“Hey Cupcake, you have fun?”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around me. “I did. Smells like you did too. Let’s get you up to bed.”
“Yes, please. I love bed with you, Cupcake.”
She laughed, undressed me and tucked me into bed before climbing in beside me. But even a little tipsy, I couldn’t resist the feel of her soft tits pressed up against me, her creamy thighs brushing against my rougher ones. “You’re all warm and hard,” she moaned against me.
And with those low growled words I turned to her and spent the rest of the night licking and kissing her skin all over. Okay, not all night. I made it between her thighs and stayed there for hours and hours, until Trish ran out of orgasms.
It was almost morning by the time that happened. My girl, no, my wife was feeling good. Even if she couldn’t walk.
Trish
The phone in my pocket buzzed for the fifth time in as many minutes and I had no idea who it was because no one ever texted me. Ever. Okay, rarely. Belle Musique was small enough that a message would get relayed to me or my friends would just come into the shop. But I’d just sold the last two dozen muffins and it wasn’t even lunch yet so the store had finally emptied out. “If you want cupcakes or muffins, come back in thirty minutes but sixty would be better.”
With a groan the four latecomers took their coffees and left, leaving the shop empty. Peacefully so. Another final glance around the shop and I slipped my phone from my pocket and unlocked the screen. Oh holy hot damn! It was a photo of a shirtless man with indecently low jeans. I knew that torso and those tattoos well. Hell I even knew the color of those nipples and I had to snap my mouth closed to prevent the drool from seeping out.
It was no secret that Mason was hot but sometimes, in moments like this, it still knocked the wind out of me. The man was drool-worthy and right now, for the moment, he was all mine. But what I couldn’t figure out, the thing that niggled at me all morning, heck all week if I’m being honest is why.
What was with all the effort? Not that I didn’t appreciate it, because I did and I sent him a tongue sticking out emoji, several eggplants and a dozen drooling ones. It was all I could manage, even via text message.
I wanted to overanalyze it. I wanted it to mean something just as much as the thought terrified me. I was confused.
And I was going with it. Unlocking the screen again, I tapped the phone button and grinned when Mason picked it up. “Is that a picture of my lunch?”
I heard the sound of him swallowing down the line. “If you want it to be.”
Oh I wanted it to be. I wanted it to be a lot. I was insatiable for Mason and the fact that he couldn’t seem to get enough of me only made me want him more. Feeling desirable and cherished was a heady, addictive experience, and the thought of ending this thing between us made me feel sad. And feeling sad made me feel angry because Mason wasn’t for me, and as much as he’d proven to me that he was more than a man-slut, more than a commitmentphobe, I knew we couldn’t make it. “I do.”
“I’ll be there in five,” he said and ended the call and leaned against the cool metal of the swinging door to cool my overheated skin. It shouldn’t always be like this, not with a guy I couldn’t have.
It all seemed so unfair, that after all the internal lessons I’d battered into my brain, I’d fallen for the world’s wrongest man. In love with a bad boy, a tattoo artist.
On a highway to certain heartbreak.
“Oh my god, what is that?” Something awful hit my nose, a terrible, disgusting blend of coffee and anchovies which was weird since none of today’s sandwiches came with anchovy. “Ugh, stop saying anchovy!” It was too late for any of that to work but luckily my feet were smarter, moving towards the bathroom to dump out the contents of my stomach. “God, that was rank!”
I spent the next ten minutes searching the kitchen for the stinky culprit only to come up empty. The coffee pot was empty and cleaned thanks to Molly and as I suspected, there were no anchovies to be found.
Still, the smell lingered and I couldn’t get rid of it and the closer I drew to the trash can, the more moisture gathered in my mouth until it was all coming out. Again. My stomach clenched as my throat contracted with every heave of my empty stomach.
“Oh shit, you really are pregnant.”
