Valentine's Day Kisses : Boxed Set Page 4

  I step in close behind her and lean in with my cheek less than a breath from hers. The warmth from her skin radiates over mine, and it takes a lot more effort than my testosterone-laden brain can muster not to steal another kiss off those pillow-soft lips.

  I swipe my finger through the batter and jam it in my mouth, moaning hard into her ear. Tastes like heaven.

  Roxy takes a breath, expanding her back over my chest. I go with it and tuck my lips into her vanilla-scented neck.

  She flicks the fork in her hand, and a glob of batter blinds me.

  “Crap.”

  “I never miss.” She glances down at my crotch. “Don’t you forget it.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to miss. Maybe I want you to make it hurt.” I lick the batter off the side of my hand. “Maybe I’m falling in love,” I tease.

  I lean in close, hoping she’ll take the hint and land those luscious pink lips right over mine, but something says she won’t. Her eyes widen, her breathing picks up as if she’s considering it before her features harden, and my man parts shrinks for even entertaining the idea. Damn—this girl is bringing me to my knees, and I’m not sure I like it.

  “Love is a two way street, and this street isn’t going in your direction.” Her chest bucks as she jabs her fork back into the cake mix.

  “Hey—what’s wrong?”

  “My mixer blew out.” She flicks a finger at an old wiry looking piece of enamel slumped over itself.

  “I think I saw something like that once in my grandmother’s kitchen.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She heads toward a crapload of cupcakes laid out across the counter. They’re black and blue at the bottom with half of a crooked building spearing out of them.

  “It means stop trying to be a hipster and cook with antiques,” I say. “Go out and buy one of those overgrown muscle mixers that look as if they could grind out an entire bakery.” I scoop up a cupcake and take a bite out of the curved appendage before plucking one of the blue marshmallows off the base and popping it in my mouth. “Mmm, this is damn good.”

  A tiny giggle emits from her, and my body relaxes for the first time since we’ve been together. I think her brother was right, she just needs someone to show her a little kindness, encourage her a bit.

  Roxy knocks her head back and breaks out into a full-blown cackle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You.” She drills those glowing eyes into mine, and my boxers ticks to life. Roxy is a goddess in the kitchen, and she doesn’t even know it. “I think it’s hysterical watching the pussy cat king take a big ole bite of penis.”

  “What?”

  “That cupcake. It’s a—”

  “Crap!” My fingers open voluntarily, and the phallic confection flies to the floor.

  “And how did you enjoy those blue balls?” She fingers an innocent marshmallow died sky blue, and I think I’m going to be sick. “All right here’s the deal. From now on I’ll let you inhale my test batch, and you can tell me if they’re poison.” Her lips expand in a line. “And for you, they might be.”

  “Cole?” A whiny high-pitched voice emits from the hall, and I freeze. My eyes widen to the size of silver dollars, and I shake my head at Roxy because I’m pretty sure I’d rather graze over her naughty muffins all day than deal with who I think it is.

  “That’s right, honey.” Roxy bites down on her cherry-stained lip. “You have a guest waiting for you in your bedroom.” She jabs her finger in her cheek. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to tell you.”

  Angel skips in and oohs at the pornographic plague taking over the counter.

  “Mind if I do?” She squeals at the penile confections.

  Roxy shakes her beautiful head, and I suddenly wish it were only me and her standing in this kitchen. “Be my guest.”

  Angel locks eyes with mine before diving her mouth over the phallic extension and taking the head off in one swift bite. “Mmm.” She picks me up by the hand, leading me toward my room. “Now let’s get to bed.”

  Crap.

  I’ve got a bona fide level five cling-on to contend with.

  Roxy snickers away in the kitchen.

  I bet she thinks it’s funny.

  Bitter Sweet

  Roxy

  The women’s auxiliary league requests your youthful touch for the Valentine Benefit. Please consider. Let’s do lunch.

