Cake

by Carmen Jenner

  After I’ve eaten, I leave my tray outside the door and curl up on my bed and watch Jurassic World. I’ve seen it a number of times, but even with the annoying children, and the physical improbability of Bryce Dallas Howard running in heels to escape death by dinos, can you ever really go wrong with a Chris Pratt movie?

  I must drift off before the film ends because when I wake the TV is so loud it hurts my ears. I glance around the room. Leo hasn’t returned. No surprise there, really. I shut off the TV, and drift off again.

  I wake from the blinding light streaming in through the hotel door. I roll over and cover my head with the pillow. The door slams shut—yes, slams, because Leo is that much of an inconsiderate asshole—and I close my eyes and attempt to go back to sleep. I’m almost there, too, when the sounds of giggling, heavy breathing and moaning begin. My eyes snap open, and I glare up at the ceiling. I can’t believe he brought a hookup back to our room. Is he serious? Did he just expect that I would lie here and listen like a creeper? Or is he doing it to get a rise out of me?

  “Oh, Dan. That feels amazing.”

  Dan? Oh, my god. There’s a strange couple in my room. I sit up and reach for the lamp.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby,” Dan says, and I freeze because his voice is all too familiar.

  The woman giggles. “Why don’t we turn on the lights and you can show me?”

  “What a great idea, strange lady who’s occupying my room in the middle of the night,” I say, shooting out of bed and flicking on the switch.

  She gasps, Leo groans, and even I suck in a sharp breath when I’m confronted with the harsh reality of a tanned, well-sculpted ass in my face. Thankfully, it’s not his, it’s hers. Although I could have done without the visual of him lying beneath her while her ass and lacy black thong are exposed.

  “Uh-oh,” he says, sounding amused. “The fun police are out of bed.”

  Asshole. “The fun police?” I ask, deciding I might as well have a little fun with it, and putting on my best midwestern accent. “Jacob, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

  “Jacob?” the woman asks. She shoots Leo an accusatory glare and slides off his hips, scrambling across the bed to stand.

  “He gave you a fake name too, didn’t he?” I throw my hands up in the air. “Jacob Moses Stoltzfus, why do you do this? Why must you test me so? Does our marriage mean nothing to you?”

  “Marriage?” the woman asks.

  At the same time Leo says, “No. No. No. No. I’m not—”

  “Did you steal from her, too? Did you take her money like the last three women you laid with?” I grab the can of Lysol Leo bought from the hotel gift shop for me and begin spraying the room. “Lord forgive the sins of my husband. Make him clean again. Bathe him in your good and holy light. Forgive him the sin of fornication with women outside of our marriage bed. Do not cast him out, Lord, but cast out the devil that lives inside him.”

  The woman looks aghast, and Leo? There’s all-out warfare in his eyes. I know this is going to come back to bite me in the ass, but I could not lie there and listen to him having sex with a skank in the bed beside me. He can hit me with his best shot. I can out-crazy the best of them.

  Leo’s late-night visitor gathers her heels and purse, and hightails it out of our room so fast my head spins.

  I turn and glare. Leo folds his arms behind his head. I cross mine over my chest.

  “Clever, Pop Tart. Even for you.”

  “Oh, Dan.” I give him a sour smile. “I have crazy in spades.”

  “I’ll bet,” he says, sitting up and sliding off the bed.

  “You gave her a fake name.”

  He shrugs, unbuttoning his shirt. “So?”

  “So you really are a lowlife.”

  “It’s just easier that way.”

  “Why? So she can’t put you on blast when she discovers you’ve given her an STD?”

  “No, so she can’t google the Nass family fortune and decide that the condom broke.”

  I frown. “Women do that?”

  “Yeah, Pop Tart. Women do that shit all the time.”

  A little of my anger melts away. I’d known Leo had a few affairs that had been made public and quickly turned sour, but Chase never explained the full extent of it.

