by J. Daniels
Plus, there’s the whole pregnancy thing. I’m sure that wouldn’t be good for the baby.
“Cupcake, you should’ve seen her.” Joey’s broad smile reemerges as he steps into the back for the hundredth time today.
I sigh and keep my head down.
“Talking about how sweet Mason was when he removed the tick. How he held her while she cried with those sexy ass arms of his. She even mentioned something about having a decent time up until that point. Can you believe it? Our little mini muffin actually enjoyed camping.”
I place another pastry into the large bakery box in front of me and glare at him from across the worktop. Dylan laughs quietly from her stool. “I was drunk when I said that,” I tell him.
I can’t believe it. I actually had fun camping. What is happening with the world?
“You were barely into your first martini. Don’t even go there with me, Brooke.” Joey points a finger at my face. “I am way past the point of trying to get you to admit you have feelings for this guy, because I think you’re way past just having feelings. I saw you with him when he came over, and I know how you flirt when you’re drunk. That wasn’t it, honey.”
I close the box and stack it on top of the other two I have already filled. A sharp, unrelenting tension builds behind my eyes. I ignore Dylan’s pleased smile and focus all of my annoyance onto Joey.
“Well, I don’t remember how I looked when Mason came over, because like I said fifty times already today, I was well on my way to party hour, but I’m sure I looked how any woman would look when sex comes knocking at their door.”
“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Dylan pushes a sheet pan away from her and crosses her arms under her chest. “Brooke, when was the last time you had sex? How many days ago?”
I open my mouth to answer, then quickly close it.
Fuck. Fuuuck. I can normally count my response to this question on one hand. But today I have no idea . . .
How long has it been?
Paul. That giant asshat was my last regrettable encounter. I met Mason the following week. Am I into double digits territory?
Holy shit. That had to be at least two weeks ago.
“Do you need a calendar, Brooke? There’s one right over there.”
Ignoring Dylan and her question, I open up a paper bag and begin filling it with banana muffins, keeping my eyes down and focusing on my task.
“So what if it’s been longer than usual since I’ve had sex. Who cares? I’m doing other stuff with Mason. I’m still getting off. I don’t see what the big fucking deal is or why both of you are bugging me about it.”
Silence.
No wiseass responses. No amusing little noises like I’ve been listening to all morning.
Have my prayers been answered? Am I suddenly the only employee of Dylan’s Sweet Tooth?
I look up and spot two pairs of eyes on me.
Damn.
Joey looks over at Dylan, grinning wildly. “I so wish I would’ve gotten that adorable speech on camera. You?”
She nods slowly. “Absolutely.”
What the fuck are they going on about now?
“What?” I ask, setting the bag down. My hands flatten on the wood as I flick my gaze between the two of them. “What did I say?”
Dylan straightens on her stool and rests her hand on her belly. “You just admitted you don’t care anymore that Mason is withholding sex from you. You, Brooke Wicks, don’t care about sex because you’re spending time with a man who is making you so happy, you’re forgetting what you’re missing.” She tilts her head. “Now, are you ready to admit why you don’t care?”
“I just told you!” I yell, slapping a hand over my mouth.
Oh, my God. What am I doing?
Dylan and Joey both startle from my outburst. Worried glances are exchanged, and then directed at me.
Shit! Get it together, Brooke. You like having a job. You need a job. No more incidents like that or your ass is going to be out on the street.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my hand and looking across the worktop at Dylan. “I didn’t mean to yell like that.”
She unscrews the cap on her water and brings it to her mouth. “All right.”
Reaching back and untying my apron, I calmly continue after I’ve settled on a more appropriate work-place volume. “As I told you, I’m still getting off with Mason. The orgasms he gives me are some of the best of my life. Maybe even the best. It would be different if I was just hanging out with this guy and he wasn’t touching me, but he is. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t had sex yet. Mason’s foreplay is on point.”
Joey shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “What is he to you? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? What?”
“We’ve been over this,” I sternly reply, tossing my apron onto the table. “Jesus. He’s just this guy I’m spending time with. And in five minutes when you ask me that question again, he’ll still be just this guy I’m spending time with.”
Dylan stands from her stool and reaches for her pink mixer, sliding it in front of her. “Denial doesn’t look good on you, Brooke. Stop wearing it.”
“Oh, my God,” I softly utter, snatching up the muffin bag and setting it on top of the three boxes.
I need to get out of here. Far away from these two. I’ve never done a delivery by myself before but I’ve knocked out tons with Joey. It’s usually the two of us.
Well, that’s not happening today. If I don’t get a break from this madness, I’m going to end up burning this place to the ground just to avoid further conversation.
Joey comes to stand beside me. He rubs his hands eagerly together, looking between the boxes and my face.
“Ready to go, Mrs. King?”
My eyes widen. He did not just fucking go there.
Did I say burn this place to the ground? I meant slaughter a third of the staff.
Fists clenching at my sides, I step closer to him. Joey leans back when he registers the look on my face.
“Too much?” he meekly asks.
