Good In Bed

by Bromberg, K

  “Oh, Hayes.” She chuckles that fake laugh of hers and it feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Relax. No one’s talking about it anymore.”

  My fists clench as I try to restrain myself from picking up that tall glass of gin sitting next to her and smashing it to make sure I have her attention. But a part of me wants her to not take me too seriously. If she blows me off then she’s had fair warning, and I’ll gladly handle this on my own terms.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. Next Wednesday, you’re going to get your ass in the car I’ll have here to pick you up. It’s going to take you to Saylor’s bakery. You’re going to walk in there and apologize to her, face to face. And you will be nice. Then you’re going to walk out to the little café where I’ll be holding the press junket interviews, sit down beside me, and explain how long ago and why we broke up. You’ll explain that no one cheated and we were simply a case of two people not meant to be together. And then you’re going to publicly apologize for letting the press think Saylor was the reason we had broken up and for not correcting them.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. I can’t do that. People would think that I lied and—”

  “You DID LIE,” I shout, fingers itching to pick up the glass again.

  “I think I have a hair appointment that day.”

  Fucking unbelievable.

  “Cancel it.”

  “No.”

  “Cancel it,” I repeat as I squat down and take my sunglasses off so we are at eye level. There will be no mistaking my threat when I speak next. “Or I’ll hold the interviews myself and explain how difficult the filming was because you’re an addict and then casually mention your suicide attempt. How you did it as a publicity stunt because you’re so goddamn in love with yourself and you didn’t think you were getting enough attention. I’ll explain why your daddy has disowned you, how the studio has threatened not to pay you, and why your career is hanging by the same thread your human decency is.”

  “You asshole.” She grits the words out. My smirk in response is visual sarcasm. “You can’t do that. What about the NDA? Our paychecks? You just can’t—”

  “Yes, actually I can. There are some things more important than money, Jenna. And Saylor is one of them.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tremble and voice wavers with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

  “Try me, Jenna.” I lift my eyebrows before putting my sunglasses back on. I stare at her a second, let her know I’m not fucking around, and then leave without saying another word.

  Fuck, that felt good.

  Saylor

  SIX DAYS LEFT

  FACEBOOK

  Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days

  1. Chocolate Chip Cookies

  I look at the humungous box of chocolate chip cookies recently delivered to the bakery. And not just any kind of chocolate chip cookies—Chips Ahoy to be exact. Between the play on his nickname for me and the memory of how he’d steal my cookies after school, the gift makes me smile. The thoughtfulness behind it warms every part of me.

  And frustrates me considering he won’t answer my call to say thank you. The only response? A text saying six more days. Agh.

  Feeling more sure of myself today, I venture into the front of the bakery behind the counter. The talking ceases momentarily until the customers realize how noticeable it is and then start chatting loudly again as if that’s not obvious either.

  I talk over the week’s astounding sales numbers with DeeDee as the photographers outside aim their lenses through the window. No doubt they’re grateful they can actually see me after sitting out there for days bored to tears. I certainly have the advantage of living and working in the same building so there is no guaranteed drive to work like most other people they stalk.

  I rearrange the display case, wanting to keep my hands busy as I try to get used to the feeling of being watched. It’s almost as if they think I’m going to suddenly break down and confess to all of the horrible things their magazines say I did.

  * * *

  Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days

  Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Kisses

  The delivery boy catches me off guard when he walks in the front door. At first I’m about to tell him to leave, mistaking him for a paparazzo acting as a delivery man just to get in the store somehow (silly, I know but I’m a bit paranoid with forty-plus pairs of eyes watching my every move), but then realize the package in his hand isn’t a camera bag.

  I watch as he leaves, how the paparazzi go crazy clicking pictures as if he’s the secret messenger between Hayes and me. And when I open the package, I realize he is.

  When I look inside the box, there is a cardboard partition that divides the box in half. One side is filled to the top with so many Hershey kisses I’m overwhelmed with the smell of chocolate. And the other side is empty save for a note taped to its bottom.

  The box is half empty. I need the space because I plan on stealing a lot more in the future. -XO Hayes

  My heart skips over a beat and a smile graces my lips as I do what any normal person would do. I pick one of them up, unwrap it, and eat it while I watch the photographers mill around outside. A thought forms but I shove it away. Disregard it.

  But as I venture into the retail front and wipe down a few tables, see some of the tabloid magazines with my image on the cover left there, and overhear conversations about bragging rights over who got the most for each photo, I start to think my idea isn’t a half bad one.

  “Dee, I’m heading back into the kitchen for a bit.”

  And of course when I get to my workstation, there is another box. Another returned item from Hayes. And this time I know DeeDee or Ryder had to have helped him but I love that he went to this much trouble.

  Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10 Days

  Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Kisses

  Time

  I open the box to find an hourglass inside. My fingers reach out to touch it. I’m overwhelmed by the effort he’s put into these ten days so far.

  I turn it over and watch the sand slide through the glass. Hypnotized by the sight, my thoughts drift. To how easily time passes. To Hayes. To not wanting to waste any more of it when it comes to being with him. Life is too short. When the sand runs out, the completed grudge cupcakes are visible through the curve of the empty glass.

  Stop wasting time, Saylor.

  I laugh out loud as pieces click into place for me. The paparazzi. They’re using me to make money. To sell the image they want of me. Why can’t I use them for the exact same thing?

  Inspired, I grab my set of perfectly decorated grudge cupcakes and I waltz out of the kitchen, through the front of the bakery, and out the glass front door for the first time since I came home from my trip.

  The awaiting photographers scramble and stumble over each other when they see me striding out of the store like a woman on a mission.

  “You want a statement?” I shout out as they fumble to slide their cameras over to video mode to record what I have to say. “I’ll give you a statement. You want to know how I feel about everything that’s going on? How it feels to be accused and vilified and lied about when no one has a clue what the truth is?”

  I set the box of cupcakes down with a resounding thud on one of the tables I have out front for customers. I pause for dramatic effect to make sure I have their attention and give them time to get the best angle.

  “I get angry. But I don’t make up more lies and spread them around to make me feel better and to get more attention. I don’t call reporters, lie to them about where to find more gossip, and drop hints that aren’t true. No. Because if I did, you’d know I’m not the story here. Not
in the least. But I have more class than that. More couth. Instead I bake. I eat chocolate. And I get out my anger by doing this.”

  I pick up a cupcake, flash the top—make sure the One To Smash is showing to the cameras—and then I smash it between my hands á la the grudge-match cupcake war I had with Hayes. The photographers startle as cupcake shrapnel flies everywhere.

  The image of Hayes’s bare chest covered in cupcake crumbs fills my mind and how I wanted to lick them off of him. And the thought is ten times more appealing than the slew of paparazzi in front of me but it makes seeing them that much more bearable.

  “I make grudge cupcakes. Where there’s one for me to get my chocolate fix.” I hold up the one that says Oats To Sow. Take a small bite. Then hold up the One To Throw cupcake as shutters click. “And this one’s to get my frustration and aggression out.” And this time when I smash it, I earn a chuckle from them.

  “So you see? Nothing important is going on here that you can take a picture of to sell, other than the ones you just took of me making grudge cupcakes and smashing them. But if you do sell the photos, make sure they’re accompanied with some ridiculous headlines like, ‘Saylor Rodgers goes crazy on a cupcake-smashing spree because Hayes Whitley has left her for Medusa’s little sister.’ Because if you’re going to lie, why not go all out, right? So print what you will. Say what you want. I know the truth. Hayes knows the truth. Jenna most definitely knows the truth. That’s it. I’ll just be in here making more cupcakes. I might even send a few out to compensate for your time since I’m not giving you any camera-worthy breakdown moments to sell. Everyone here like chocolate? Good. Sit tight.”

  With that, I lick a piece of frosting off my fingers, look to the box of remaining cupcakes, and decide to leave it on the table so they can take a closer look and maybe even take a picture or two. Perhaps that’s why I make sure to strategically position the box so the pair of cupcakes I want to be seen are front and center for the camera lens: One cupcake says YES, it’s always been HIM and its match says NOT YOU, Golf Boy.

  Yeah. Those cupcakes are keeping me warm, now. Asshole.

  And with a smug smile on my face because I know Mitch will see it and understand my message, I turn my back to them without another word.

  When I open the door to the bakery, I feel the best I have since I woke up in Hayes’s arms before the shit hit the fan.

  And when I look up, Ryder is staring at me with wide eyes and a shocked smile, pride written all over his face. “That was brilliant, Say.”

  I shrug. “If you can’t give them what they want, you might as well give them what you want.”

  “Free publicity is never a bad thing.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve had enough publicity for a lifetime the past few days.”

  I move to the back, wash my hands, and feel a little more sure of myself now that I know facing the beast wasn’t as horrible as I thought. Of course I know the crowd outside is nothing compared to some of the other mob scenes I’ve seen surrounding Hayes when he leaves a club or a premiere or does anything, and yet it’s still better than expected.

  Baby steps. One after another, right back to Hayes’s arms.

  “For you.” Ryder’s voice startles me. I dry my hands on a towel and narrow my eyes at the package as he sets it down.

  I carefully set down the box, but when I remove the top, it is empty.

  All except for a red heart drawn on a piece of paper. The words written in the center bring tears to my eyes.

  Sorry. I’m not giving this one back. Hayes.

