by Emma Hart
Me: I’m thirsty.
Apparently I can.
Cain: So…
Me: I’m going to get a glass of water. If you happened to meet me there…
Cain: Are you hitting on me, Brooke Barker?
Me: Hug yourself to sleep, you asshole.
I huff and get out of bed. Screw him. I do actually want water now, so he can keep his stupid comments to himself while I go have fun in the kitchen with his fancy fridge with the ice maker.
I use my phone as a light as I pad my way from the bedroom to the kitchen. I can still hear the party going outside in the backyard and the distinct sound of my mom’s laughter.
Well, shit. She’s drunk then.
I pull a glass from the cupboard and use the dispenser in the fridge to get ice and water. The little light in it cuts out as I lift my glass and sip from it.
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Oh, holy motherfucker!” I slam my glass down on the counter, splashing water and ice everywhere.
“Shit, Brooke. You’re jumpier than a class full of kangaroos.”
I turn and blink at Cain in the crappy light. “Then stop scaring me, you dick! You’ve wiped ten years off my life today!” I flatten my hand against my chest. “Jesus Christ.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “You hit on me.”
“You’re the one whining you can’t sleep.”
“Can you sleep?”
“I barely had a chance before you started texting me!”
“You hit on me.”
“I flirted. It was awkward. I hate myself. I want water. Go away.” I grab my glass of water again. “Goodnight, Cain.”
“Wait.” He puts his arm out for absolutely no reason whatsoever given that he’s on the other side of the room. “I can’t sleep. Really.”
“So take a pill or…something? I don’t know. Have a hot bath or a cocoa.”
He walks to me and stops right in front of me. He avoids the fact I’m holding the glass in front of my face and pushes my hair behind my ear. “Or…”
“Or what?”
He reaches behind his neck and scratches. “Or sleep on the edge of my bed until I accidentally spoon you in your sleep.”
I’ve had worse offers. Much, much, worse. “I, um, okay.”
“It’s weird, right?” he asks, still rubbing his neck.
“Very weird. But if you’ll stop texting me and let me sleep, I’m okay with it.” I walk toward his bedroom and then stop. “Oh, and please keep your cock under control.”
“That’s the first time a girl I’m dating has ever said that.”
“We’re not dating. We haven’t been on a date. I’m only here to get sleep. Be quiet and control your cock.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
I perch on the edge of the bed. “Do something, Cain. Turn it off. Power down. Run it out of battery. Just control it.”
“Is my cock a robot in your mind?” He gets into bed before I do.
“Well…” I put my glass on the nightstand and slip beneath the covers. “It would be helpful. It’d have a power off button if it were.”
The bed ekes and creaks as he moves and shuts off the light. “Can we hook your mouth up to be one of those robots?”
“Go fuck yourself, asshole.” I huff and roll onto my side, facing away from him. “Stay on your own side of the—whoa!”
Cain wraps his arm around me and pulls me back against him so we’re spooning. His body fits almost perfectly against mine. Except the thighs. Lord, he has long legs. Why have I never noticed this?
“Whut are you doing?” I whisper.
His chest shakes against my back. “Did you just say ‘whut?’”
“Yeah. What didn’t cover the emphasis I needed.”
“I’m spooning you, Brooke,” he answers, deciding apparently to get straight to the point. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”
I snuggle down, pushing further against him. “You’ve told me to shut up a lot tonight.”
“That’s because you talk a lot.” He kisses beneath my ear. “Seriously, shut up.”
I freeze, feeling his heart thump against my back. He feels good here, against me, wrapped around me. He feels perfect, actually. And he smells like warm cookies for some reason. I don’t know why, he just does.
“Cain? This is awkward,” I say into the darkness.
“Brooke,” he responds, pressing his face into my hair. “Shut the fucking hell up and go to sleep.”
I close my eyes and focus on the warmth of his body instead. “Got it.”
