Donut Be Easy

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  “No, Steph. I don’t mean what are you going to do now to distract yourself from the loss of your precious Bobby. I mean, are you going to finally fess up and tell him how you really feel before you lose the chance forever?”

  Oh. That. Yeah, somehow, I think the bucket list would have a better end result.

  I lick the remaining glaze off of my fingertips and swipe away the lone tear rolling down my sticky cheek. “Um, I did that already! And he still left. There are no more chances, Steph. He made his decision, and I wasn’t it. Now, he’s gone. The world has spoken, and they picked him to be their new superstar. He’s not coming back to this life, or back to me.”

  “Maybe he would if he knew there was something to come back to.” She points at the empty donut box. “And thankfully, I’m not talking about donuts.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Go out to LA, find him, and profess my undying love to him? Again? Beg him to pick me over fame and fortune?”

  “Why does there need to be a choice?”

  “Because nobody has it all, Kelly!” I throw my hand into the air. “You can’t have everything. It goes against the laws of nature! He’s my best friend, and that’s all he’ll ever be.”

  “Why don’t you feel like you deserve him?”

  “I don’t feel…I can’t even…what the hell are you talking about?” I grab an open wine bottle and head toward the cabinet for a glass since my stash of sweets has been completely depleted. I’m obviously a very bad planner.

  She grabs the bottle out of my hands. “No, seriously. You’re not taking a sip until you answer the question.”

  “It’s a stupid question!”

  She sticks a hand on her hip. “Is it?”

  “Yes!” I roll my eyes. “I don’t have self-esteem issues or anything like that.”

  “Then why did you hang in the background, watching his life move forward, while yours stalled out? Why didn’t you accept that promotion and transfer to Florida last year? You’ve always wanted to move down there, but you stayed and made up some bullshit excuse why the job wasn’t for you. They threw a ton of money at you, and you threw it right back at them.”

  “The humidity…” I run a hand through my flat-ironed hair. “It would have been hell on my hair.”

  “Mm-hm. And what about moving abroad your senior year? You had a chance to study in Paris, your favorite city in the world, and you chose to stay here?”

  “It was better for me to intern here so I could get used to working in Manhattan,” I hedge, averting my eyes. As if that would end her interrogation. The Spanish Inquisition was probably a cakewalk compared to this line of questioning.

  Especially since I know what’s coming next.

  “And what about Brendan?”

  I rub the back of my neck and turn away.

  “You left him standing in a church with an engagement ring and hundreds of people watching.” She taps a finger against her chin. “Refresh my memory about that one again?”

  “Argh! Fine!” I grab the bottle from her outstretched arm and pull out the cork. “Bobby came back from his little ‘finding himself’ tour and decided he wanted to be with me! That’s why I ran out on Brendan!”

  “But then he freaked out after you kissed him that morning.”

  “He felt guilty for breaking up my engagement.” I don’t bother with the glass at this point; I just guzzle directly from the open bottle.

  “You broke up your engagement, not him. He finally decided he wanted you after all of that time you spent pining for him. Then he changed his mind, ran off to LA, and you were left to pick up all of the pieces.”

  “Okay sis, so why are you telling me to go out there? You’re not making a really good case for yourself right now. You want to see me get my heart stomped on again?”

  Stephanie pulls the bottle away from me and takes a long sip. “No. I think we can both agree that Bobby has had his head up his ass for longer than we care to acknowledge. But…” She smiles and squeezes my hand. “You still love him. And let’s face it, his life hasn’t exactly been easy. I think he’s afraid he can’t give you what you want.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Look at the evidence. After that whole mess with Brendan, you and Bobby stayed friends. You were there for him when he put his band together, you were the one who tried to keep him on the straight and narrow. You were the one who never judged when he went into his downward spirals. And you were the one who convinced him to chase his dream.”

  “Yeah, so what does that all say? I’m a freaking doormat? A glutton for punishment?”

