Sweet Obsession

by J. Daniels

  My mind begins cataloging possible outfits for tonight. I’ll definitely be wearing heels, that’s for sure. Mason seems strangely intrigued by our height difference.

  Maybe he normally dates taller women?

  Oh, my God. Why am I even thinking about what kind of women he dates? That damn kiss has left me stupid.

  Joey claims one of the stools, pouting. “Brooke is holding out on us, Dylan. Can you please explain to her that there are no secrets within these walls?”

  Dylan keeps her eyes on the frosting she is piping, flatly replying, “Brooke, you know the drill.”

  I secure the apron string around my waist, ignoring them both.

  Screw that. I don’t need to divulge anything.

  Joey slaps the wood, then stands. “Fine. I’ll just go ask Mason myself.”

  I grip his forearm. “Heyyy, that’s . . . not necessary. I’m sure he’s busy.” I press against his shoulder until he’s seated again, then I start to pace around the room, suddenly no longer able to stand still. My palms begin to sweat.

  Damn it. I’m about to recollect this morning, that goddamn kiss.

  “Uh, okay, so, you know everything that happened last night. Nothing new to report there. I was getting our coffees and Mason walked in, looking all . . . whatever. You saw him. He explained to me in a very private alley a few blocks down that he wants more with me. Like talking, and . . . dates, I guess, before all the sex stuff. He wants to know me first. How crazy is that?”

  I chuckle awkwardly. Everyone else remains silent.

  Crickets. All of a sudden, I’m surrounded by crickets.

  I do another lap around the room. “So, that’s basically it. He asked me if I can give him that. More. I didn’t really answer. I mean, I kind of did. Not really. Oh, and he kissed me. On the mouth.”

  “As opposed to . . .”

  I snap my head up to look at Joey, then drop it into a quick nod. “Right. That’s it. That’s all that happened.”

  Dylan sets her piping bag down. “I take it the kiss was good? You seem a bit wound up.”

  Good?

  No. It was fucking phenomenal.

  I limply shrug as I grab two baking racks off the shelf.

  I’ve confessed enough sins today. They don’t need to know how wet I got from fifteen seconds of making out.

  “I like him,” Joey beams, resting his chin on his hand.

  “Me too,” Dylan smiles at me. “Brooke?”

  I set the racks on the worktop. My next words come as I keep my head down and my hands busy. “You know what I like? Working. Getting a paycheck. Orgasms are also nice, which I doubt come with liking this guy, so, no. I don’t like him. How many special orders do we have today? Three? We need to get started. I need to get started. And God, I need to eat something before I collapse.”

  I shuffle up to the front and murder a cupcake.

  Brown sugar praline. It never stands a chance.

  I’m the last one to arrive at The Tavern later that night. I decide to blame my lateness on the traffic, not the forty-plus minutes I spend getting ready, or the pacing I do around Billy and Joey’s condo.

  “Traffic? What traffic? It’s not rush-hour.”

  My sister Juls quickly calls me out on my lie after I explain my tardiness. I pretend I don’t hear her as I slowly sip my Long Island and gage the crowd. Imagine Dragons pumps through the speakers overhead. My foot taps along to the beat.

  Ian returns with a few beers for the table. “Two dollar beers. I fucking love college night.”

  Reese reaches for his mug, his other arm permanently fixated around Dylan. “Don’t you feel old being here with this crowd? I feel like everyone’s looking at me like I’m a chaperone.” He tugs at the knot in his tie, loosening it.

  Joey chuckles. “Uh, no. They’re looking at you ‘cause you’re a DILF.”

  Reese frowns. “A what?”

  “A DILF.” Dylan rests her head on his shoulder, grinning. “Dad I’d like to fuck.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” he mutters, lifting his beer to his mouth.

  “You’re sexy, Reese. Own it.” Joey holds up his mug. “You know who else is sexy?” He quickly kisses Billy. “Besides my baby.”

  I swirl my straw around in my glass. A group of women giggle obnoxiously at the next table. One of them nearly falls off her stool.

  The drinks must be flowing over there.

  “Brooke.”

