Stud Muffin

by Smartypants Romance

  Those were her glory days and she’s taking up permanent residency.

  Stella’s expression changes and a look of complete and utter disgust paints her fake-ass features. Pulling her hand back, she not so discreetly wipes it down the leg of her over-priced jeans. Batting her obviously glued on lashes, she says, “There are a few seats up there.” Pointing to the top of the bleachers. “Enjoy the game.”

  Giving her a smirk I hope conveys what I can’t say, like suck a dick, I nudge Tempest. “Let’s go… I need a better view.”

  When we finally settle into a seat, sitting on the blanket Tempest brought, I ask, “So where is he?”

  “Who?” Her eyes are on the field, watching the game, or at least pretending to.

  “You know who,” I mutter, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone sitting around us since we’re packed in like sardines.

  Sitting up a little straighter, she cranes her neck, sweeping her gaze one way and then the other, before groaning quietly. Leaning over, she points her finger to the right. “There,” she says. “Three rows down… dark hair… popped collar.”

  Looking like the douchebag he is. I can’t see his face, but when he turns to follow a play, I catch a side profile. He kind of looks familiar. Maybe I’ve passed him at the Piggly Wiggly or when I’ve been out on a run. This is a small town, there’s a good chance we’ve crossed paths and I didn’t even know who he was.

  That’s probably a good thing.

  “Is she here?”

  Tempest shakes her head. “Doesn’t look like it. If she was,” she whispers, “she’d be sitting with Stella. They’re kind of a packaged deal. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve had a threesome.” She snorts and I hold back a chuckle.

  I love when she’s candid and just speaks her mind.

  Keeping one eye on Asher, I try to enjoy the game, rooting for the home team—cheering and booing when it’s called for—but the whole time, my mind is on Tempest. She’s so close I can feel the warmth of her body and I want nothing more than to get closer. Shit, I’d pull her onto my lap if I thought I could get away with it, but I settle for slipping my arm around her back.

  At first, she tenses, but then eventually relaxes into it, leaning over and letting me hold her to me.

  It’s enough.

  For now.

  “I have to be to work by eight,” I tell her, looking up at the scoreboard and watching the seconds until halftime.

  “We can leave whenever you want,” she says, glancing up at me. “I’ve made my appearance. That’s all I needed to do. Besides, tomorrow night will be a late one.”

  “I’ve asked for tomorrow night off,” I tell her. “So, we can stay as long as you want.”

  She laughs. “Probably not long…again, I just need to make an appearance, see a few old faces, and do what I need to do.”

  Show them they haven’t beat her. I already know, without her telling me, why she has to do this. It’s like when you eventually stand up to a bully and they leave you alone after that. This is Tempest standing up to her bullies, putting them in their place.

  We stay through halftime. The old guy in the press box announces the class of 2009 and Tempest smiles and shakes her head as the stands around us erupt. “Go Pirates,” I tease, mimicking Stella from earlier.

  “Woo,” she says, laughing.

  The band takes the field and we watch their performance. When the third quarter starts, Tempest stands and looks down at me. “Let’s go.”

  As we make our way down the stairs and across the bleachers to the ramp, I chance a glance up at Asher, wanting a good look at his face. Leaning down and placing my lips near Tempest’s ear, I lock eyes with him, whispering, “I know him.”

  Her steps falter, but she quickly recovers.

  “Where from?” she asks as we squeeze past people coming back to their seats for the second half. It’s like swimming against the tide. I put my arm out in front of Tempest, clearing a path for her and keeping people from knocking into her.

  “Pink Pony,” I tell her once we’re clear of the crowd. “He’s a regular.”

  She stops in the middle of the gravel parking lot, a few feet from the truck. “What?”

  “Yeah, he comes in once or twice a week with a couple of the guys he was sitting by.”

  “Asher?” she asks, confusion clear on her face.

  “Pretty sure.”

  Frowning, she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” She laughs, giving me a look like I’m crazy. “He never goes anywhere. If it doesn’t have anything to do with a book he’s working on, he’s pretty much not interested. I was always begging him to go out and do something, but he never wanted to. He doesn’t even like to drink.”

  I hate to break it to her, but she’s wrong, or maybe he’s changed since they split up, but he’s definitely a frequent flyer… or rider… at the Pink Pony. I’m sure of it. It’s my job to see every person who comes and goes, and I’m damn good at my job.

  “Am I taking you home?” I ask, as we approach the truck and I open her door for her.

  She pauses for a second, half way in her seat. “You know… I think I’ll go hang out at the bar while you work… if that’s okay with you?” She’s hesitant, like I might not be okay with that, which is crazy. I’d have her with me every second of the day if I could.

  “On one condition,” I tell her, sounding serious.

  Her eyes move to mine and she furrows her brows. “What?”

  “Two shots… three tops,” I say, holding up my fingers. “And when I ask you to get off the fucking bar, you do it.”

  Swatting me in my shoulder, she tries to look mad, but fails, adorable nonetheless.