  Leo moves towards me, which in turn causes me to move back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, now that I’m pussy free, I thought you might show me your grumpy cat. Someone has to take care of this.” He grabs his junk, and I can’t help it. I glance down at it and swallow hard.

  “In your dreams, asshole.”

  “Oh, but I think it will be in your dreams.”

  I roll my eyes and take several steps back. I’m cornered, backed against the wall. Literally. My eyes widen. “No need to fret, Pop Tart. I’m not about to take your innocence from you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He leans in, his breath washing over me and causing goose bumps to sweep over my flesh. “Not even if you begged me, sweetheart.”

  And then he walks away. Tou-freaking-ché.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’ll take a side of Zac Efron, please.

  Poppy

  Our last night in Vegas, Claire and Chase decide to have a romantic dinner alone. Clara and Keith flew back to New York earlier today, which leaves Leo and I, alone. Again. To my surprise, Leo leaves the room early, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s out of my hair, which gives me some time to order room service, catch up on emails, and pin things on Pinterest for entirely too long.

  When I couldn’t possibly pin any more, I settle in with an Old Fashioned and turn on the TV. I’m met with Zac Efron’s ridiculously pretty back. Sigh. Is there anything more perfect than Zac Efron in the shower?

  I watch the love scene with Taylor Schilling unfold, and I’m hot and itchy all over when the screen cuts to the morning after. I raise my glass and press it to my forehead, letting the cool condensation soothe the burn in my cheeks and neck. I glance at the suitcase housing my vibrator, and look away. My drink isn’t the only thing sweating. Ice. I need more ice.

  Slipping my room key into the pocket of my silk robe, I grab the ice bucket, head out to the hall in my bunny slippers, and go in search of the ice machine.

  I find it. Right next to Leo. Who’s hooking up with yet another skeezy-looking female. I mean . . . really? What is wrong with this man? Can he not keep it in his pants for one night? Or even two damn seconds?

  I watch for a beat. His strong forearms bunch as he slides his hand up under her dress—if you could even call it that. She lets out a loud moan and I roll my eyes. I’m sure his hands are expertly talented—he has had his fair share of practice, after all—but since her dress is riding up along with his movements, I know he’s not even anywhere near her vagina. And I highly doubt that his touch would genuinely elicit that kind of moan from her or anyone else for that matter. Can he make you come just by laying a finger on your thigh? Because that’s something I might consider abandoning my complete abhorrence of him for.

  It appears all common sense has left me now, because I quietly pad closer, wondering what it is about this asshole that draws women in like moths to a flame. Sure, he’s pretty, in an entitled, rich-kid kind of way, and his body is built, definitely, but have these women actually met him? Are they crazy, money-hungry, that hard up for sex? What is it about him that makes the female population weak in the knees? As I’m pondering this, he opens his eyes, and his molten gaze narrows in on me. For a brief second, I think I see emotions flare in them. Passion? Desire? Either way, I’m sure it has more to do with the woman’s hand palming his cock than it does with me watching, but for a beat in time, our gazes meet, my cheeks flush, and my body tightens in response to the way he’s staring at me.

  I shake myself out of it and move closer as the blonde keeps up her ministrations. Leo groans and I roll my eyes.

  “Something we can help you with, Pop Tart?” His voice is strain
ed as he watches me, and the woman continues working him over. I can’t see anything, thank god, just the jerk of her elbow as it moves up and down at an unhurried pace. She turns her head over her shoulder to glare at me, but doesn’t stop. She must be awfully desperate to hold his attention.

  “Nope,” I say as nonchalantly as I can and hold up my ice bucket. “Just getting some ice.”

  “What’s the matter? Couldn’t find an ice pick to chip some away from the walls around your heart?”

  “Oh, your insults become lamer the longer I spend with you.”

  “I’m . . .” he groans, “distracted. Barbara is very good with her hands.”

  Barbara stiffens. “It’s Stephanie.”

  “Right, that’s what I said.”

  She scoffs. “Oh my God, you’re such an asshole.”