“You think?” I lift the boxes and balance the bag on top, glaring at Joey as I lower them against my chest. “I’m doing this delivery alone. Do yourself a favor and eat a dick for lunch while I’m gone. You sound deprived.”
“Ow, kitten.” Joey gapes at me. He looks sincerely hurt. “Just because I’m all up in your business, doesn’t mean I’m deprived. Retract the claws, please.”
I look up at him, trying to stay angry, swallowing down the remorse I feel burning the back of my throat.
I haven’t spoken to Joey this cruelly since before I moved in with him. This used to be regular dialogue between the two of us, back when we could hardly stand each other. Then I started working here. The closer we became, him and I, the more playful our banter. We stopped cracking on each other years ago.
Why did I have to go there just now? Why did he?
Why are both of them on my case about this?
I brush past him and move toward the doorway. If I stay any longer, I’ll either yell or apologize. Neither one seem appealing right now.
“Brooke, do you know where it is?” Dylan calls out as I step into the main bakery.
“Yeah. We delivered there last year.”
I turn sideways to push the door open with my elbow. Movement catches my eye. I look up just as Joey walks in from the kitchen, looking like he wants to tell me something.
I don’t wait around to hear it. God only knows what other clever little comments he has to say right now.
With a firm shove, I exit the bakery and head for my car.
I take the elevators to the eleventh floor of the Harding and Associates building, a huge venture capitalist firm in the city.
I have definitely been here. More than once in the same day. While Joey and I made our delivery to one of the offices in this building last year, I caught the eye of one of the associates. Our delivery just so happened to be for a breakfast meeting. The associate ended up being my entire lunch
.
I hardly remember anything about him. Dark hair maybe? Glasses? The only thing sticking out in my mind is how irritated I was with Dylan’s thirty minute lunch rule that day.
I drop my head back against the mirrored wall behind me.
What if that had been Mason, and it was a year later, or several years later. Would I remember little details about him? Or major ones? Anything?
Yes.
My answer is as certain as my desire to keep breathing. It’s terrifying and oddly comforting all at once. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of it. My stomach feels like it’s being twisted into a perpetual knot.
Balancing the three boxes filled with treats and the bag of muffins, I step off the elevators and walk across the shiny marble floor to the reception area, praying I leave my anxiety behind me. An older woman directs me down the hallway to the conference room by the large window overlooking the city streets. I say a silent thank you when the doors to the room are already propped open. I would hate to place these boxes on the floor to be able to knock.
That’s extremely unprofessional, and probably one of the reasons these deliveries are done in pairs.
I step inside the room, lowering the boxes so I can see above the paper bag. Several men in suits are seated at a long rectangular table. All of them look up at my arrival and halt their dissection of whatever document is in front of them.
“Hello. I have a delivery from Dylan’s Sweet Tooth. Pastries and muffins.”
The older man closest to me stands and takes the boxes. He smiles warmly. “Excellent. We were just about to get started.”
He spreads the boxes out in the center of the table. Lids are quickly flipped back and the contents of the paper bag is examined.
The older man straightens and looks back at me. “Please see my secretary Helen for your payment, Miss . . .”
“Brooke.”
I look across the room at the sound of my name.
Seated at the other end of the table is the very associate I gave up my lunch for last year.
Blonde. No glasses. Nothing particularly memorable at all about him. In fact, if he hadn’t called out my name just now, I would easily pass this guy on the street and not recognize him. It’s only in this setting, large board room with baked goods spread out on a conference table that my memory is being triggered. And that might have everything to do with the treats and nothing to do with the sex we had.
He stands and buttons his jacket, grinning in my direction. “I’ll walk you out.”
I smile at the older man who took the boxes from me and exit the room. Blonde, no glasses guy has to catch up.
“I said I would walk you out. You can’t wait a second?” He gently squeezes my elbow, bending down to whisper into my ear. “In a hurry? I can make it quick.”
I wrench my arm away. “That’s okay. I need to get back to work.”
My feet continue to carry me down the hallway. He stays right with me, his quiet chuckle grating on my nerves.
Christ, just go away. This isn’t going to happen.
“Come on, Brooke. I’m about to have to sit through this boring as fuck meeting. Make a guy’s day a bit brighter, will ya?”
I turn to glare at him. “I don’t even remember your name.”
“Vince.”
“Well, Vince, like I said, I need to get back to work. But even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be interested.”
His eyebrows meet his hairline. “Why not?”
“Because I have a boyfriend.”
My feet skid to a halt in front of the reception desk. I clamp my mouth shut, sucking in a sharp breath through my nose. Vince begins to blur in front of me, followed by all of my surroundings. The walls seem to pulse, throbbing with the beat of my heart as it fills my ears, growing louder and louder. My breaths become shallow and my palms start to sweat.
What . . .
The . . .
Hell . . . did I just say?
I look around for another woman standing nearby whose voice I had to have been hearing.
That wasn’t me. I didn’t just say that. I didn’t just say I have a boyfriend.
Turning my head, I meet the gaze of the older receptionist behind the desk.
Was it you?
“Ah, gotcha.”
I look back at Vince after he speaks.