  I sit and stare at the awkward text from my mother. Only she can make an unassuming text sound like a formal invite inscribed with gold foil over parchment. I feel pretty bad about ignoring my own mother, so I text back a quick, yes, before my neurons fire on all pistons and realize the malfeasance I’ve just caused. Granted it was an unenthusiastic yes. The last thing I want to do is embed myself in the auxiliary league. The next thing you know, I’ll be wearing pillbox hats and autumn rose lipstick just like Mom is prone to do.

  I glimpse at the calendar on my phone. It’s New Year’s Eve, and both Baya and Laney are dragging me to the Black Bear tonight to witness a bunch of coeds getting drunk off their asses only to ring in the New Year with synchronized vomiting.

  I roll out of bed with my eyelids gritting together like sandpaper and stagger my way down the hall, careful not to fall into Cole’s den of depravation lest I get entangled in one of his nightly orgies. Well, that’s not quite true. After the Angel fiasco last week, he’s had a few special “visitors” but they seem to have left as quick as they came. It makes me wonder about his rumored sexual superpowers. I thought, the way the girls were lining up around the block, he had enough in him to make it last all night, but, by the looks of things, he’s nothing more than a quick prick.

  My eyes spring open for a second. God, I almost forgot that Valentine’s is the day after the Sticky Quickie baking competition. I really need to start gearing up and baking myself into a sugar coma if I want to walk away with the ten thousand dollar prize, not to mention the internship at the Sticky Quickie bake shop. It’s the steppingstone I need to launch into cupcake superstardom, plus it will give me the edge once I open my own shop. I can practically see the framed sign in the window, Winner of the Sticky Quickie bakeoff. Voted best cupcakes in town! That almost puts a smile on my face.

  I push the bathroom door open, and a strangled scream gets locked in my throat as Cole stands straddling the toilet. The sound of his thunderous pissing fills the air, and I gag as I jump back into the hall.

  “Hey.” He shakes himself off before pulling up his boxers. “Morning.”

  “See this?” I rattle the doorknob. “It’s has a lock. Use it.”

  “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” A half smile inches up his cheek. His hair is slightly rumpled. He’s still wearing those sleepy eyes, and his dimples dig in as if they, alone, were enough of an aphrodisiac to seduce me. They are, but that’s beside the point.

  “Every side would be the wrong side of the bed if you were on it.”

  “Very funny.” The smile glides right back off his face. “I’ve got about a dozen girls who would contest that fact right this minute.”

  “And I bet they’re all in your room ready and waiting for you to get back from your little trip to the potty. Now, if you don’t mind, get the hell out. I need to shower. I’ve got a million things to do, and not one of them includes holding a conversation with a walking dildo.”

  His head ticks back an inch. You’d think after a week of dispensing my best comebacks at him, he’d be a little tougher to impress.

  “I don’t think there are any clean towels.” He laments while opening the cabinet under the sink. “I’ll try to get to the laundromat later. You can use my towel if you want. I subscribe to the ass-tag system, if you don’t mind returning the courtesy.”

  “The what?” Now I’m the one stymied. Apparently stupidity is running rampant this morning around these perverted parts.

  “You know”—he plucks at the tag hanging from his threadbare towel that comes complete with gangrene
—“you wipe your…” His eyes travel down my body slow as frozen molasses and stop south of my thighs.

  “Ass-tag—got it.” I hitch my thumb for him and his Neanderthal-like hygiene practices to get the hell out.

  Cole steps in close as he edges his way out of the tiny space. His skin radiates like a heat wave in July as he passes over my body, and every inch of me comes to life in ways I’ve never felt before. I watch as he struts down the hall in his boxer-briefs, tight in all the right places, and wonder what the hell makes Cole Brighton so damn irresistible?

  That night, by the time I get to the Black Bear, both Baya and Laney are seated at a small table in the back. I hitched a ride with Cole who’s actually working the bar this evening as a “cocktail architect” as he so moronically put it. Holt and Bryson spent the last week training him to become an official mixologist and it’s his first night flying solo.

  “Break a leg,” I say just before we part ways.