  My eyes lift to Joey’s. “What?”

  “I asked a question.”

  “So?”

  He gapes at me, then sweeps a hand in front of him. “So . . . would you like to let the table know who you think is sexy? Everyone is dying to hear what you have to say.”

  Jesus. He is laying it on thick tonight.

  I stand and smooth the hem of my dress down. No need to partake in this conversation.

  “Me. I think I’m sexy as hell.” I blow Joey a kiss. “Be back. I’m going to hit up the ladies’.”

  Joey rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before he turns to Billy and engages him in conversation. I move past them, heading for the crowd I need to get through to reach the restrooms.

  “Nice shoes, Brooke. Am I going to be getting those back any time soon?” Dylan’s voice at my back halts me.

  I spin around, glancing down at the pink Steve Madden’s I have yet to return. They work amazing with this dress. With my legs. In all honestly, it would’ve been a tragedy not to wear them.

  Lifting my head, I limply shrug. “I figured I’d break them in for you since your feet are too swollen to wear heels right now.”

  Dylan’s face falls. She glances down at the black strappy sandals on her feet, grumbling, “I’m so over being pregnant.” She whips her head around. “This is it, Reese. Three and we’re done. No more kids.”

  Reese leans back to look at her, a deep frown line setting in his forehead. “What? I thought we had agreed on four. What happened to that?”

  The look that creeps across Dylan’s face has my feet firmly planted where they are, willing to stick around for another minute. It also seems to pull everyone else’s attention across the table.

  Juls with her wide, curious eyes as she slowly brings her drink to her mouth. Joey, grinning enormously, drumming his fingers on the table and practically crawling across it to get a better view. Billy and Ian both take another route and reach into their pockets for their phones, deciding it’s best they look busy and uninterested in Reese’s potential demise.

  I bet everyone seated at this table has had this ‘don’t fuck with me’ look directed at them at one point. I know I’m familiar with it. Back when I first started working at the bakery I saw this look quite a lot.

  And Reese? His ass has definitely seen it.

  Turning on his stool, Reese gently smiles at Dylan before moving in for a kiss. “Love.”

  She pushes against his chest. “I’m sorry, are you the one carrying a watermelon around twenty-four seven? Are you giving up sushi and fantastic fucking footwear for nine months? Mm? No, you’re not. You can eat what you want, you aren’t bloated and sweaty all the time, and your downstairs region isn’t going to be pushing out a human. I’ve been pregnant for the last four years. Four years, Reese. Do you have any idea how exhausting this is for me? I got up eleven times last night just to go to the bathroom. Did you know that?”

  He caresses her face. “I only counted six.”

  Through clenched teeth, she leans closer, grunting, “It was a hell of a lot more than six. Maybe I should start waking you up every time, that way you can experience some of this misery with me.”

  “You can do that.”

  “Ugh!” She bats his hand away. “Would you stop being you for five seconds? It’s making me want to have another kid.”

  Laughing, Reese grabs her face and kisses her. Dylan seems to melt against him, letting go of her anger, maybe even her conviction on the subject. They break away from each other enough to breathe, but
keep their foreheads pressed together, Reese’s hands cradling Dylan’s face and hers holding his wrists. Their eyes remain locked as if they’re sharing this silent moment, conveying unspoken words, and I take that as my cue and remember why the hell I got up in the first place.

  I melt into the crowd and push my way to the back hallway. The restroom is cramped and smells like a cross between the fragrance department at Macy’s and an ashtray. My nose burns as I apply a light sheen of gloss to my lips.

  God, I hate cigarette smoke. Can’t these bitches here read? There’s a no-smoking sign posted every ten feet.

  Tugging the material of my dress away from my body in hopes it’ll air it out a little, I drift through the bar, making my way back to my friends. A tall figure standing next to the table halts my progression.

  Mason has his hand on the back of my chair as he converses with the group. His dirty blond hair is carelessly tousled, maybe a bit wet. I can’t tell from this distance. He wears a fitted blue T-shirt and jeans, and as he reaches across the table to extend his hand to Reese, the material stretches over his ass and lean thighs. A hint of flesh peeks out from above his waistband.