  When we get to the bar, Tempest takes her same seat from the first night I saw her—the one I usually occupy while keeping watch—and smiles at Floyd.

  “Hey, Em,” he says with a wide grin. “What brings you in here tonight?”

  “I’m with him,” she says, tossing a thumb over her shoulder in my direction and earning me a look from Floyd. He knows we’re friends, but that’s about it. What happens between Tempest and I is none of his business, or anyone else’s for that matter.

  She orders a shot of tequila and a Coke with lime while I turn my attention to the patrons.

  With the football game going on, the place is pretty quiet. Although, there are some regulars occupying the front tables, and the girls are putting on a good show.

  “Do they do the same routines every night?” Tempest asks, turning on her barstool to face the stage, leaning her elbows back on the bar. And looking so fucking hot doing it.

  “Uh, no,” I answer, watching Fuchsia do her thing. “They probably have a dozen routines each and an equal amount of costume changes… wig changes. Some of these men who come in here probably think there are a dozen different dancers.”

  “Wow,” Tempest says, watching intently. “That’s a lot of work… and coordination,” she adds, her head tilting to the side as Fuchsia shimmies across the stage. “Not to mention incredible balance.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I tell her.

  She laughs, sipping on her Coke. “Don’t think I could do it?”

  “I’d have to beat up every guy in here for looking at you.”

  She’s quiet for a second and I’m worried that I might’ve overstepped. “What?” I ask when she fights back a smile.

  “Nothing.”

  About that time, a large crowd filters through the door, a few of them nodding a greeting as they look for a suitable table.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Tempest mutters, causing me to follow her line of sight. And that’s when I see him—Asher—walking in with the other two guys I recognized.

  I don’t want to say I told her so, but I told her so. At least now she can see it for herself.

  When he notices her sitting at the bar beside me, his eyes widen. And for a second, I wonder if he sees how hot she is leaning against the bar, and thinking about what a h
orrible fucking mistake it was to let her go.

  If I was him, that’s what I would be thinking. But then again, I’d never be him. I might not be known for having long relationships, but I’ve never had a problem with monogamy. I think it’s why I haven’t been in more serious relationships. If I don’t see it going somewhere, I don’t invest the time. There’s no point in it.

  But Tempest is worth it.

  She’s the girl you take home to meet your parents.

  She’s the girl you snatch up, because if you don’t, someone else will, and you don’t want to look back and think, I should’ve married her.

  “You want me to take you home?” I ask, glancing over at her. She’s glaring daggers at Asher’s back and I wonder if he can feel it. He better be glad looks can’t kill, because if they could, he’d be dead.

  “No,” she says, her lips pursing as she turns around and faces the bar. “Another shot of tequila, Floyd.” He obliges, pouring one and setting it down in front of her. She takes it and tosses it back.

  “You okay?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the growing crowd.

  “Fine.”

  But I can tell she’s not. I’m not sure if it’s just seeing Asher or the fact she has to be in the same vicinity as him, but she’s definitely pissed about something.

  After a few minutes, one of the guys from Asher’s table walks up to the bar and asks for a beer. He really doesn’t need to, that’s what we have waitresses for, so I watch him closely.

  “Hey, Tempest,” he says, sliding onto a barstool beside her.

  “Jimmy,” Tempest says through clenched teeth, not looking at him.

  He smirks and leans over onto the bar. “Didn’t know you frequented the Pony,” he says mockingly. “Isn’t it too late for you to be out… time to make the muffins?”

  I’m about to step in and tell this guy to fuck off when Tempest slides off her barstool and stands up to him. She’s not tall and tonight, she’s wearing tennis shoes, so there’s no added height from heels, but the way she stands with authority, it makes Jimmy back up.

  “Whoa,” he says with a smile, hands in the air. “I thought those anger management classes were paying off, but maybe not.” The cocky grin on his face is getting ready to be wiped off if he doesn’t shut his mouth.

  “Jimmy,” Tempest says, venom in her tone, but she covers it up with a syrupy-sweet smile. “I know you’re not making fun of my job, seeing as how you haven’t had one in over a year.” Her hand comes down on his shoulder. “My mama told me they’ve been praying for you. You know how those prayer circle women are.” When she feigns innocence, I know something else is coming. “Speaking of, how is Heidi? My mama said she’s been hosting their Tuesday night bible study. I’ll have to let her know I ran into you.”

  Jimmy’s face pales and he grabs his beer and walks back to the table without another word.

  “That’s when it pays to listen to gossip,” Tempest says, sliding back into her seat. “What a fucking douchebag.”

  I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Duped,” she says after a few seconds, something like sadness and hurt in her tone. Looking over at her, she swallows and shakes her head.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not right now.” Taking a deep breath, she blows it out. “I just want another shot of tequila and to see something naked.”

  “I could help you with that,” I murmur, leaning closer.