  “No, moron. I think he sees how amazing you’ve been to him, and how successful you’ve been on your own, and it makes him nervous because he doesn’t think he can do the same for you and support you and your dreams in the same way. He’s scared. I think that’s part of the reason he went out to LA. You challenged him to do something with his life, and he did. Maybe for him, but maybe a bit for you, too. To make you proud or happy or some combination of the two?”

  “Since when did you become a psychologist?” I grumble, dragging my finger tip around the bottom of the empty box, scooping up any remaining remnants of my sugar-fest.

  “Please. With a head-case like you for a sister, you didn’t think I’d major in anything else, did you?” She giggles and points to my bedroom. “Now get your ass in there and start packing. I’m sure we can get you on a red-eye tonight.”

  I stare at her, my mouth agape. “You’re serious?”

  “As nuclear war. So move it!”

  Chapter 2

  Bobby

  Roaring crowds. Chicks pushing toward me, pressing their tits against my chest. I don’t know how they manage to get around those huge security guards all over the place, but they’re sure determined to get close. Hands grope me, grabbing my junk. Camera flashes blink, so bright and so fast, for a minute I’m blinded. But my other senses are still on high alert. And the hands keep coming.

  Damn, I wish they belonged to someone else.

  Microphones are shoved at me, questions blasting me like bullets that are impossible to dodge.

  How does it feel to be the very first winner of Song Slam?

  Are you moving out to LA permanently?

  Will you keep writing your own music?

  Is your family excited?

  Are they here to celebrate with you?

  My throat tightens at the last two questions. I answer as many reporters as possible before I’m shuttled into a waiting Escalade. My personal bodyguard Mike nods at me and slams the door shut. Where the hell were you before when I was getting manhandled, Mike?

  I pull out my iPhone. No messages. I toss it onto the black leather seat and let out a sigh. She could still be at work. Maybe she hasn’t even seen the show yet. It’s just like her to be burning the midnight oil, especially now that her career has taken off and she’s racing up that corporate ladder.

  Just like her family expects.

  “How much longer, Mike?” I rub the back of my neck, and my head collapses against the pebbled leather. This shit is luxury, that’s for sure. I’d never even seen the inside of anything that cost this much before I came out here a couple of months ago. And now? Hell, pretty soon I can own my own fleet of these cars.

  At least that’s what my brand-new agent tells me. And Jeremy Rothenstein seems to have all the answers, so I trust him on that one.

  “She should be coming out in a minute. Her last interview just ended.”

  I trace a finger along the grooves of the seat and look back at my phone. I let out a deep sigh. I can call her. What would be so wrong with that?

  I clench my fists. Only fucking everything.

  My shoulders sag, and I close my eyes. I’ve taken one too many hits on the memory of her lips on mine, and right now, I’m crashing. Hard.

  We weren’t meant to be anything, but somehow, we became something. I’d been living in a fog for most of my life, losing hope, losing faith, losing
myself. What the hell could I possibly offer the girl with everything? The girl who just happened to walk into that shithole bar years ago. She owned the room…owned the world, really. Everyone wanted to be around her, she was that magnetic. And when she smiled at me, I damn near forgot the lyrics to my own song, which is ironic because it was one I’d written about crushed hopes and broken dreams. That night, she made me believe that it was really possible to find my place.

  I found mine. It was with her.

  The back door clicks open and Tia slides into the seat next to me. And she doesn’t let the phone between us stop her from creeping closer than she needs to be. She picks up the phone and hands it to me before practically jumping into my lap.

  “Oh my God, Bobby! This is the most amazing night ever!” She lets out a high-pitched screech and stomps her feet on the floor, clapping like a seal at the zoo. “We won! Do you have any idea what this means for us?” She cups my chin and narrows her eyes. “Why are you so gloomy right now? We’re going to be stars, Bobby! Just like we’ve always dreamed!”

  I manage a smile, but it’s a bullshit one. A façade. Just like the one I’ve been wearing for the past two months.