  “He really is, and it doesn’t get any better once you get to know him. It’s worse, in fact. Trust me—this one is never going to call you in the morning because by then he’s usually moved on to some other desperate woman.”

  “Ouch. If I didn’t know any better, Pop Tart, I’d say you were harboring some very bitter feelings toward me.” The woman stalks down the hall. Leo calls after her, “Nice to meet you, Cindy.”

  I shake my head and turn to the ice machine. “You really are an ass.”

  “And you’re a pain in mine. If you don’t stop driving away my pussy, I might have to take yours as recompense.”

  He pushes off the wall, chuckling as he walks the hall to our room. A shudder moves through me, and again, my insides tighten. I tell myself it’s just because Zac got me all worked up. I tell myself there’s no way I would ever fall for Leo Nass’s stupid games. I tell myself I’m definitely not turned on, but my panties tell a different tale. Stupid, cocky man whore.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I got an ouchie

  Leo

  The water conservatory has always been my favorite part of Central Park. As a child, this place was my haven. My father would bring me and Jasper here every Sunday to sail the boats, and even though he’s long since grown too busy, and Jas and I have become too old, I still honor that tradition every week. It is a place I come to think, to be alone, and to watch the boats on the water when I need a time-out from the hustle and bustle of the city. That’s why I suggested it when Pop Tart insisted that we meet one week after returning from Vegas. Why she wanted to do that is beyond me.

  It’s a stunning winter day with a cloudy grey sky, and the trees are barren and beautiful with their gnarled limbs as they sway on the afternoon breeze. There are hardly any boats on the water, and even less people in the park. Pop Tart is already here though, standing in line at the café.

  I cross the park. She’s ordering a hot cocoa, and I stand close behind her. Too close. She stiffens, and I’m sure she’s about to turn and give me hell when I say to the cashier, “I’ll take a coffee, black, because I’m an adult.” Poppy glares up at me. “She’s paying,” I say to the cashier.

  Poppy sighs and hands the cashier a handful of dollar bills. “Can you back up, please? God, you’re such a mouth breather.”

  “Hey Pop Tart, nice to see you too.”

  The woman hands us our drinks, but before Poppy can take hers I reach over and place another cardboard ring on her cup. “Here let me get you another sleeve for that. We don’t want you to burn your hands and get an ouchie.”

  She rewards me with a snide smile. “Hot cocoa is a perfectly acceptable drink for an adult on a cold midwinter day.”

  I watch on in horror as she removes the lid and pours in three sugars. “I don’t know how your body is this banging. I’ve never met anyone who looks like you and eats that much sugar.”

  “Well, I work hard for this ass.”

  “And the men of New York thank you.”

  “Oh please, it’s not like I do it for them.”

  “Then why do it?”

  She smiles. “It’s my punishment for eating sugar.”

  “You know I could help out with that. Just say the word and I’ll happily bring my hand down on your ass and give you a good, hard spanking.” I take a sip of my coffee. It’s so hot it scalds my tongue and throat. That’s good. Pain is good. It will remind me to quit fucking flirting with her.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you were strictly vanilla. Hashtag hooray for missionary.”

  “I am not that vanilla. I don’t even like missionary. That was Chase.” She stops walking, shakes her head, and throws up her free hand. “Why am I even talking to you about this?”

  “Because deep down you want to say yes to me spanking you.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “And this feels very much like a date. So tell me, Pop Tart, why are we in Central Park on a Sunday, drinking coffee—or in your case cocoa?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about your duties as the best man.”

  “My duties? Didn’t I already fulfill them by flying Chase to Vegas and throwing him a spectacular bachelor weekend that was spectacularly crashed by you and his lovely bride-to-be?”

  “No, your duties are to make sure he’s there on time, make sure you have the rings, ensure—”

  “Wait. I have to have the rings?”

  “Yes, Leo, that is typically the job of the best man. Have you never been to a wedding before?”