  Fuck. Okay, he’s here. He’s here, and he looks like that.

  Change of plans.

  I cut a hard left through the crowd and grab a stool at the bar.

  No way am I going to sit at that table with seven pairs of eyes on me like I’m some sort of freak-show exhibit. Joey is clearly already on a mission to embarrass me tonight, and I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to tolerate his obnoxiousness yet.

  I wave over the bartender. “Give me something. Not beer. Something . . . girly. Or wine. I don’t care. Surprise me.”

  The older man smiles, then turns and grabs a glass.

  I set my clutch on the wood, fiddling with the contents. Phone, cash, keys, license, lip gloss. A warm body presses against my back.

  “Little devil. You’re hard to find.”

  A shiver runs through me as his breath moves against my hair. I turn my head, then tilt it back.

  Mason moves to stand beside me. I fight the urge to grab his face and molest him.

  It’s a struggle.

  I wet my lips. “Hey, hi. Did you just get here?”

  Obviously, I already know the answer to this question. Way to act like you haven’t been watching for him, Brooke.

  He smiles and slowly sinks onto the stool next to me. “I did. Class ran over a bit. I had to shower, find the place. Why are you over here and not with your mates?”

  I risk a glance in their direction.

  Juls waves. Dylan smiles from her seat.

  Oh, my God. Is Joey seriously videoing this with his phone?

  “It was a bit crowded.” I swivel on my stool so that Mason’s body completely shields mine. “And I was trying to avoid this guy who has a tendency to stalk. You might know him. He’s Australian too.”

  He pulls his shoulders back and looks around the bar. “Yeah? Point this wanker out. I’ll take care of him. Unless he’s a big fella. If that’s the case, I’ll sneak you out the back.”

  I laugh as the bartender sets my glass down in front of me.

  It’s a tall, skinny beverage. Something blended, with red and white slush swirling together and a pineapple wedge tucked on the rim.

  “That’s fancy lookin’.”

  I nod at Mason’s observation as my hand closes around the chilled glass. I take a sip. Very tropical.

  “So, was the turn-out for class today as ridiculous as last night?”

  “You thought it was ridiculous?” His mouth pulls tight. He looks adorably puzzled.

  “Women were lined up outside like you were handing out free orgasms.” I give him a cheeky grin. “Clearly, you weren’t. Unless that service was offered to everyone except me.”

  His face softens with a smile. “Nah, that’s the Brooke special. It comes with dinners and private lessons. Spending time together. Friendship.”

  “Friendship? You want to be my friend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you want to sleep with me?”

  “I want everything,” he states negligently. “Friendship is a part of it. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  I shrug. My eyes fixate on the bar.

  This glorious specimen of a man also wants a friendship out of this. How . . . strange.

  “Are you drinking?” I ask, desperate for a subject change.

  Feelings. Friendship. More.

  He needs alcohol.

  I glance back up to catch the quick shake of his head.

  “I’m all right.”

  “You came to a bar and you’re not going to drink?”

  He stares at me, his eyes slowly moving over my face, then down the line of my body. “You look lovely, Brooke. Stunning, really. Has any man told you that today?”

  “Um . . .” I inhale a shaky breath. “Today? No. Not today.”

  “Shame. I should’ve said something earlier. I was thinking it. In the alley . . . when I came to your work. I couldn’t stop looking at you. I still can’t.”

  “In the alley.” I clear my throat. Hair clings to the base of my neck. I’m burning up. “I liked the alley.”

  God, I loved the alley.

  Mason eyes me for a moment, then reaches out and takes the drink out of my hand. He sets it on the bar and stands, pulling out his wallet. “Go for a ride with me, yeah? I’ll bring you back here. I just . . . I want to talk to you and drive around the city. I’ve been thinking about doing that.” He throws some cash down, tucks his wallet back into his pocket, and grabs my hand.

  With a gentle tug, I’m on my feet.

  “You’re taller tonight,” he observes, smiling down at my shoes. “I recognize those.”

  I grab my clutch off the bar. “And you’re a bit bossy.”