  “Your job requires you to remain fully clothed,” she says. Turning back to the bar, she lifts a finger to Floyd, who reads her sign and gives her what she wants. “Their job is to take it off.” Tipping her shot glass toward the stage, she brings it back to her perfect pink lips and throws it back. “I typically don’t swing that way, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

  I can’t help the laugh that erupts. She’s something else and I love it. I love that I never know what she’s going to say. I love that she fights back and doesn’t shy away from tough situations. I love that she’s strong and fierce and sexy as hell.

  Chapter 25

  Tempest

  Thanks to the tequila I drank last night and staying at the bar so late, when Cage finally drove me home, I came straight upstairs and crashed.

  He asked me if I wanted to come to his apartment, but I knew what that would entail and honestly, my head is still reeling from our first romp in the sack. I don’t think I’m ready for another. Besides, I hardly ever get a Saturday off work and I had plans of sleeping until eight.

  Glancing over at the clock, I see it’s only six thirty, which is still sleeping in for me, even though I didn’t go to bed until after two in the morning. I’m used to baker’s hours.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, but when I turn back to the clock, it’s only been ten minutes. Frustrated with myself, I toss the blankets off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed, toeing into my slippers.

  It’s already starting to feel cooler in the mornings and evenings. You can tell fall is upon us and that makes me happy. It’s my favorite time of year.

  Shuffling over to the coffee pot, I think about how much I love living here. I’m sure for some people, it might feel claustrophobic and they would probably be dreaming about more space, but this is perfect for me right now.

  As the coffee permeates the air, I inhale and let it coat my lungs.

  That’s what I’m talking about. There’s nothing like your first hit of caffeine in the morning. Something about the smell of coffee soothes my soul and sets me up for a productive day. Without it, I’m lost and grumpy.

  Sipping my first cup, I lean against the brick wall and peer out the window to the street below. From here, I can see that there are customers arriving at the bakery. I start to feel bad about not being there, and then quickly shut that shit down.

  Besides, I made extra muffins yesterday for today, so it’s not like they’re going without.

  With so much time to spare, I glance around my apartment and make a mental list of things I could check off my to-do list.

  There’s a box of clothes I need to either donate or find space for under my bed. I also have a basket of clothes I washed at the laundromat earlier this week that needs put away. Plus, there’s still one small box of random papers I need to go through.

  Most of the junk can probably be thrown away, but I need to make sure there isn’t anything in there that’s important. My luck, if I just trashed the whole box, I’d accidentally throw away a winning lotto ticket or my birth certificate.

  Although, I’d have to buy a lotto ticket first.

  And my birth certificate is safely tucked away in a fireproof box.

  But I can’t throw it away without easing my mind first, so I set my half-drank cup of coffee on the island and lean down to grab all the papers out of the box.

  One pile for trash.

  One pile for keep.

  The first few items are old bills, mostly utility bills, from the old house.

  Trash.

  A credit card statement from one of Asher’s cards.

  Trash.

  A letter from Asher’s Aunt Patricia for his birthday last year.

  Trash.

  I start to move through the stack faster, only adding one receipt that I’ll need for taxes to the keep pile, until a folded piece of paper catches my eye.

  Fertility Institute of Knoxville

  Patient Information: Asher J. Williams

  Scanning the paper, I’m confused at what I’m looking at. Asher was never a patient at the fertility clinic. But I’ve never seen this paper before. As I skim the information, it’s like I’m reading gibberish, until I come to one line.

  Semen Test

  Flipping the page, I still can’t make out what any of the numbers mean, but at the bottom of the third page, there’s a section titled: Conclusion.

  Again, most of it is Greek to me, but when I come across one line in particular, I
pause. My heart starts beating a little harder and a little faster.

  A result of 0 percent NF usually means in vitro fertilization (IVF) may be necessary for conception.

  Flipping back to the first page, I scan it looking to see what it says for NF… NF… NF…

  2.

  Asher’s result was 2 percent NF.

  What does that mean?

  He’s what? Infertile? Has bad swimmers?

  Going back to the conclusion portion, I read over it quickly one more time. IVF may be necessary for conception. Meaning, we might have never conceived again on our own? Which must mean that the one time we did, it was a miracle.

  My heart squeezes, just like it does every time when I think about the baby I lost. I wasn’t pregnant long, but it was long enough for me to get attached to the idea. I loved that baby for eight weeks and wanted it more than anything in the entire world.

  But that also means that if he got Mindy pregnant, that’s some freak of nature shit.

  Lightning striking twice?

  My wheels start turning and I spend the rest of the day doing my least favorite thing—thinking about Asher Williams.

  Between the sperm analysis and him showing up at the Pink Pony last night… and Cage recognizing him as a regular… I feel more confused today than I did the day I walked in and found him and Mindy in bed together.

  Something about all of it makes me feel like a fraud, like I was living a lie. It leaves me second-guessing Asher and who he is as a person, which in turn makes me second-guess myself.

  Why didn’t he tell me about going to the fertility clinic?

  Did he go before or after he started sleeping with Mindy?

  And since when does he hang out at the Pink Pony?

  How did I not see him for who he truly is?