He tugs on his jacket, lifting his one shoulder. “I’m not trying to break up a relationship. That’s too much involvement for me. Good luck with your boyfriend. Hope it all works out.”
Boyfriend.
“Shut up, Vince!”
He leans back, looking startled. “Excuse me?”
I look around us, gauging the eyes on me and watching them multiply. I bring both hands to my face and mold them to my cheeks.
My skin feels warm. Too warm. I need air.
I spin around and nearly climb onto the reception desk. “Are you Helen? Please, for the love of God, tell me you’re Helen. I need a Helen.”
She stares up at me from over the top of her glasses. “I’m Helen.”
“That guy back there told me to stop here for my check. For the delivery I made. Dylan’s Sweet Tooth.”
“Oh, yes.” She smiles and picks up a check and a small piece of paper, sliding them both in front of me. “Here you go. Just need you to sign for it.”
I grab a pen and scribble something onto the receipt. I doubt it’s my name. I doubt it’s legible.
There’s a strong possibility I just signed it ‘boyfriend’.
I snatch up the check, fold it up, and shove it into my back pocket. The elevators have a small gathering of people in front of the doors. I can’t wait for those. I take the stairs instead and swiftly descend eleven flights, darting across the lobby and pushing through the revolving doors.
The sun hits my face. Oxygen hurriedly enters my lungs with the ragged gasps I take in. I move to a lamppost at the corner of the sidewalk and place my hand against the warm copper, seeking balance. I suddenly feel dizzy.
Boyfriend. I just said I had a boyfriend. I passed up sex because I have a boyfriend.
Segments of my earlier conversations in the bakery filter through my head. The noise from the busy street fades out to silence. Joey and Dylan’s voices are all I can hear as I close my eyes and steady my breathing.
“She was pacing around like a love-sick puppy waiting for him to come over.”
“You get this little smile on your face every time he comes in here, Brooke. Don’t act like you don’t more than like this guy.”
“Oh, my God, Dylan. She got jealous over this girl he was texting on Saturday night. You know what that means.”
“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be jealous, Brooke.”
Jealous. I didn’t get jealous. I was drunk. Anything I do or say under the influence of Billy’s martinis shouldn’t be held against me. I don’t even remember Mason texting anyone.
I picture his phone and the name highlighted on the screen.
Tessa.
Fuck!
A hand on my shoulder turns my head and pops my eyes open.
Mason’s concerned face studies mine, his hands reaching out to grab me. “Hey, are you all right?”
I step back, avoiding his grasp. “What are you doing here?” I ask, looking over at the building I just evacuated like it was going up in flames. I turn back to Mason and take in his attire.
Khakis and a nice button-down shirt. Not what I’m used to seeing him in during the week.
“Why aren’t you teaching a class? Did Vince call you?”
“Vince? Who is Vince?”
I rub my hands down my face. God, I am losing it.
“Nobody. He’s nobody,” I utter, letting my arms fall limp at my sides and looking up at him.
His bright eyes are filled with worry. I probably look like I’m having a nervous breakdown.
Clearing my throat, I ask again. “Why are you here, Mason?”
He moves closer, getting out of the way of o
ther pedestrians on the sidewalk. Sunlight catches in his hair and lightens a few strands. “I was meeting with someone about possibly expanding into a chain. Just discussing ideas. I don’t really know if it’s something I’m serious about.”
I wet my lips. “Oh.”
Mason’s logo on store fronts around the city. I can picture it. Then merchandise. Water bottles and cute little tops.
He should expand. He’d be fantastic with it.
“Why are you here, Brooke? You look a bit . . . out of sorts.” He reaches out and squeezes my arm at the elbow. I don’t pull away from him like I did when Vince touched me.
After a year, I would still remember how this felt.
Swallowing through a heavy blink, I lower my gaze to a spot on Mason’s shirt. “I was making a delivery in that building and this guy I hooked up with last year asked if I wanted to go at it again. You know, have sex.” I briefly glance up at him.
He appears engrossed by what I’m saying, watching me with an absorbing look in his eyes. His jaw tight as if he’s clenching his teeth. His grip on my arm tensing.
I drop my head. “I told him I didn’t want to. That I had a boyfriend.”
“Yeah?”
I nod and step back. “I have to go.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Mason grabs my arm again. His other hand cups my cheek. The corner of his mouth twitches as he stares down at me. “You said you have a boyfriend.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
My heart pounds in my chest. The blood in my veins warms and heats my skin until a fine sheen of sweat builds on the surface.
“Brooke.”
I grab his wrist and pull his hand away from my face. “Stop. I need to go. I just . . .” I move back, but Mason seizes my waist and hauls me against him.
“What’s going on? Why are you panicking?”
“Because.”
I try and turn in his arms. I try and escape, run away from this, from my worry and the emotions I feel coiling around me and suffocating.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I suddenly feel so small and crowded in my own skin.
“Because why? Talk to me,” he pleads, bending to get closer. “Brooke.”
My name on his lips and the way he says it, like a familiar embrace, unlocks something inside of me. Another level of uncertainty. Something so overwhelming it roots itself deep in my soul and demands to be acknowledged.
