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He had voiced aloud the thoughts in my head I was too scared to admit. But Ryan could do so much better than me. Isn’t that what he wanted? Or was I just being a coward, caving to my insecurities? Ryan’s success and brilliance shined a spotlight on my shortcomings, which had never bothered me until now. I’d never gone to college. Hell, I barely made it out of high school! It took me two tries to pass my driver’s exam. The only thing I seemed to excel at was mixing drinks and serving food, which I enjoyed. And flirting, which I’d enjoyed until Ryan had come along. I hadn’t hooked up in the storeroom or the bathroom in weeks. It didn’t seem to hold the same appeal as it once did.
As I watched man after man dismiss Ryan, never looking deep enough to uncover his best qualities, I realized that if I wanted him to have the perfect date with a guy who would appreciate everything good in him, I would just have to stop relying on the yahoos in this town to wake up and smell the coffee and take matters into my own hands.
If you wanted a job done right, you needed to do it yourself.
Carly returned with a case of cocktail napkins, stacking them under the bar. “You okay?”
I smiled for the first time all evening. “Yeah, I think I am. Or, I will be.”
* * *
The light changed to green,and I pressed my foot on the gas, moving with the traffic. My phone rang, and I grabbed it from the center console without checking the screen first. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Ryan. Are you by any chance close to my condo?”
Not even within fifteen miles, but I’d be damned if I admitted that when it sounded like he needed me. “Yeah, actually, I’m right down the street. Why?”
“I’m in the middle of baking a cake, and I could have sworn I had flour, but the container is empty. Could you possibly run it over?”
“You want me to run over your empty flour container? With my car?” It was a cheesy joke, but his chuckle sounded precious.
“Could you bring me a bag of flour?”
“Sure thing. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Hang on.”
I disconnected the call and floored the gas, weaving through traffic like a game of ping-pong. Within record time, I made it to the nearest convenience store and was back in my car and across town in the blink of an eye. When I knocked on his door, he opened it only a crack, peeking his head out, grabbing for the bag I held. Curious and suspicious, I snatched it back and pushed the door open further.
“Wait, no—” Ryan protested, shoving weakly at the door.
When I’d rudely but successfully muscled my way inside, I wasn’t disappointed. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Boytoy.”
I laughed as he turned beet red. Ryan was dressed in pajama pants with cakes and pastries and berries on them. His shirt read, “On your marks, get set, BAKE!” There was a streak of pink frosting across his cheek.
“You were never supposed to see this. What are the chances I can get you to drop off the flour and leave?”
“Slim to none. I wouldn’t leave now even if the place suddenly caught fire.”
Ryan groaned and grabbed for the bag, retreating into the kitchen. I followed, dying to see what this was all about. He had said he liked to bake and watch baking shows on TV, but I had a feeling it was more than that, a lot more, as I took in the state of his once pristine kitchen, now a disaster. Pink and green frosting smeared his counters. The butcher block island was covered in splatters of cake batter, and he must have had flour at some point because the surface of his oven looked dusty.
He was a baker. Not one of those cuties who occasionally baked cookies or muffins like I had imagined, but a real baker. Why did my dick find that sexy? Ignoring the blobs of frosting, I jumped up on the counter and watched as he measured out the flour into a stainless steel mixing bowl, dodging the cloud of dust billowing into his face.
He never looked better.
“I can’t believe you’re watching this. I’ve never baked in front of anyone before.”
Ryan sucked the batter from his finger, and my cock twitched, begging for more room to stretch out to its full potential.
“I wouldn’t miss this for love or money, Boytoy. Just do your thing. Pretend I’m not even here.”
I leaned back against the cabinet and adjusted my growing bulge, imagining stroking off to the sight of him baking. What was it about his disaster of a kitchen and absurd pajamas that had me so hard?
I wanted to bend him over the island and pull his silly pants down around his ankles as I plowed him using the frosting as lube. Was that a viable option as a lubricant? Probably not, but I was dying to find out.
Ryan rambled on and on as he stirred, poured, measured, and tasted, about baking, measurements, flavor combinations, and an unfortunate kitchen disaster on season three of his favorite show. All I could focus on was the strawberry frosting that marred his cheek. Would it taste like strawberries if I licked it? Would it taste as sweet as him? There was only one way to satisfy my curiosity. I jumped down from the counter and stalked him across the kitchen. He looked up, surprised, and in his moment of hesitation, I leaned in and dragged my tongue across his cheek, tasting the sugar on his skin.
“Mmm,” I purred as I licked my lips, then sucked an openmouthed kiss on his neck. Ryan whimpered, the sound going straight to my balls and squeezing like a vise.
He positively melted in my arms, like warm butter. Before showing up tonight, I had promised myself I was only going to spend time with him, fully dressed. I’d made up my mind about Ryan, and I was trying to show him I respected him, treasured him, after getting off to an auspicious start with the casual sex, but those virtuous thoughts fled like leaves in the wind when he tilted his neck, giving me more access.
