Page 34 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Again.

It’s not like this is her first time being insatiable. The older she gets, the more she’s convinced that ovulation is really just her body’s attempt to kill her. It was just the other week that a man came into her shop with his sleeves rolled up, all tatted with a freshly shaven beard. The thoughts that’d coursed through her mind when he smiled at her? They had her reflecting on how she’d gotten so far being celibate. If anyone had been able to read her mind that day, they’d probably say she deserved to be locked underneath a jail.

Her widespread horniness doesn’t stop the recent thoughts about Cyrus from being any less infuriating, though. It takes everything not to reach out to him in hopes of setting up another appointment with him. Every night, she glares at his number in her phone, thumb hovering over the keys as she contemplates what to send, only to toss it to the side and masturbate instead. If she wanted her bakery to keep the lights on, it probably wasn’t the best idea to book him again so soon. It likely wouldn’t do her sanity much good either. There’s seldom a day that goes by where that man isn’t on her mind in one way or another, whether it be that charmed smile or deep, rumbling laughter she’s so drawn to. If she books him again, it’d be even harder to get over this stupid—whatever this is. Nakita calls it a crush. Alana finds that it blurs the lines closer to infatuation.

Whichever the case, it’s delusional to entertain.

Not that it stops her silly little brain from trying.

It latches onto Cyrus’ presence whenever he makes his rounds at her bakery, where they talk and tease with one another like friends. It isn’t awkward, not like she initially anticipated it would be. They share the same pleasant conversations, and sometimes, Cyrus will linger at the front without ordering anything, clearly eager to keep her entertained on slower evenings. It’s…nice. The texts they share at odd hours of the night, even more so. But an ache will form in her chest each time she sees him with a client. Alana will watch on, helplessly speculating on things she has no business beginning to question. Does Cyrus say the same things to his other clients that he said to her? Does he find them as good as she had been? How does she compare? It’s a possessiveness that she doesn’t recognize in herself, and it’s far too ridiculous to leave unchecked. Alana will eventually force her focus elsewhere, off of Cyrus, off the memory of that amazing mouth and low southern drawl.

Instead, she channels her newfound libido and sexual confidence into something more productive.

She starts dating again.

Coffee meetups, casual dinners. Dating apps are just as terrible as they’ve always been, meaning nothing really sticks. But as she navigates this new version of herself, she doesn’t allow that to devastate her this time. She deserves love, and she’ll find it one day. In the meantime, she deserves intimacy, too, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She deserves to feel good—to satisfy her needs without guilt or pressure to turn every interaction into a love story. Sex and romance don’t have to be as black and white as she’d been taught.

Once her evening lead steps in, Alana moves into her office to indulge in a break now that it’s close to the end of her shift. She smiles to herself as she hides out, scrolling aimlessly through the array of people currently taking up occupancy in her inbox.

Cute, pass, absolutely not, eh, okay, they’re hot.

A Minotaur named Connor shows up on her screen. Tall and muscular, with black fur and corded locs. He’s a complete gym type, all flexing arms and showy grins and mirror selfies that hide half of his face. He’s got a soft spot for cats, according to his profile, and there’s something about his shirtless poses that gives the impression of a man who’d look her dead in the eyes and tell her food is only designed to be eaten for fuel, not pleasure. Miles away from being Alana’s type, but maybe that doesn’t matter. The best way to get over one man is to find yourself under someone else, and all that. Why not see what he can offer? Alana swipes her thumb to match with him.

It’s a single minute later that he messages her, and a snort of laughter swells when he sends her a string of hearts and some opening line about being able to bench press her if given the chance.

Cute.

With a not-too-subtle smile, she and Connor text back and forth. Quick, mindless flirting and small talk about each other’s day or their interests. A past version of herself would’ve spent a few hours, or days, even, steadily chatting to really get to know him, prodding for information on whether they’re compatible before entertaining the idea of a date. But for once, she skips some of the pleasantries. The topic of their favorite dessert order comes up, and Alana seizes her chance. There’s an ice cream parlor not far from her apartment; a cute, witch-owned mom and pop shop about as old as the town itself. They have what Alana considers the best soft serve, and it’s been a neighborhood staple for as long as she’s been alive to remember. It also served as a decent personality test in this situation. If a man from Sweetbriar doesn’t like Carl’s Ice Cream, well, there are only so many red flags she can ignore.

A smirk stretches across Alana’s features as she plants the seed of interest. Sure enough, he bites, offering to meet up there later this evening.

Wow. Who knew how much easier this could be once you get out of your own head? Once a time is confirmed, Alana pockets her phone. There’s a skip in her step as she finishes up some last minute tasks before clocking out, unable to contain the excitement thrumming beneath her skin. This is the start of a new era —a new Alana Darling, who lives for herself and herself alone.

“Whoa, there. Someone looks happy.”

The tall figure doesn’t so much as budge when Alana walks into them on her way out the front door. When she looks up, his shoulders move with laughter, and he steps out of her way.

“Win the lottery?” he asks with a signature smile. The kind that immediately makes Alana’s stomach do a small twist.

“Oh, sorry! I should have seen you there, Cyrus.” She offers a shy laugh, ignoring the wave of heat that settles in her core. “Hah! Lottery? If only. No, I just, uh, have a date, actually.” She nips her bottom lip and pulls out her phone, buzzing with excitement. She isn’t sure if this kind of thing is appropriate for, well, whatever they are. But she likes to believe they have something of a friendship going now. So, as a friend, she shows him the photo of her date. “Cute, right?”

Cyrus squints at the screen, which makes him bear a striking resemblance to her mom trying to read a meme on her phone without her glasses. Then, his smile drops with a scoff. “A Minotaur?” Eyes widening, he says, “Wait, wait. I know them… is that Connor?”

Panic flashes across Alana’s features. Her skin pales, her mouth falling to the floor. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. This town can’t possibly be that small! “Is he…a client of yours?”

Another laugh sounds from Cyrus. “Gods, no. His door swings one way, and it isn’t for me.”

Alana exhales. But then he adds, “I see him at one of the local bars on occasion. He likes to play pool on Sundays and goes home with a new girl every night. A bit of a meathead, if you ask me.”

A small frown weighs down Alana’s features. There’s a flicker of disappointment, but it doesn’t deter her. She snatches her phone and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s cute,” she fires back, crossing her arms. “And, maybe I like meatheads.”

Cyrus’ nose twitches. There’s a look in his eyes that she doesn’t quite know how to place, and when he smiles, it seems forced. “You deserve better than a meathead,” he tells her. It’s firm when he speaks. As if he dares her to challenge that statement. She doesn’t.

“I do. But I’ve decided that I also deserve to feel good without this looming pressure to make everything perfect all the time. So I’m trying something new.” He huffs at her.

“What’s all the huffing and puffing for?” Her brows pinch together, eyes narrowed in a glare. “You told me something similar on our first night, remember? Said I deserved pleasure.

Or do terms and conditions apply to that statement too?”