?”

  Neve nodded, keeping her focus on the lock as the key jammed. A wave of relief washed over her when the people gave her some berth to open the door. “We’ll be open in two hours. Sorry, I don’t have anything to serve right now because we bake our breakfast pastries fresh daily. Thanks, everybody,” she said. “I’ll have coffee on then. Have to get in and prep.” Damn. Did nobody read the hours sign in the corner of the window? She’d have Corky make a bigger one using her Photoshop skills.

  “I appreciate your patience, y’all.” She looked over her shoulder at myriad warm smiles. She had a feeling some people were gay or lesbian, judging from rainbow pins on a few coat lapels, but were she asked to sort people in a lineup, she doubted she’d perform well. That suited her fine—the sexual preferences of her customers had no bearing on her business. However, if they preferred red velvet over lemon cake, she’d adjust the menu.

  She pushed the door and it opened wide. Neve felt shuffling at her back and feared for a moment that the crowd might roll over her, so she called out, “Hope you come back at nine! Thanks!” Once inside, she turned to secure the lock. She waved to the would-be customers beginning to drift away, a few of whom stared back with odd expressions. They were pointing, though at what, Neve had no clue.

  “Whew!” she exhaled, then turned toward the kitchen to start the day’s first wave of baking—

  And collided with a lovely woman crowned with auburn bangs peeking from under a black beret.

  “Oh!”

  The intruder yelped as well, and flushed deep red.

  Neve backed up a step and cried, “I about wet my pants! How did you slip through?”

  The other woman laughed and held up two pink-gloved hands, likely to assure Neve she hadn’t come armed. “Would you believe me if I told you I snuck into the bathroom before closing and spent the night here?”

  “If you did, I’d feel insulted if I walked into the kitchen and found food still in the walk-in cooler.”

  The woman frowned. “You just said you bake everything fresh daily.”

  “Almost everything. Unfortunately, we don’t sell out every day. Leftovers are either discounted or donated. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Oh right.” The young woman appeared chagrined now. “You were so focused on getting through the door, I just stood close to your back and sort of…shuffled on in. Works great to get me into VIP clubs.”

  “Clever. I’m guessing you’re not looking for work, otherwise you might have started on some cupcakes to impress me.”

  The beret came off and Neve noticed the auburn was actually a shade of magenta that complemented the woman’s makeup and multiple rings through her left ear. “I was hoping for a minute of your time. I know you’re busy, but I figured it was better to come early.”

  Neve glanced at the storefront windows and noticed the crowd had dispersed. Tiny patches of fog from where people had breathed against the glass remained.

  “Well, I suppose you can have a seat. I don’t see a reason to turn you out into the cold. Hope you don’t mind my working while we talk.” Neve bent behind the front counter for a canister of grounds. “Coffee?”

  “No thanks, and I promise I won’t take too long. I’m Judy Goldsmith, by the way, from Facebook.”

  “Really? You work for Facebook?”

  Judy laughed. “No. I sent you a message on it last night.”

  Neve looked up from the coffeemaker on the back counter. She tried to remember the photo attached to Judy’s profile, but didn’t recall seeing a pixie-cute woman with short dyed hair and a near-metal ear. Neve studied Judy’s pert nose and sharp chin and guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, which would put her about a decade younger than Neve’s thirty-six.

  Judy, Judy, Judy, her memory mocked in Cary Grant’s voice. Why did the name strike her? Well, better this woman infiltrated her bakery than a protestor infuriated by her decision to sell a wedding cake to a lesbian couple.

  “Oh okay,” she said when realization dawned. “I bet you’re here to ask about an extensive cat-treat menu.” Neve smiled. “You caught me off guard, I have to admit. I haven’t had time to plan.”

  “Yeah, that.” Judy looked away briefly, as though embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I guess I was anxious to get some treats for myself too.”

  “I also notice you came alone when you said you’d bring friends.” Neve made a show of checking around the sales floor. “Are they hiding in the bathroom?”

  Judy laughed again. “I owe you more business. Don’t worry, I know lots of people with sweet tooths. Teeth.”

  Neve thought it cute the way the young woman blustered.

  “Anyway, I was kidding a little bit about that,” Judy continued. “I don’t really have a cat, officially. Outside my building, there’s a stray who hangs around because we all feed it. So I guess it’s a community cat.” She drummed her fingers on the yellow table, and Neve noticed she wore a nail lacquer the same shade as her hair.

  “I actually came by to inquire ab
out catering, if you do it,” Judy continued. “I didn’t see any information on your website, so I figured I should stop by and ask.”

  “This early?” Neve took the opposite chair. She knew she needed to be in the kitchen getting ready for the day, but Judy intrigued her. The girl seemed sweet and attractive, and Neve had to admire her balls for slipping past her. Thank God she hadn’t tried that in an attempt to mug her—and I responded to a private message from her last night without thinking. Well, crap. Wasn’t that how internet-savvy criminals found their victims?

  “I’m surprised you didn’t ask while you had me online,” Neve said. Again with the online stuff. Neve decided going forward to leave everything computer related to Corky, leaving herself more time to worry about baking.

  “Well, the thought didn’t occur to me until earlier this morning. I logged off after talking to you last night because I was, er, busy.” Judy grinned. “But when I got up at the crack of dawn, I realized I needed to get quotes for this job. Your website doesn’t list your hours, and I figured you’d open early for breakfast…oops.”

  “That’s not right. About the hours, I mean.” Neve made a mental note to ask Corky to correct that. Of course, Corky needed access to the website—that was the one thing her tech-savvy employee didn’t do, marketing-wise, and Neve doubted she could remember the password, much less the URL for the site’s backend. Perhaps it was time to contact the absentee web firm that had designed it and light a fire. “Well, sorry about that. To answer your question, I do some catering, provided I have enough time to prepare. I mean, it’s going to depend on when the event is and how many people are eating, and what kind of spread you’re looking for.”

  Judy leaned over the table and extended one hand, as if she wanted to take one of Neve’s and squeeze it. “Thank you,” she said in a near whisper.