That voice didn’t sound happy or thrilled, mostly shocked with a little hint of disappointment. I turned to Mason with a narrow eyed glare. “You don’t have to seem so horrified about it, Mason.” When he wouldn’t move, would speak, I rushed past him and left my own shop.
Nothing was certain but the doom that settled in my belly told me I had my answer.
Which meant there was only one thing left to do. Get that quickie divorce.
Mason
Never in my life had I ever been so happy to be wrong. More importantly this was the first time in my life I was grateful, happy even, to be wrong. It helped that Trish was the one who’d been right about our efforts at divorce and yeah, it helped even more that the moment she’d attempted to file—which wasn’t all that great, mind you—the lawyers Dallas and his daughter Della McInnis had vanished. Okay maybe not vanished, per se, but they’d become impossible to pin down.
They had no available appointments, wouldn’t even squeeze her in for a five minute consultation and even the newest lawyer in town, Olivia Robichaud, said she didn’t handle divorces, odd considering her specialty was family law.
Maybe it made me a dick to appreciate it so much, but I’d unintentionally fucked up everything, royally so and I had every intention on making it up to her. Somehow.
I’d had three days of stone cold silence to think long and hard about what I’d done and what I needed to do to fix it. Trish, to her credit, hadn’t kicked me out yet, careful not to draw attention from the town busybodies. But she had locked the bedroom door every night before she fell asleep as if I needed a bigger clue that she hated me. I knew she didn’t hate me. She was pissed and yeah, probably hurt too, but if she didn’t have feelings for me, she wouldn’t be hurt.
Twisted logic, but it was all I had at the moment so I decided to run with it. That running began with a quick trip to the grocery store where two older ladies I wasn’t sure I’d met helped me gather ingredients for dinner. I didn’t bother to tell them I had a list because they gave me a few pointers I committed to memory while they added breadcrumbs and bourbon to my shopping cart. “For the homemade barbecue sauce,” the tinier of the little old ladies had said.
“If the girl is with child Edna, she doesn’t need bourbon.”
“Oh pish,” Edna said dismissively, “a few teaspoons won’t hurt a thing. Trust me honey, she’ll appreciate the effort. Not enough men cook these days and definitely not the ones who look like you.” With that final compliment or parting shot, I wasn’t sure, the women had sauntered off with a job well done.
When I returned home, I frowned at the three boxes neatly stacked right inside the door. My stuff, of course. Trish was nowhere to be found so I considered this the hint that I was expected to leave. Mags had always said I was willfully obtuse when it suited me and, in that moment, I conceded she might have a point as I carried each box back upstairs and carefully unpacked it. Making sure to mix it all in with her stuff, just because I could.
With that done, I unpacked the grocery bags and got down to work, mixing up the herbs and spices with the meat, whipping up the barbecue sauce and chopping potatoes for boiling. All movements froze when I heard the door open and waited for her scream and shout, instead I noticed a moment of relief when she spotted the missing boxes. I scrambled back to the counter and dug my hands into the beef and sausage mix, forming it into a perfect loaf just as Trish walked in. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Cooking dinner.”
“Mason,” she began, the irritation in her voice rising. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
I nodded because, yeah, I did know. I just chose to ignore it. “I’m cooking dinner
like I said. Because of your behavior lately you deserve some of my mediocre meatloaf.” Though it would probably be less mediocre than usual thanks to the two grey haired women in the market.
She frowned at me, hands on her hips like she was ready for battle. It wasn’t a battle though, which she would soon realize. I hoped. And if it was a battle, she’d better be prepared to lose. Or win, I guess. Whatever. The only way this battle would be won was if she was mine. Permanently. “Mason.”
“Trish,” I countered with far less annoyance in my voice. “You’re being a coward.”
She barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s rich coming from the guy who looked like the world might end at the very thought of me being pregnant.” Her blue eyes were wide and wild, angry still at my reaction.