NINETEEN
LIFE TIP #19: Don’t sleep with a guy on the first date. Literal or implied.
Three hours ago, I snuck out of Cain’s apartment while he was in the shower.
Yes, I’m a shitty person. This is common knowledge, so don’t sit there and act all surprised, okay?
I did it because it was awkward. There we were, newly agreeing to date, and waking up together.
Do you know what that makes me? A prize slut. Even if I’ve spent the night with him before. That was then and this is now and it’s all completely and utterly awkward.
Like the rest of my life. Mostly because I’m fielding calls and texts from my mom and sister about what happened after we spoke.
That’s right. My mom is so desperate to know that she’s texting me. My mom does not text. Ever.
It also explains why I’m day-drinking with Carly.
Well, maybe. It’s either that or I’m using it as an excuse.
So here I am with my strawberry margarita, staring into it, pretending I didn’t just agree to totally fuck up my friendship with Cain. Because that’s what’ll happen.
“You don’t know it’ll mess up,” Carly says, dipping her straw into her Blue Lagoon cocktail. “You might surprise yourself.”
“No.” I lean across the table, pointing my little umbrella at her. “You know what’s going to happen, Car? I’m going to do something so monumentally fucking idiotic that he’s going to look at me and say, “Well, shit. She was right. She’s a better friend than girlfriend.””
“Well, I can tell you that,” she replies. “Given that you have little to no experience of being someone’s actual girlfriend.”
“You make it sound like I’m a relationship reject.”
“You are. Kinda.” She drops her eyes to her drink where she’s still playing with the straw. “I mean…not in a bad way.”
“How can that possibly be anything but bad?”
“You’re right. It’s bad.”
I peer up at her, narrowing my eyes. “You’re an asshole, Carly.”
“I prefer honest.” She pulls her cocktail closer to her. “Listen, Brooke. You’ve fucked all your relationships because you’ve always wanted to be with Cain. Now, you have that chance. If you don’t start believing it could work, it won’t work.”
“I don’t want to lose him.” I voice the exact same fear I said to him last night. “I’m scared. I don’t want to mess up what we have, and I know that when he realizes what a mess I am to live with, that’ll happen.”
Our waitress brings over a plate with six slices of cheesy garlic bread on.
We both grab one.
“I mean, hello, I ran away while he was in the shower.” I bite into my bread.
“I wouldn’t date you,” she says honestly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “But you’re forgetting one really, really important thing about Cain.”
“He prefers blonds over brunettes?”
She stares at me as if I’ve just grown two heads. “No, dickhead. He knows you. He’s already used to your…quirks.”
“My quirks? Like my inability to cook or unpack my things or work a vacuum without electrocuting myself?” I’m not saying I’ve done that, but I don’t think my left pointer finger has ever recovered from a certain incident a whole four days ago.
“Right…those quirks.” Carly cracks a smile. “But the other things that would bother guys.”
“Like the fact I’m always late, sometimes miss the back of my hair when I use my flat iron, or occasionally mix up my almost identical black flats?”
“Or that you sing horribly, never lock your front door, and are more likely to burn down New York City from hundreds of miles away than successfully heat up a ready-meal?”
I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Seriously. Who let me adult? My fairy godmother needs firing.”
“That too.” Carly’s lips tug to the side. “But those things…Brooke, he already knows them. He knows you’re clumsier than a drunk person on a gym ball with handles.”
“You mean a hop ball?”
“Yes. That.” She waves her piece of garlic bread at me. “He knows all your crappy qualities and he wants you anyway. There’s no surprising him. Didn’t he buy you tampons once?”
“It wasn’t my proudest moment,” I admit, taking my straw between my finger and thumb. “But I was desperate and he was close to the store.” And on the toilet, but she doesn’t need to know about that.
“Right. But my point is, he knows you’re more than your…special moments.”
Special moments. Right. Her birthday is next month. I’ll remember that asshole comment.