  “Of course I have. I’m just not obsessive compulsive about it like some people.”

  “I am not obsessive compulsive about weddings.”

  “Um, yes. Yes, you are. You made a career out of it.”

  “Well, at least I don’t sit in a boardroom all day with a bunch of stuffy suits debating whether to give away free pretzels or peanuts.”

  “Aww, your ignorance is so cute.” I ruffle her hair. Poppy swats at my hand with her gloved one and gives me a pissy look as she smooths down her already wind-tousled curls. It’s fucking adorable how she has to be so perfect all the time. “So, that’s the reason you called me here? To tell me I have to look after the rings?”

  “Well, yes, and I was wondering what you’re getting them as a wedding gift.”

  I shrug and shove my hands in my coat pockets. “Beats the shit outta me. A bottle of scotch for him and some lingerie for her?”

  “So really you’re buying both gifts for Chase.”

  “Sure, if you want to look at it that way.”

  Poppy stares at me, incredulous. “You have to get them more than that.”

  “Okay, then what are you getting them?”

  “I don’t know.” She bites her lip, and it’s fucking torture.

  “Wait, what? You don’t know? Bridal Barbie has no clue what to get the bride and groom?”

  “Okay, for a start, I am not Bridal Barbie, and secondly, I don’t know what I’m getting them because it’s not as if this wedding was a thing until a month ago. I mean, who gets married on the spur of the moment like this after only being together for such a short time?”

  Oh shit. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything. Fuck. “It’s crazy, right?” I say, but my voice is off, high-pitched and forced. She stares at me, and her scrutinizing gaze sees more than I want it too.

  She studies my face. “Out with it.”

  “Out with what?” Fuck. I did it again. Since when can I not lie to Pop Tart?

  When I meet her eyes again, they’re glassy. Ah, shit.

  “What are you not saying?”

  “I . . .”

  “Goddamn it, Leo. Tell me.”

  I rake my hand through my hair. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I’m about to rat out my best friend a week before his wedding, but one look at Poppy’s face and I’m done for. I might have actually caught a couple of feelings for this woman, which is ridiculous, but here she is, tugging at my heartstrings with her tears. “They’re pregnant.”

  She laughs. Too loud, as if I just told her a hilarious joke. But I’m not joking, and a beat later, I see it—the
second her heart breaks in two. She clears her throat and makes a good show of acting brave. Her eyes glaze over with rage and she takes a step toward me, grabbing my lapel with her free hand. “No. You’re lying.”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I didn’t say it to hurt you. I said it because I saw you hurting so I—”

  “Thought you’d drive the knife in deeper? God, you’re just as sick as him.”

  “Poppy, I thought you should know. You deserve better than Chase. Hell, even Claire deserves better than him.”

  “Isn’t he your best friend? What happened to the bro code?”

  “The bro code is the reason people get hurt.”

  “So what? I’m supposed to believe you’ve suddenly grown a conscience?”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who fucked your best friend and got her pregnant.”

  She takes a deep breath in and shoves me. I stumble back. My coffee goes flying. I lose my balance and land on my ass in the pond. Poppy’s hand shoots up to cover her mouth, and then she laughs.

  “Jesus, woman, you are all different kinds of bipolar.” I’m soaked to the bone, sitting in a shallow pool of water in the middle of Central Park while Pop Tart has a fucking mental breakdown, and all I want is to pull her to me. All I want is to comfort her and tell her none of this is her fault.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, and I don’t know if it’s a sob or a laugh that comes out of her mouth, but my chest tightens. It’s at that precise moment that I realize I’m fucking head over heels in love with this woman. This is territory I’ve never been in before.

  She sets her cup and purse down, removes her glove, and offers her hand to me. I stare at it a beat too long, and just when it looks like she might retract it, I take hold and pull her towards me. She lands face-first in the water and comes up swinging and cursing blue murder, and all I can do is laugh.

  Goddamn, we are both so fucking screwed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Asshole’s Anonymous