I let a few seconds pass before responding, raking a hand through my hair in an effort to remain calm. “Christ woman, you gave me five seconds to think about it and react. I was just surprised, because the whole town has been speculating for months, and you haven’t said a word.” She didn’t look pregnant not now and definitely not naked, and she still hadn’t confirmed it.
“Yeah well, let’s keep it that way then. I don’t have any definitive answers for you but don’t worry, Mason because if I am pregnant, you’re off the hook.”
I sucked in a breath and clenched my fists. I’d dealt with a lot of difficult and terrified clients and never once did I want to put hands on them but right now, I wanted to shake some sense into Trish. When I was calm I busied myself pouring the barbecue sauce on top of the meatloaf and shoving it in the oven before I rounded the corner and got in her face. “You don’t get to make that decision, Trish. Besides, it won’t be necessary because I’ve decided that we’re not getting a divorce.” I hadn’t decided any such thing but with the words out of my mouth, I knew they were what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted.
“You can’t just decide that on your own.”
I smiled and placed my hands on her shoulders. “I can and I have, Cupcake. Don’t test me on this.”
“I put your stuff by the door,” she argued helplessly. I hated that she felt that way and that part of the fault was my own, but we were too damn close to something good. Fuck that, something great, and I wasn’t going to let fear get in the way.
“You did and I put it all back where it belongs. We had a fight, Cupcake. Couples fight but one little fight doesn’t mean we break up, or get divorced.”
She flushed at my words and ducked her head. “Not that it matters since once again, we are a town without lawyers.”
Another smile passed my lips and that little frown she shot me was just adorable. “It seems the town agrees with me.”
“Why, Mason? Why are you doing this?” She sounded pained, like she really had no clue why I was doing all of this.
So I gave her the only response I could. “Because.”
Her pride, or maybe it was fear, wouldn’t let the stubborn woman ask me the follow up question, which sucked because I wanted her to ask. But it was also fine because Trish would find out in due time that I was just as stubborn as her, maybe more. And her reluctance to ask the question meant I’d get a chance to do exactly what Nash and Zeke advised. Show her. In a thousand different ways. “Right,” she grumbled and pulled away from me. “I’m going…I’ll be back.”
Yeah, she was unsettled by this new turn of events and that’s exactly what I wanted her to be. Off-kilter, because it meant she couldn’t keep up those walls she used to keep herself safe. I finished off dinner, adding butter and chives to the mashed potatoes and pouring more sauce over the meatloaf. “Just in time,” I told Trish with a smile as I put the food on the table.
“Smells good,” she offered up reluctantly, smoothing the pink tank over her slender waist and round hips. She wore tiny cotton shorts that made my mouth water more than the food steaming on the table.
“How’s your, uh, appetite?” After witnessing her at the shop a few days ago, I really did wonder. She was so pale and afraid as she emptied her stomach into the trash bin that I’d been worried at first that maybe something was really wrong.
“Fine for the most part,” she offered up quietly. “Some smells still make me sick but so far these scents are making me nothing but hungry.”
“Good because I got a few pointers and even though I’m not totally sure you deserve it, this meatloaf is probably much better than mediocre.” Her lips twitched in a satisfying smile that I let stay with me as I scooped up potatoes on each plate and then thick slabs of meatloaf. “Now, eat up.”
“Mason, that’s too much,” she insisted, staring at the plate in fear.
“Nonsense, Cupcake, you can take it.” A laugh erupted out of me when she glared at my innuendo.
“Things change.”
“Some things, yes. That? Never.” I let my gaze linger, hot and intense, too intense for her to look away because I needed Trish to see that I was serious about her. About us. “Eat what you can but eat like I know you love to, Cupcake.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said but there was zero heat behind her words.
“Never.” I eyed her again, daring her to say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Wisely, she didn’t and we ate mostly in silence, aside from a few satisfying moans from Trish.
“This is really good, Mason. Not mediocre at all.”