  * * *

  Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days

  Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Kisses

  Time

  Your Heart

  And if swooning were a real thing, a physical reaction, I’d be doing it right now. Because damn if something so simple doesn’t mean more to me than the expensive oven.

  I read the post again, my heart bursting, and then when I look down at the thousands of comments that have been made on his posts to me today, I notice a shift. They started out being crappy. Negative about me. But by the last one, the comments started becoming more positive. A Get the girl, Hayes! Or If someone makes you this dedicated, you must love her.

  I switch over to my phone to text Hayes, like I have after every gift has arrived, and type: You can keep it as long as I can keep yours. Thank you for my gifts.

  Hayes

  FOUR DAYS LEFT

  TWITTER

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  Get ready for my mad A-game @SweetChks. Do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knee falling for you. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined

  * * *

  I watch the video on TMZ of Saylor again. Of her walking out of Sweet Cheeks looking so composed and innocent with those brilliantly creative cupcakes, giving her little speech, and then smashing them in her hands. Shocking the hell out of the paps. The subtle dig to Mitch the Prick that will definitely be noticed. She comes off as playful, confident, and unaffected by the cameras being pointed at her. Like the unbelievably cruel things that have upended her world the last week don’t matter at all.

  She played them perfectly. And when she turns to head back inside, the angle of the video affords me a glimpse of the Saylor Rodgers smug smile that says she’s figured this game out. Goddamn sassy, gorgeous, and without a doubt going to be mine.

  God, I fucking miss her.

  We went ten years without speaking so why is my self-imposed moratorium of not talking to her for ten days killing me?

  Because this time I know it matters. This time I’m not willing to walk away from her again or let her walk away from me. I’ve chased my dreams. Followed my passion. Been successful. But what does it mean if I don’t have her around at the end of every day?

  To kiss hello.

  To laugh with.

  To dirty up a counter in flour with.

  Scrubbing my hand through my hair, I review the agenda sent over for the interviews being held the day after tomorrow and check the list of things I need to do to pull off the surprises I’ve planned.

  And then I hope like hell this has all been worth it. That not talking to her, not seeing her, not kissing her will only make her realize how damn lonely it is without me in her life.

  Now back to researching cheesy pick-up lines to tweet.

  If I’m making an ass out of myself, I damn well better be getting the girl in the end.

  Saylor

  FOUR DAYS LEFT

  TWITTER

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  You must be a banana @SweetChks because I find you a peeling. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game

  I laugh when I see his newest tweet. I can’t help it. I’m standing with my hip against the butcher block, my hand to my mouth, and a smile on my lips. He’s relentless. And adorable.

  He has over one million followers, and he’s posting cheesy pick-up lines and doesn’t seem fazed in the least by what people are going to say about them. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe he wants me to know he doesn’t care and neither should I.

  I skim through my own account, surprised to find more positive than negative this time around, and notice a lot of people commenting on my cupcake-smashing incident with more amusement than degradation.

  “He’s adorable, you know?” I look up to see DeeDee standing in the doorway voicing my thoughts out loud, tissue paper in her hand, and a smile on her face. And maybe it’s because he’s softened me with his humor, but I just stare at her for a moment and realize how lucky I am having her here to help me take this all in stride: making the bakery work and the chaos that comes with Hayes. “His tweets and his posts and everything . . . they’re just adorable.”

  “I know. He’s the closest thing I’ve seen to the guys in those romance novels of yours, Dee.”

  “Really? In all aspects?” Her eyebrows lift and a coy smile forms on her lips
as I recall our conversation about romance heroes and guaranteed orgasms.

  “Yes. In all aspects.”

  “Damn.” It’s all she says, and I love that my comment has rendered the always-talkative DeeDee momentarily speechless. “What were we talking about?”

  I chuckle at the flush in her cheeks. “His adorable tweets and posts and . . . everything.”

  “Not many men would put that much thought into trying to win a woman over.”

  “I know. He’s being ridiculous.”

  “And you love every single second of it.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I just wish he’d pick up the phone and talk to me. He’s already won me over.”

  “Isn’t that the point though?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Winning you over is one thing. But now, he’s telling the world he chooses you. He’s making a statement so you don’t forget. And so they don’t either.”

  The phone rings by the cash register and she hesitates for just a moment to make sure I heard what she said. And I did.

  Loud and clear.

  * * *

  @SweetChks It’s hard to breathe because you steal my breath every time I see you #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined

  * * *

  There’s no way I could have just heard that correctly. I stop moving ingredients to the butcher block and walk out to the front where DeeDee is in a conversation with a customer.

  “Can I help you?”

  Dee’s eyes flash over to mine and silently thank me for coming out.

  “Yes. One of the function organizers for The Club was saying she was looking for a bakery to supply morning tea on the third Thursday of the month. I am positive she would absolutely love your cupcakes. They’re the perfect combination of taste and presentation.”