“Excuse me while I lick the back window of the bus,” I mutter.
She laughs. “Brooke, you’re a fucking disaster. But beneath your klutzy exterior, you’re so much more. You’re strong and loyal and dependent—”
“You’re describing a dog, you know that?”
“Shut up. You have the biggest heart and the best soul I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure that’s what he sees when he looks at you. Not your lack of ability to remember your trash day.”
“Tuesday,” I say. “It’s Tuesday. I have a reminder on my phone.”
She smiles, propping her chin up on her hand. “See? You’re growing up.”
I flip her the bird.
Her smile widens.
“Seriously.” I drop my eyes and spin my cocktail glass. “What if we do it and he realizes I’m really, really not the girls he’s used to dating? I won’t shave my legs just to have sex. Nor will I put on sexy panties at the potential for sex. I won’t dress up just to visit a fancy restaurant or cook a stunning fucking three course meal for a night in.”
“And I’m pretty sure he knows that.”
So am I. Didn’t I just tell him that?
“Oh god,” I whine, leaning forward and sinking my hands into my hair. “I said this last night. What’s wrong with me, Carly? I told him what to expect and then this morning I ran away like the giant, pathetic creature I am.”
“Creature is a strong word.”
“Animal! I’m a giant, pathetic animal!”
Her gaze flits across the room. “People are looking at us.”
“I’m in love with him and I just went and ran away because I’m useless and pathetic and America’s biggest chickenshit.”
“Say it a bit louder. I’m not sure everybody heard you.”
“Oh my god, I said it out loud.” I flounce down onto the table, throwing my face into my arms.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I want to die.”
“No you don’t.”
“You’re right. Just call ET and tell him I’m waiting for him right now.”
“You want me to phone home?”
“Yes. Clearly Earth is not my destined residence so call home and let them take me.” I sigh and sit up straight. “I really need to get my shit together, don’t I?”
Carly grimaces, nodding.
“Brooke?”
I turn at the sound of my voice and look at Penelope Argyle, one of my mom’s friends. “Mrs. Argyle. How are you?” I stand and greet her the way she greets everyone—a light hug and a peck on the cheek.
“I’m just fine, darling.” She holds me at arm’s length, smiling widely. “Now, I have a question for you. I was going to call your mother and ask for your number, but this cuts out the middleman.”
She also likes to state the obvious.
Carly silently excuses herself and heads for the bathroom.
“Sure. What’s up?” I say and rest my hand on the table.
“I was at Mandy’s yesterday for the party. She told me you made those gorgeous cupcakes.”
My cheeks flush lightly. “Well, yeah. Baking is about the only thing I’m really good at.”
“Good? Oh, darling! You’re underselling yourself.” She leans forward and touches her hand to my arm. “They were wonderful, really.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” I smile, blushing again. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I want to hire you.”
I blink at her. “You…you do?”
Penelope shoots me a dazzling smile. “Annabelle’s sweet sixteen party is July twenty-fifth. You know what girls are like—they all have to have the biggest and fanciest party.” She sighs, her smile dropping. “I’ve been looking for catering, but would you believe all the bakers I’ve contacted in the past month can’t do it? Three hundred cupcakes and a three-tier cake and they all said no!”
I can see why, if I’m honest.
“As you can see I’m in huge trouble. If she doesn’t get the cakes…” She waves her hand in front of her.
“That’s what you want?” Is my panic showing? Am I sweating? Is it obvious? “Wow.”
That smile returns to her face. “Could you do it? Would you? She already knows exactly what she’d like.”
“I…I’ve never done that many before, but I could.” I think. I hope.
“Wonderful!” She claps her hands together. “How much would you charge? I can write you a deposit check right now to cover your materials.” She reaches into her purse, presumably for her checkbook.
“Oh.” My heart thuds. “I couldn’t, um, I’m not sure off the top of my head. Why don’t you send me the designs Annabelle wants and I’ll let you know from there?”