  His brow pulls together. He looks charmingly confused.

  I fight the urge to smile as I explain. “I never agreed to go for a ride with you. You did that adorable little ‘yeah’ thing and took my drink away. Were you even going to wait for my answer? Maybe I’m not ready to leave. Maybe I want to finish my very coconuty drink and spend some time with my mates. Ever think about that?”

  I think he wants to smile. I believe I see a slight twitch in his mouth, but he covers it immediately, or I’m simply imagining things.

  Am I not as funny as I think I am?

  “I’m sorry.” He drops my hand. His eyes roam the room. “Right. That was a bit bossy of me. Would you rather we stay here? I thought a drive would be nice. I’ll be able to hear you better. I’d like to hear you.”

  A strange tightness pulls at my chest.

  Shit. Even in his high-handedness, his intentions are sweet.

  “It’s fine. We can . . .”

  A body bumps against my back. I brace myself with a hand to Mason’s chest to keep myself from falling. His grip holds tight on my waist, tighter as I slowly lift my head to look at him. I turn to get a glance at the creep who shoved me into this tall piece of manly deliciousness.

  I should thank them.

  Paul sways on his feet behind me. He’s clearly intoxicated.

  Whatever. I don’t hold any ill-will toward any of the men I’ve slept with. I’m sure him knocking into me was purely accidental. No doubt brought on by the alcohol. Look at him. He can barely stand.

  He grabs the bar to steady himself, grinning wildly. “Brooke! Funny . . . funny seeing you again, isn’t it? God, I really didn’t think that was you.”

  He didn’t think that was me? I just saw him a few days ago. How drunk is this guy?

  “Uh, yeah, it’s me. Small world.” I push against Mason’s chest. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Paul keeps going.

  “I thought . . . nah, that’s not Brooke. No way! She should be hanging on a street corner.”

  I whip my head around. “Excuse me.”

  “A street corner.” Paul leans closer, tilting his head with a sneer. “You know. Like a whore.”
/>
  My body goes rigid. Mason tenses behind me.

  Paul, you stupid fucking idiot. You asked for this.

  MASON

  “You know. Like a whore.”

  Brooke inhales a quick breath. Her eyes go round, taking up the majority of her face.

  The fuck did he just say?

  I move to get closer to this piece of shit, putting myself in front of Brooke. “Hey, fuck off, mate.”

  His head jerks up, his eyes rapidly blinking me into focus. He’s barely keeping himself upright. One hand is flat on the bar, the other is clutching the stool Brooke was just occupying.

  He’s so tanked he’ll probably end up falling over soon.

  “No.” Brooke darts a hand out and grabs my arm, halting me. “No, let me.” She steps in front of the bastard. “I’m sorry, Paul. What exactly makes me a whore? Was it the fact that I had sex with you the other night, which I’m now suddenly regretting, or was it that you got your pathetic little feelings hurt when I didn’t want to cuddle after?” Her hand flies to her hip. “Are you sad because I didn’t want to go for round two? Is that it? Is that why you look like shit right now, Paul?”

  Jesus. Brooke and this tosser? This is not some shit I want to hear about.

  Paul drops his head, shaking with silent laughter. “You fucked like a whore. What chick bails right after gettin’ laid like that?”

  “What guy turns into a preteen and cries about it? You’re lucky I even went home with you. I had plenty of other options that night.”

  “Yeah . . . I bet you did.” He slouches closer, his eyes gleaming. “Whore.”

  I move without any thought behind it, getting up in his face, jamming his body against the bar.

  “Speak to her like that again and I’ll put you through a fucking window, yeah?”

  A small hand wraps around my elbow. “Mason.” Brooke tugs my arm, but I keep the bastard pinned.

  Just knowing he’s been with Brooke is enough to provoke me. Hearing him speak to her like that . . . I’m not a violent guy, but I’m suddenly feeling like I could be. I could beat the piss out of this wanker and not feel any remorse. Not a shred.

  His head rolls left, then right, his eyes slowly drifting closed. “Mm. Hit me. Go ahead. I-I don’t give a s-shit.”