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“When it’s true love, it’s true love,” Vance replied. His words carried an exaggerated saccharin sentiment, but his gaze hardened as he glanced at Harper.
If the dude didn’t stop sneaking looks at his wife, he might have to glue his eyelids shut.
“And then,” Bang Bang Barbie chattered, “Vance’s manager called and told us about the celebrity baking contest. And here we are.” She held out her container of cookies—cookies in the shape of actual number ones. And they had fancy shiny frosting.
“Is that glitter?” he asked.
Barbie lit up. “It’s edible glitter. I’m really good with it.”
He zeroed in on her tub of cookies. They looked more like art than baked goods. That woman didn’t mess around when it came to the sparkly stuff.
Barbie studied the tub of misshapen cookies in his hands. “Trouble with the butter, or was it too much sugar?” she asked with a little pout.
He stared at the array of cookie cocks. “Butter.”
Vance zeroed in on the penis cookies and resurrected his slippery grin. “Those are some interesting cookies. Barbie grew up working in her parents’ bakery, isn’t that right, baby?” the douche purred. “We don’t need help in the kitchen,” the man added, tossing a glance Schuman’s way.
Schuman and Tanner had stepped aside, giving them privacy to converse with Vance and Barbie. But the old man looked none too pleased with Vance’s boasting.
Good!
Perhaps Vance’s arrogance would light a fire under their sleepy baker.
It also wouldn’t hurt to make sure he had triple espressos on hand before the next challenge.
But he couldn’t get ahead of himself. He had to focus on the challenge at hand.
“Hmm,” Harper hummed, glancing between their penis cookies and Vance.
The pop douche shifted his weight from foot to foot. “What are you looking at, Harper? Is there something you want to say?”
Say nothing, say nothing. Come on, quiet cardigan.
Yes, this douche nozzle had broken her heart and stolen her music, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to berate him using Joyce and Bartholomew or start licking random objects. It would only hurt her if anyone found out she was blitzed.
He braced himself, ready to throw her over his shoulder and head for the hills if he had to, but Harper remained Jedi-still and gave Vance the once-over. “Hey, heartthrob?” she purred.
God help him. Here it comes.
“Yeah?”
A devious grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. “I remember why our cookies looked so familiar.”
Score one for his sassy wife. This woman could cut glass throwing out barbs like that.
Even stoned out of her mind, she could drop one doozy of a zinger.
And while the last thing he wanted was to picture Vance Vibe’s junk, receiving confirmation that the d-nozzle wasn’t packing much below the belt didn’t surprise him.
Nor did Harper’s comment seem to surprise the douche canoe in question.
The man’s cheeks burned crimson.
It appeared as if his wife’s assessment was spot-on.
Now he was the one sporting a cocksure grin.
“I’ll take the baked goods,” a woman wearing a headset and a Bake or Bust shirt called as she jogged toward them, shifting the attention from Vance’s less than stellar equipment. “Mr. Vibe, the PA in the Bake or Bust shirt by the door will get you and your wife settled inside. And I’ll be escorting Mr. Paige and his wife. Mr. Sweet, you and your guest can go in through the main doors. We’ve got saved seats in the front row of the auditorium for you,” the woman finished. She collected the tubs, put a blue sticker on their container, then pressed a red tag on the other.