“Perfect.” She pulls her hand out of her purse with another beaming smile. “Why don’t you give me your card and I’ll email you this evening?
Oh. A card. Right. Um. “I don’t actually have one,” I admit, shrugging sheepishly. “I generally just do it for fun for Mandy.”
“Oh! Of course. You did say.” She laughs lightly and opens her purse once more. She pulls out a small notebook and pen and hands them to me. “There, Brooke, darling. Write it down and I’ll get everything to you.”
“Sure.” I take them and put the notebook on the table. My hand shakes slightly as I write it all down, and I hope she hasn’t noticed.
That’s a lot of cakes. A lot of cakes.
“Thank you, darling! You’re saving my life here.” Penelope puts the notebook and pen back into what is apparently her Mary Poppins purse. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s no problem. I can probably get the time off work.” Ha! Right!
“Ah, wonderful! I’ll leave you to your lunch with Carly. My sister is waiting for me.” She hugs me and kisses my cheek for the second time.
“See you soon, Mrs. Argyle.” I smile and wave as she heads back across the restaurant to her table.
Carly slips in seconds later and takes her seat. “What was that all about? You’re pale as shit. Spill!”
She cares so much about me. Can’t you tell?
“I…I think I just got a job,” I say slowly. I reach back behind me and sit down.
“You have a job. Remember? With Jet? Asshole boss?”
“No. Not that kind of job.” I push my hair from my face and meet Carly’s gaze. “Annabelle’s sixteenth birthday is in three weeks and she doesn’t have a baker for her sweet sixteenth. She wants me to make three hundred cupcakes and a three-tier birthday cake for her.”
Carly’s eyes bug out of her head.
“And she’s going to pay me. Car, she offered to write me a check right now to cover materials.”
“Holy shit!” Carly whispers. “How much is she paying you?”
�
��She’s going to send me pictures of what Annabelle has chosen so I can price and give her a quote.”
“How much do you think it’s going to cost?”
I stare at her blankly. “I have no idea. I’ve never charged anyone anything before. Mandy just buys the stuff and I do it. I’m going to have to call bakeries and pretend to be a buyer to find out what they charge.”
“All right then. Let’s eat lunch and get to work.”
“Hi! My cousin is having a sweet sixteenth party on October thirtieth,” Carly says into the phone. “You were recommended to me by a friend for sweets. Could you possibly give me a quote for three hundred cupcakes and a three-tier birthday cake? Uh-huh…wow, that’s great…of course, of course…I sure will. Thank you so much, ma’am.”
“Well?” I say, pen poised above the notebook.
Carly puts her phone down on the arm of the chair. “Well, a surprising number of bakeries are open on a Sunday in Georgia.”
“And Florida. And South Carolina.” What? We’re spreading out. Market research and all that.
“Cupcakes’N’More on the Georgia-Alabama border said they would charge at least five hundred dollars, but the price could increase dependent on design and decorations needed. Apparently, though, they live in a small town where that would be considered both expensive and way too big of an order for anyone who lives there.”
“Right.”
“So we have anything from five hundred dollars to twelve hundred.”
“Yeah, I don’t see me charging twelve hundred. Ugh!” I sink forward, burying my hands in my hair. “This doesn’t help at all, does it?”
“Not really. But there is one thing we could do. You have the designs, right?”
I nod and turn my laptop around so she can see it again. “It’s probably going to cost one hundred and fifty dollars just for the decorations alone. Not to mention the things I need to buy that I don’t have. Cupcake casings, boxes, stands, a base for the main cake…”
“Okay, so, breathing would be helpful right now,” Carly says, scooting forward on the table. She picks up her calculator. “Let’s add it up. Go on eBay and price up all that stuff.”
One by one, I search through eBay listings to find decent prices. She adds it all up on the calculator and writes each total down on her notebook.