  Cole steps in close. His bedroom eyes smolder into mine. I had to take a breath earlier when I saw him with his ass-hugging jeans, and inky shirt, per Black Bear dress code. I wanted to tell him he looked good. That I’m sure he would a do a great job tonight, but the witch that lives inside me is quick to smother the flame of any kindhearted sentiments that may have wanted to spew from my lips.

  “I think maybe break a glass is a little more appropriate,” he whispers right over my lips. “Or at least more my luck.” He gives a crooked smile. Something about his self-abasing comment endears me to him, and I’m quick to stomp that little bit of charity out, too.

  “Here’s hoping for lots of stitches and a staph infection to round out the night.” I push my way past him and take a seat at the table with Laney and Baya.

  “About time.” Baya shoots her brother a look across the bar as if he were truly to blame. “We’re just about to start our shifts.”

  “So how’s it going?” Laney almost mouths the words.

  I glance over at Cole who has already amassed a mammary-laden harem down at his end of the bar. Poor Holt. Looks like the tips will be down for him this evening. Cole’s a magnet for anything in kitten heels. I swear that man is like catnip.

  “I guess it’s going okay. I mean, I bake, and he primarily sleeps all day.” I leave out the part about me letting him eat half of my test batches this week. I have a couple more catering events coming up, and after that fiasco at Jessa’s bachelorette party which will forever be known for its attacking penis cupcakes, I’ve been trying to figure out new ways of securing fondant sculptures to my cupcakes.

  Laney glances over her shoulder. “No, not that.” She looks to Baya for a brief second. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Know what?” I inch forward.

  Baya clicks her tongue. “Of course, she doesn’t know. She lives under a rock. Didn’t you hear her? She’s been baking my brother cupcakes all week.”

  “Oh please, I’m not above hitting you.” I turn back to Laney. “Dish.”

  “Okay. Brace yourself.” She takes a deep breath as if she were doing just that. “Aiden and LeAnn have been voted campus couple of the year.”

  “It’s all over the school paper.” Baya nods into this lunacy. “And the WB website has an entire page dedicated to them. I heard a girl in the counselor’s office say it was an ingenious marketing strategy for the school. They think LeAnn, alone, has the power to double applicants for fall, not to mention boost morale with the alumni.”

  Laney closes her eyes a moment. “God knows we need it after that disaster of a football season.”

  “Tell me about it.” Baya groans as if she actually cared about which direction the pigskin flew.

  “Whoa, back up the train. How can they be couple of the year? I’m the one that was stupid enough to linger around Aiden for the last eleven months. How is he getting all the accolades, and all I’m left with are penis cupcakes?”

  Laney and Baya root their jaws to the floor for a minute.

  Bryson pops up. “Let’s do it, ladies. It’s time to get this party started.”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve, this party isn’t getting started until at least eleven-thirty.” Baya gives him a quick wink.

  “Yeah”—Laney stands—“we were just about to get all existential and exchange resolutions.”

  Both she and Baya offer half-hugs of condolence before they move along to their respective stations. Bodies fill in the dance floor, and the DJ starts pumping out enough bubble gum rock to rot our brains long before midnight.

  “Everything okay?” Bryson lands a hand over my shoulder, and, instinctually, I want to fold into him. Baya is lucky to have someone as kind as Bryson to get her through this hellish storm they call life. She chose wisely, unlike me who bared myself to the first bag of balls that seemed even remotely interested.

  Aiden and his newly minted girlfriend stride into the bar with her wrapped in fur from head to toe and him in a dark, expensive looking suit. I guess he finally found his sugar momma. Ryder always tried to warn me that Aiden was after Capwell dollars, and now I’m seeing the fiscal light.

  “Everything’s great,” I shout up over the music.

  “If you ever need some spare cash, I can always use some help on the weekends.”

  My gaze drifts over to Cole at the bar, and something warms in me at the thought. It’s probably just gas.

