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She nods into my shoulder. “S’okay. I know how that feels.”
We separate and she smiles at me. A real smile. I don’t realize how much I need that smile until I see it and it eases my soul. As I walk to the door, I turn halfway and mutter a poor excuse for a goodbye. “See ya, guys. Sorry.”
Tina quickly calls out, “Take a cupcake with you!”
Oh my gads! That’s exactly what I need. I shoot her a smile before heading over to the bright purple box of cupcakes. Normally, Tina would make them, but being she was at work, they bought some from a bakery close to work. Nat says they’re almost as good as Tina’s.
I don’t think anything could be as good as Tina’s baking. When I open the box, I suppress a gasp. So pretty! There are three different kinds. I smile to myself. All the cupcakes I asked for are there. Which one to take though? This is a tough decision. The caramel ones are delicious, but so are the vanilla cream. The choc fudge is a given. But should I take just one? I don’t know what New York cupcake etiquette is! At home, it was first come, first serve, and you were lucky if you got one at all, because, let’s be honest here…who ever eats one cupcake? Doesn’t happen.
I reach for a caramel one, but pull back.
Okay. The vanilla cream. Yes, I’ll go w
ith the vanilla.
I reach for it, but pull back again. Geez, I’m in bad shape over here. Is cupcake anxiety a thing? The choc fudge is always delicious. I reach for one of those and hesitate. I swoop up the box and look over to the gang. “I’m taking this.”
Before anyone can say a thing, I’m out the door with my plunder. When I close the door behind me, I reach into the box, take a caramel cupcake, take off the wrapper, and shove the whole thing into my mouth. The sweet saltiness rolls around in my mouth, I feel the thick frosting on my lips, and I slump in what I know is a sugar rush.
I live for this.
Speaking to myself, I lean against the wall and garble, “Oh, sweet Jesus. Yes.” I swallow, sigh, and make my way back to the apartment feeling a little bit better about myself.
Or, at least, I pretend to.
***
Max
Poor Helena.
She didn’t look too good. I mean, she looked good, but she seemed a little off. Even a blind person could see how pretty she is. That thick, brown hair almost touching her waist. Bright green eyes that are even brighter than Nat’s. Those long black lashes making her eyes look huge. Those perky tits, and best of all…
That ass.
Motherfuck me straight to hell.
The girl’s feeling like shit, and I’m checking out her firm, round peach. I’m a bad, bad man.
Now that I think about it, pretty isn’t a strong enough word for her. Stunning might be close, but even that sounds too flat to use for someone who has a light around her. She literally glows when she smiles. Makes me wonder why I never noticed her before.
Pizza arrives not long after she leaves, and I need a beer. I call out, “Beer?”
All the guys raise their hands. I head into the kitchen, where Nat is preparing a salad to go with the pizza. I open the fridge and fish out four beers. When I straighten, I tell her, “I’m going next-door, see if Helena wants a slice.”
Nat stiffens. She doesn’t talk for a long while. Finally, she utters, “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that.”
I shrug. “Why? She’s your sister. And she’s not feeling great.” I pause before adding, “She’s cool.”
She makes a choking noise before trying to string her words together. “Well, it’s just that she…uh…she, well…” She cringes before explaining very, very slowly, “She’s not your biggest fan, Max.”
My breath leaves me in a whoosh. I don’t understand. This has never happened to me before. I blink at her before shouting a high-pitched, “What?”
Nat continues to putter around the kitchen. “I know, right? So weird. I can’t believe we’re related sometimes.”
I’m still in shock. I ask a panicked, “Why?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Well, she says you’re a flirt.”