“Thank you, Cupcake. Take some for lunch tomorrow since we know it won’t make you sick.”
She looked surprised and pleased by my words and that sent a rush of heat through my veins because it felt a hell of a lot like progress. Trish ate nearly everything on her plate before retiring to our bedroom, which it still was and as soon as the kitchen was clean and leftovers packed for her, I joined her in our room.
After a quick shower I expected to see my pillow on the floor but it was there beside her so I slid on a pair of boxers and climbed in behind her, wrapping my body around her and holding her tight as she drifted off to sleep. Three days was too damn long without her in my arms and I savored it, spending hours awake just listening to her breathe, reveling in the silky feel of her skin and the soft crush of her waves before finally, sleep pulled me under. “Goodnight Cupcake. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
She said nothing but when I woke up the next morning, Trish was gone.
So were the leftovers.
Trish
“What is all this?” Molly stood in the kitchen beside a giant basket of…flour? “Why do we have so many bags of flour and why are they in a basket?”
Molly just beamed a wide grin at me, doing her best impression of a game show model. “It looks like your husband is pulling out all the stops to prevent this divorce from happening.”
I just groaned at her words. The things I loved most about Belle Musique, the sense of community, the way people pitched in to help without batting an eye and the closeness, well I hated them all right now. And it wasn’t just today, nope, it was yesterday too. “With flour?” That made no sense but I’d learned over the past couple days that making sense wasn’t part of the equation to Mason or the town at large.
Molly turned the basket around so I could see the letters on the back of each package. “Flour with a message. Flour power?” She laughed when I glared at her, shaking her head and looking every bit like the romantic she denied being.
But she was right, there was a message. Vague though it was, there it sat. One word. Because. Mason was taunting me because he was right, I was being a coward in that I didn’t want to know why he was doing what he was doing, pulling out all the stops as Molly had said. I didn’t want him to voice what my heart not-so-secretly hoped he would because that would allow hope to bloom and that was the one thing I couldn’t afford. Not right now, anyway. Maybe some day far, far into the future when I had answers. “At least I don’t have to buy flour for awhile.”
“That’s it? You’re not gonna tell me what it means?” Thankfully the bell over the door sounded indicating we had customers, which made Mol
ly groan.
I knew I wasn’t safe from her prodding because her curiosity had reached a boiling point thanks to Mason’s full-court press. Yesterday he’d sent chocolates from all around the world and I wanted to send them back, to smash them into the shoes he kept on the floor in my closet but I couldn’t. Because as the jerk well knew, I’d been experimenting with different glazes for dipped cookies, baked goods and even a sensual option for couples. It was the perfect gift that showed he not only listened when I spoke but also remembered.
Damn him.
Ignoring those softening thoughts towards Mason, I shoved the basket of flour aside and pulled out the dough for the lunchtime sandwiches. Even though my thoughts and yeah, my heart might be softening, every time I closed my eyes all I could see was the abject horror on his face as he witnessed me puking into the trash bin. Yeah, that’s what I needed to remember. The rest of this was some combination of obligation because Mason was mostly a good guy and would feel compelled to stick around if he made a baby with his accidental wife, but also pity. And maybe a hint of self-preservation, knowing a small town in the south might not appreciate a man leaving his wife barefoot and pregnant. No matter how fake that wife was.
“Delivery for Trish!” I groaned at the now too familiar voice of Kyle Monaghan, handsome as sin delivery man.
I stuck my head out of the kitchen with the friendliest smile I could muster. “Hey Kyle, why don’t you keep whatever it is and give it to someone special.”
He flashed that stupidly gorgeous dimpled grin and hoisted a large, no a gigantic vase filled with actual flowers this time. Roses, tulips, daisies, carnations, gardenias, orchids and asters. Seven flowers for each type. Seven. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Because.
Again.
Accidentally On Purpose: An Accidental Marriage Boxset Page 46
