Page 50

Ian: okay, what's with the winky faces?

Acloud of flour poofs up into the air when I slam my phone down on the table. It's covered in it, I'm covered in it. I feel like I'm going to find flour in places it shouldn't be later.

Don't even get me started on the sugar, the sprinkles. It looks like a confectionery bomb went off and exploded all over my immediate surroundings.

And then there is Finn.

Perfect little cupcakes. There is only a small trace of flour on his cheek, and he has his tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration as he pipes icing onto the top of one like he's just a seasoned little fucking baker.

“You told me you've never done this before,” I suck some of the blue icing mess from my thumb and sigh. Getting it into the bag to put on the cupcakes is impossible.

He hums and finishes up that cupcake, smiling at the little peaks he mastered. “I haven't. But it's not rocket science, Eme… Oh.” He looks at my half-crumbled mess on my plate, and his eyes widen. “So maybe baking isn't your thing. That's okay.”

“Is anything my thing, Finn?” I drop the icing bag and inhale deeply, then flick my hair back. “Maybe we can try something different tomorrow. I haven't been bowling in a long time. Or one of those painting and wine night things?”

Finn's eyes blink several times, and he pushes his glasses up his nose. The first time I met Finn, he came in for a haircut. I honestly think I experienced cuteness aggression for the first time. With all his blinking and his cute little wire-framed glasses that are a size too big. His endless sea of freckles that covers his pale skin, and let's not forget his ginger mop of beautiful curls.

He's so damn cute, I wanted to bite him.

I may have told him that out loud, actually. Which made him blush. And Finn doesn't just get a little rosy in the cheeks, no. Finn goes red from the roots of his hair to his toes, I swear. And then that just made me want to bite him even more.

I may have said that, too.

We've been besties ever since. He listens while I ramble and overshare. I help him shop for clothes that don't make him feel like he's still in high-school and remind him constantly that he's worthy of so, so much more than his shitty boyfriend, Greg.

I loathe Greg. Greg is a slimy, no-good piece of doodoo, and one day Finn will get away. If not, I'm not wholly opposed to kidnapping.

Finn’s shoulders slump, and he toys with the edge of his cupcake plate. “Greg said I’ve been gone too much this week. I promised I wouldn’t make any more plans.”

Nay. We hate Greg, biblically. Spiritually? “Greg can get fucked.”

Finn bites his lip, trying to hide his smirk. He loves when I drag his boyfriend through mud and slander his name. He just won’t say it, but there are signs. Like the little twinkle in his eye when he looks up at me, because he knows I’ve got more.

“You know who makes too many plans? Greg. He makes too many plans to wake up every day and continue being a giant dickhole. I’ve told you a million times, you don’t need to save money to get out. You can get out right now. I’ll call my brothers, and we’ll have you packed up and out faster than it takes Greg to locate his dick that’s gotta be so inverted from how much of a cold-blooded bitch he is.”

He kicks me gently under the table, covering his laugh with a hand, but shakes his head. “I can’t live with you, Em. Eleanor scares me.”

“Eleanor scares everyone. Greg is scarier.”

“My dad says if I’m going to marry a man, it’s good it will be a man like Greg. Good money. Good family. I should feel lucky that an upstanding guy like that is into what I’m into.” He looks back down and shrugs. “I’ve been with him since high-school, Em.”

“Wanna share my dad? You could tell Clint you’re going to marry an ex-con with a zucchini tattooed on his forehead, and he’d just shrug and find a way to make a sexual comment involving my ma and his zucchini tattooed on her heart or something equally disgusting. Because the only thing that should matter is that you are happy. Who cares if you’ve been together since high-school? People grow up. People change. Hell, look at War and Morgan. Or Dillon. Dillon went from one hot girlfriend after another for years to sucking my brains clean out of my dick like a pro in forty-five seconds.”

Finn chokes, eyes bulging out of his head. “Oh, my God?”

Whoops.

“Are you serious?”

I chuckle, very much feeling distressed. I scoot side to side on the chair and look around for a way out of here. “Probably more like twenty, if I’m being absolutely honest. Which, apparently, I am. Fuck.” I roll my head around and groan. “And then I just crawled out of his window, and he didn’t even try to stop me. No, he was in bed laughing. Probably laughed and laughed my whole way back home.”

Finn is sucking the last of his icing straight from the bag, looking wide-eyed and delighted. I shove a bite of crumbly cupcake in my mouth just to keep myself quiet. It’s terrible.

“Hi!” Kandy Baker, instructor and absolute bombshell, breezes over to our table with her little pink apron with its ruffled edges and hot pink lipstick on. Her hair is secured on top of her head with a wrap that has printed sprinkles on it. She’s gorgeous. She’s also holding a stack of pink boxes that look awfully familiar.

“I hope you guys enjoyed the class tonight,” and bless her, her eyebrows only raise ever so slightly when she glances at my sorry excuse of baked goods. “I put one of my own cupcakes in each box for you to take home with yours. Next month, I have a few cookie baking classes. Sign up before slots are gone!”

When she finally walks away, moving to the last of the three tables in this class with their boxes, I rip open the pink box she handed me. For the first time since I lost my mind last night, I feel smug.