  I have one dream. One.

  That’s why I came out here – to make something of myself, to prove myself to a bunch of people who think they know what I’ve experienced, but who really have no clue. But this success; it’ll never be enough. I’ll never be enough. Money, Grammys, houses, cars, all that material shit – it doesn’t mean anything to me without Steph in my life.

  And they’ll never let that dream become a reality. I don’t belong, and I never will.

  That last night at Stephanie’s was a harsh reminder. When she told me she loved me, I knew I couldn’t give her what she needed and deserved. There was a reason why her father had such a hard-on for her ex-fiancé. The guy was dull as a bag of rocks, but he had a trust fund and a six-figure salary at some investment bank in the city. Pedigree. Legacy. Status. Only the best for their daughter. I knew I needed to do something more, something great. So I left. And I never told her how I felt. It was a dick move, but I had to find out if her feelings were real. Leaving her was the only option, for both of us. And if she came back to me?

  Well, that really doesn’t matter at this point since she didn’t. Turns out I couldn’t give her what she needs after all.

  Tia’s hand slithers up my leg and she licks her lip. “Feel like celebrating? Because I have lots of pent-up energy right now. I bet I can come up with some very fun things for us to do.”

  Her hand continues to travel, and I let it, hoping it’ll eventually cloud my head and allow the lust to take over. But that memory. Dammit. It just won’t fade away.

  It’s seared into my brain. Forever. The dress she wore, her warm smile, the white wine spritzer in her small hand, long brown hair that smelled like oranges. It was the night that I’d fallen in love with her. It was the same night I found out I’d never get the chance to make her mine, a jagged pill I’ve had to swallow so many times over the past six years, it’s pretty much shredded my insides. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if we had never met.

  I’ve loved, I’ve lost…too many times to count…and I’ve never even spoken the damn words.

  But now I’m on the path. I’m about to the live the dream, create a future for myself, and do all the things I never thought would be possible for an orphaned kid who was bounced around too many foster homes to count and sang in the darkness to chase away the monsters at night.

  For that kid, this is living, right?

  Except, it feels a little like a death sentence if I’m being honest. Winning this competition means one thing: I lose Steph forever. If I couldn’t have her the way I craved, at least I could still have her friendship. But after leaving her, after ignoring her attempts to reach out, after winning this competition? I’ve effectively ruined that, too. I’m sure her parents are thrilled for me, though. And nothing can erase from my memory the toxic words that have haunted me since the night before I left for LA.

  Bobby can’t fuck up Stephanie’s life anymore if he’s on the other side of the country. Let’s hope he wins this thing and it keeps him far away from here.

  It’s why I pulled away from Stephanie’s kiss. And it’s when I knew I could never come back.

  Continue Reading Donut Tease Me

  Donut Leave Me

  Sneak Peek

  By Teresa Crumpton

  Chapter 1

  Forest

  It’s too damn early for someone to be knocking on my door. I reach for my my phone to see what time it is. If it’s before 10 AM I’m not going to answer. The screen reads 9:40 AM.

  “Go the fuck away, and let me sleep,” I growl, knowing damn well the person pounding on my door can’t hear me.

  “Are you going to get that?” the woman next to me mumbles, and for the life of me, I can’t remember her name.

  She’s the first woman I’ve brought back to my place in weeks. I toss the covers off and slip out of bed, grabbing my sweats off the floor and stepping into them as I stumble my way to the front door. There are shuffling sounds coming from my room, and I guess my one night stand is getting dressed. Thank fuck I won’t have to kick her out when I go back to bed.

  I glance through the peephole and freeze. The chick knocking on my door looks vaguely familiar, but if this is who I’m thinking she might be, I haven’t seen her in years. Somewhere around eight years I’d guess. Hell, I’ve even moved since then. A few times. I flip the locks and unchain the door before opening it.

  It’s fucking bright out, so I have to squint at the woman. “Can I help you?”

  “Forest?” she asks, wrapping her arms over her chest. “Forest Jenson?”

