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I shoot him a glare. A feeble rebuttal.
"No sassy response?" he inquires, an amused smirk daring to appear at the corner of his lips. Folding my arms across my chest, I snort.
"I don't need to explain myself to you, old man." I see a glint of anger shimmer in his eyes, and I immediately feel regret sinking in my abdomen. Maybe it wasn’t wise to provoke such a large man who seems accustomed to getting what he wants . He steps closer to me, sending my back thumping against the shelf in the closet. He has a habit of pushing me against walls; I try to ignore the part of me that feels excited by it.
"Oh, I think you do, petal," he purrs. His muscular frame brings a different kind of satisfaction—the kind that you know you shouldn't want but can't help but leave yourself to. I refuse to be intimidated by him. I am a strong woman.
I poke his chest with my index finger, a slight challenge. "You, sir, need to learn some manners. You can't just go abducting innocent bridesmaids off the dancefloor to interrogate them in a closet. It's bad manners." He gets hold of my wrist and intertwines our fingers above my head, causing me to gasp in surprise. My body shifts closer to him, my hips pushing insistently against his as I feel a bulge in his trousers. My body is acting on its own accord, betraying my head, which knows this is now a very, very dangerous situation.
I look up into his eyes, which have deepened to a shade of near obsidian. "No," he breathes, his lips inches away from mine.
He moves a hair out of my face with a gentleness that surprises me as he continues, "You can't do that. But the bridesmaid I've stolen is far from innocent." With that, he leans into me and presses his lips to mine. I let out a soft moan as his mouth moves hungrily over mine. Our tongues twirl and dance, and I am enveloped in a moment of pure, unbearable desire. All I want is for him to never let me go, to never break away from his searing touch. I want him more than I have ever wanted another human being.
He continues to press his lips to mine with a fervor so passionate I can feel tingles of pleasure traveling down my spine. I want to immerse myself in this moment and savor the sensation of his arms entwined with mine and my heart pounding against his chest. As we let ourselves sink into the depths of utter bliss and continue kissing each other deeply, a loud noise echoes through the closet we were hiding in.
We jerk away from each other, and my gaze fixates on the door. Fear of the wedding guests, or worse, my father, creeps up. Zak seesaws his large body and stands in front of me, shielding me while protecting my view. He is obviously worried about the same thing. A startled gasp rings through the air followed by a muffled apology.
I let out a relieved breath and thank the heavens that it is only the cleaner who has entered, likely to retrieve some supplies. The cleaner quickly shuffles out of the room and shuts the door, leaving us in here alone. The air feels thicker now, heavier, hotter. I feel suffocated and need to get out. Slightly embarrassed and confused, Zak takes a step back from me, breaking our contact. Instinctively, I reach out and begin to fix my hair, shooting him a glare.
“You ass! You pulled me here for what? To kiss me and get us caught by my dad, who,need I remind you, happens to be your best friend?” I practically yell at him.
He frowns, raking his hands through his hair in frustration, and kicks a bucket on the floor. “Mature,” I comment sarcastically. I mentally curse myself for aggravating him, but it’s like I can’t help it. It seems sarcasm is always ready on the tip of my tongue. His expression grows more vexed as he glares down at me.
“Oh, about as mature as lying about your name for no goddamn good reason?” he spits out the words, not holding back the venom in his voice.
My eyes start to well up with tears as I try to comprehend how we can have gone from passionately making out to yelling at each other. I’m not going to put up with this any longer. I make my way to the door for the very last time, feeling more than claustrophobic in that small room with a man who is constantly changing his mood.
I do not want to give him another opportunity to try to stop me, so I push past him and make a hasty exit without looking back. I don’t want him to see the expression of sad emotion on my face. Before I leave, I take a quick look around the hallway to make sure it is clear out there. As soon as I’m certain of it, I make a beeline for the women’s restrooms that were reserved for the wedding. I try to concentrate and bring myself back to the present by taking several deep breaths. No more sneaking around to meet up with handsome men, especially manchildren, no more of those. Regardless of how highly skilled they are at kissing.
Zak
"Yes, yes. Take it, please. Thank you, Zak, for everything," Dorris coos, placing her cold, old hand over mine affectionately as she hands me a bag of freshly baked goods. I smile stiffly, more than a little uncomfortable with the gratitude.
A few years back, I decided to invest some of my money back into my town. Dorris’ bakery was one of the places I saved. The shop was run-down, a shadow of what it had been when Dorris' husband, the beloved John, had been alive. Dorris had tried her hardest to keep the business afloat, but she was struggling to grieve while doing both their jobs and keeping up the maintenance. When I returned back to town after my “wild” years, I couldn’t stand by watching the place struggle.
The memories of my childhood in the bakery came flooding back: John winking at me and telling me to be quiet while sneaking me an extra cupcake behind my mother's back. The bakery was nostalgic for me and a beloved shop in the town.
I believed in this place most of all, locals loved it, and tourists did too when they visited. It just needed some extra love and money. It was worth putting some money into, and so I did more than just save it - I bought it. I gave Dorris free rein in refurbishing and hiring more staff, wary but excited that it would succeed and hopefully bring back the place I loved so much as a kid. I love painting and carpentry, so I helped out where I could, and I enjoyed spending that extra time with Dorris and hearing her tell stories about John.
I definitely didn't expect the level of excitement from everyone in town at the subsequent grand re-opening, with Dorris smiling proudly for the local papers and cutting a red ribbon while standing in front of the new shop sign - aptly titled "D&J Bakes." What followed has been a huge success; most days, you can find people lined up outside, barely ever finding an infamous cupcake left by the afternoon.
I realized I enjoyed this so much more than investing in far-removed funds or stocks where I would never see the direct impact. Even if it was riskier and made me less profit, I didn't care; I have more money than I know what to do with anyway. The success of this passion project spurred me on to put money into other businesses in the town until I had almost taken over the entire main street. Every other shop in town now falls under my umbrella. Each business has flourished with the extra cash injection, bringing new life to the town and boosting the local economy. All the development has led to an increase in tourism too, and the town is thriving and doing better than it has in decades.
Something I can't take the credit for - it's the people of this town who have built generations of businesses, never giving up and keeping the tradition alive. I simply invested in them at the right time. And, of course, I was lucky that I made so much cash when I played ball. So when I am thanked so deeply for my role in this, it’s hard to accept. I simply nod my head and walk away.
Outside I bump into someone, causing my cupcake to squish in my bag, immediately putting me in a sour mood.
"Watch where you're going," I sneer at the person who bumped into me. Then I recognize him and backtrack.
"Oh, sorry, Carl, I didn't realize it was you." The small, balding man smiles cynically at me.
"No problem, Zak," he drawls, prolonging the one syllable of my name in a way that can only be described as condescending. He looks down at the squashed bag with the bakery logo on and snickers.
“Enjoy your cakes."
Asshole. Carl is one of the only people in town whom I actively don’t like. He's entitled and bitter and gets his kicks out of finding out gossip about other people and spreading it around town or even just saying things to you so that you know that he knows.
He and I don't get along, so I try to stay out of his way. He's never liked me; he thought I was “entitled” to come back to town and start buying it up; he said it removes the power from the people and the authenticity from the community. He doesn't have a fucking clue what he is talking about. My priority is, and always has been, giving people their businesses and helping them succeed. I have plans in place for the owners to pay off the loans so they can buy back their businesses, and at least then, they will own something that has a chance of succeeding rather than the run-down, empty town I'd returned to.
