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It was a little lavish and theatrical for my tastes, but I couldn’t help but get caught up in the bells and whistles and glamor, especially when the statuesque, picture perfect guests, forgot all about diets and waistlines and scarfed down my red velvet cupcakes (Denise’s favorite) like it was their last meal. Many of them even came back for seconds, slipping my business card into their clutches and pockets like it was a dirty secret they couldn’t wait to share.
“Delicious, huh?” Tamara piped as she served a leggy blonde her third.
The woman’s eyes bulged with embarrassment, but once she realized this was a judgment free zone, she swiped a couple of cards and nodded enthusiastically. “My trainer is going to murder me in the morning, but these are worth every single burpee!”
“Well, if that isn’t a shining endorsement, I don’t know what is!” Tamara cheesed, giving the woman a conspiratorial wink. She lowered her volume to a confidential level. “And don’t worry—we won’t tell if you don’t!”
I nudged my friend when we were alone, almost hugging her and jumping up and down. “They like me! They really, really like me!”
“How could they not? I mean, have you tasted this?” Tamara plucked one of the cupcakes, folded back the golden wrapper, and almost forced it in my mouth.
“I’m good,” I laughed, dodging her and biting back the urge to remind her that we were here to serve cupcakes, not eat them. One of the reasons I loved working with her was because she had this infectious, happy energy. I was the muscle, the brains that crafted the recipes and put my metaphorical foot in every bite, and she was the face, the saleswoman that got smiles out of the icy guests who seemed to think they were above this avant-garde affair. They smiled patronizingly as they silently judged the decision to go with cupcakes instead of a standard wedding cake.
Their skepticism melted the moment they took a bite.
I rounded the table, fixing the stand out of nervous habit, even though everything was perfect. Well, almost everything: we’d gone through almost all of the 300 business cards I’d brought along for the event! “Can you check my messenger bag for extra cards?”
Tamara jutted out her chest instead, shaking her platinum blonde locks before she let out a whistle. “Right after you check out that hot groomsmen that’s looking over here like he wants a taste—and I’m not talking about the cupcakes.”
“Hot-” I choked, heat flooding my cheeks as I started fiddling with cupcake placement like I was preparing for open heart surgery and I couldn’t be disturbed. I locked my jaw and steeled my spine, knowing exactly who she was talking about, and knowing I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his existence when he’d utterly forgotten all about mine. “The cards, Tamara.”
She gave me that stubborn, petulant look that made me want to laugh and strangle her. “The hottie, Nat!”
I kept tidying, my fingers rattling because the more Tamara fussed with herself, I knew the closer he was getting. A flash of territorial energy cut through me, but I spat it out before it got the better of me. “He’s all yours, if you want him.”
“Oh, I’d be all about it, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off your butt.”
And there went the business cards.
Flustered and muttering about how hiring my best friend to be my right hand woman was a bad idea, and how the ‘hot groomsmen’ could keep those devastatingly blue eyes to himself, I dropped to my knees. I tried to save my cards, crawling around and looking very unprofessional, but I had enough fire left that I decided that even if he delivered quite the diss before the ceremony, he wouldn’t have the pleasure of doing so again.
Two Italian leather shoes stopped short of stepping on one of my cards, but I still growled at him. “Can I help you?” I refused to look up at him, but my body was betraying me left and right, again, especially when I leaned back and realized I was practically eye level with his fly. Even with my ‘no dating, just fun’ philosophy, I was no cock connoisseur, but I knew that his would be one that I would never forget.
Though he had no problem whatsoever forgetting about a certain part of your anatomy.
“At that angle, I can think of a variety of ways you could help me-” He kneeled down beside me, swiping one of the cards. “...Madison?”
I snatched the card from him. “Close, but no cigar. You should quit while you’re ahead.”
He eased back to his feet and I couldn’t deny that dancing flutter in between my thighs. Deep inside, in a place where no one had explored, since him.
I put a swift end to those thoughts, gathering the final cards and ignoring his hand, gripping the table instead.
“So, are you here to insult me further?” I huffed, pulling myself upright.
“I’m here for something tasty,” he answered smoothly, and even if I wasn’t looking into those hypnotizing eyes of his, the way he said it told me he definitely wasn’t talking about red velvet cupcakes.
I didn’t think it was possible to match my complexion with the cake, but he was making me a believer. I glanced behind me, to the table, wanting some back up or at least a reason to not have to continue this conversation, but Tamara had abandoned me.
Mouth agape, I swept the general vicinity. She was tiny and quick on her feet, but she wasn’t The Flash. I halted when I hit the bar, where she was watching us with unbridled glee. She gave me a thumbs up that made Jason let out a rumbling chuckle.
“Friend of yours?”
“I’m not so sure,” I sighed, ignoring her and putting my display between me and my New Year’s Eve mistake.
Mistake? Right. A mistake that you want to make over and over again.
I was a nervous eater which meant I was chomping on a cupcake before I realized what I was doing. I caught myself and stopped chewing, but he was oblivious to the fact that I was eating my feelings, scanning the table with interest.