  I swear this can’t be who she reminds me of. Hallie had curves that wouldn’t quit and was built. This woman is practically skin and bones.

  “I’m Forest Jenson. Is there something I can do for you?” I’m hoping she’ll actually tell me why she’s at my door this time, and I can answer her question and get back in my bed soon. It’s too early for this shit.

  “Sorry, yes. May I come in? This conversation would be better if you’re sitting down,” she continues, but I’m leery of letting her in my apartment. “Also… Uh... can I ask you to put on a shirt? This discussion is going to be difficult enough without staring at your chest and tattoos.”

  I glance down at myself and shrug. The woman has balls, I’ll give her that. The fact that I’m not sure if I know her is only one reason I hesitate. The other reason has to do with the crazy-ass bitch my friend and coworker, Wes, is dating. I don’t want to invite that brand of crazy into my home. But looking at this woman and her frailty makes me think better of leaving her standing on the stoop. I open the door wider and step back, giving her a silent invitation and space to enter.

  The chick from my bed walks out of my room. She’s completely rumpled. Walk of shame doesn’t look good on you.

  “Umm. I’m going to go,” she mumbles, grabbing her purse and coverup on the way out.

  “Sure.” I continue to hold the door open for her.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had company,” my new guest apologizes. “I should go. Maybe this was a bad idea.” She bites her bottom lip and turns to head toward the door I’m still holding open.

  I hold up my hand in the universal “stop” signal at her. There is no fucking way I’m letting her leave now. I’m all too curious to hear what she has to say at this point.

  My date from last night steps outside and tells me over her shoulder, “I left my number next to your phone. Call me.”

  “Sure.” She turns and saunters off, and I close the door behind her then face the newcomer. “Now what can I do for you?”

  “Your… uh shirt... please?” She walks toward the couch.

  “Seriously? You come to my place, get me out of my warm bed too damn early, and you want me to put on a shirt?”

  “Yes. Please?�
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  “Fine,” I grumble at her. “Do you know how to make coffee? I think I’m going to need it. You start the coffee, I’ll get my shirt on.” I raise my eyebrow at her.

  She nods, places her purse on my coffee table, and points in the direction she assumes my kitchen is with raised eyebrows as if asking for my confirmation.

  Wonder if she knows how to make French press coffee? Screw it. I’m not even going to ask.

  “Yeah, kitchen’s that way,” I nod in the direction she’s pointing, “and the coffee should be on the counter. I have a Keurig, so make yourself a cup too if you’d like. By the way, you wanna tell me your name?”

  She stops dead in her tracks and very slowly faces me. “You don’t remember my name?”

  “Lady, I barely remember my own some days and, while you look oddly familiar, the person you remind me of I haven’t seen in about eight years.” I cross my arms over my chest, still waiting for her answer.

  “You’re right. Good point. Fuck. This really is going to be harder than I thought.” She blows out a long breath. “Forget the shirt, and you’re gonna want something stronger than coffee. Can I sit?” She motions to my couch.

  I nod and move to lean against the doorframe, my arms remaining crossed. Something feels off with this chick, and I’m beginning to think it was a bad idea to let her in.

  She lets out another breath as she takes a seat. “I had this awesome speech prepared, but that was when I thought you’d recognize me. I realize I look nothing like what I used to. Well, ‘nothing’ isn’t really the right term, but…. Anyway, my name is Hallie Hartley.” Hearing her name nearly stops my heart. This frail woman can’t be Hallie. She keeps talking, and I’m pretty damn sure I’ve missed something she’s said. “I know we lost contact after that one night, but I’m still best friends with your sister, Piper. In fact, she’s the reason I’m here.”

  “Hallie Hartley.” I stare at her, my arms falling to my sides as I push off the doorframe. Now that I know it’s her, I can see more of her features that I remember. But still… she’s so frail. “It’s been years. Why did Piper send you to me now?” What the hell are you doing, Piper?