  “I’m good, but thanks.” I try to muster as much enthusiasm as I can, considering he just offered to pay me cash for something I do around the apartment now on a regular basis—bus dishes for Cole.

  I spot my sexed-up roommate at the far end of the bar and Cole nods over at me, flashing his million-dollar smile.

  A surge of adrenaline spikes through me at the sight of those dimples, and I don’t like it at all.

  Swear to God if I fall for Cole Brighton, I’ll stab my own eyes out with a fork.

  He winks over at me, and my stomach bottoms out.

  Something tells me it’s time to hide the kitchen utensils.

  Cole

  Bodies ricochet off one another long into the night. The room is dim. The music is ready to blow out both my eardrums, and to make matters worse, I’m sober. Not only am I sober, but I’ve somehow slotted myself as the dispenser of all that is good and right with the world—beer and vodka.

  “Hey, man.” Holt slaps me in the stomach with a dishtowel. “How’s it going?”

  “Going good, dude.” I rest my elbows onto the counter. “I never knew you worked so damn hard. Hats off. This is exhausting as hell.”

  “It’s not always like this. I’m pretty sure it’s cruel and unusual punishment to start working on New Year’s Eve.” He nods over to a bevy of beauties at the end of the bar, and they lift their drinks in our direction. “The ladies sure like what they see. Any you care to sample, or, in your case, two or three?”

  “Not funny.” I glance over to the far corner and spot Roxy standing there with her arms crossed, her death ray of a stare poised out at the crowd like she’s ready to impart a mass slaughter. “Maybe I do see someone I like.”

  He follows my gaze. “Capwell?” Holt shakes out a laugh. “Dude, she’s one to stay away from. First of all, her brother won’t think twice before ripping your balls off and feeding them to you for breakfast. Second, her parents are both a piece of work in their own right. And, Rox, well she’s a walking ball of rage. I’d be afraid to point my junk in her direction.”

  “What about that jackass she dated? It seemed like they were pretty serious.”

  “That guy?” He nods not too far from Roxy at Aiden and his new girlfriend, the one-woman karaoke show. “He was just after her for her dough, and when he found out her daddy wasn’t gifting his dear old daughter a dime, he moved onto where the grass and dollar bills were greener.”

  “Nice.” So basically she’s been in the crapper for most of her life, and my heart breaks for her just thinking about it.

  I watch as the douchebag she once dated heads in her direc
tion while LeAnn trots off toward the restroom.

  “You mind if I take a quick break?”

  “Nope. Go right ahead.”

  I speed over, and a blonde falls into my chest. Her shrill laugh lets me know who it is before she ever looks up.

  Angel.

  “There you are!” She stumbles to her feet. “I’ve been to every frat party tonight looking for you!” Her eyes narrow as if she’s genuinely pissed.

  I may have led her to believe I was headed to a frat party after about the fifth phone call in which she threatened to sit outside my door and stake out the apartment until I got home.

  “About that…” I try to maneuver around her, but she sidesteps right along with me.

  A string of giggles stream from her chest. “It’s like we’re dancing!” Her boobs jiggle in rhythm as she hops up and down. “You know, there’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t think I can wait until midnight.” She bites down nervously over her lip.

  I scan the corner from over her shoulder only to find that nutcase barking in Roxy’s face, and she looks as if she’s about to tear down the whole damn building in retaliation.

  “Look”—I brace Angel by the shoulders—“there’s something I have to tell you, too.”

  “Oh, goody!” She hops, spiking her stiletto into my sneaker.

  Crap.

  “I know.” She gives my ribs a hard squeeze. “Let’s both say it at the same time! One, two, three—”

  “I’m in love with you!” she shouts over the music, loud enough to echo up to the moon.

  “I’m in love with someone else!” I say in tandem, and her face drops. Her eyes round out before filling with tears, and she’s doing the nostril thing.

  Crap.

  “Hey, kid, it’s okay.” I give her arms a quick rub. “It’ll happen for you someday soon, I swear it. A girl like you won’t stay single long.” Stalkers rarely do.