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She looks around the bakery. “A lot, evidently.”
“Why do we have to try them all?” I pick up a chocolate cake sample and look at the label. “Chocolate fudge cake,” I read. “Well, we both know what that tastes like.”
She grabs my wrist before I can put it down. “Liv, humor me, please?”
I turn my face toward her. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.”
She tries for an annoyed look, but the twitch of her lips ruins it. “You’re an idiot.”
I shove the sample in my mouth with a bored look on my face. She laughs.
“Hey,” I say when I‘ve swallowed it. “That was good. Bit much for a wedding cake though.”
Dayton rolls her eyes. “Try some normal cake.” She hands me a bit, eating one herself. “No,” she mumbles with her mouth full.
I agree. It tastes fucking awful. “Next.”
“Yep.” She takes the label.
“Great. Can we go now?”
“What? No. We’re not done.”
“But you just chose one!” I protest, looking at the clock.
“For a short list. I’m making Aaron come in next week. We need to pick the best ones.” She glances at me slyly. “And I want to know why Tyler chased you out of the restaurant last night.”
I grab some cake and eat it. Mmm, lemon. This is good.
“Nice try,” Dayton laughs. “The last time I saw him move that quickly was because one of the models he slept with got a little attached.”
“I have no idea why he chased me.” It’s kind of honest. I don’t actually know why he came out after me. “But it’s a waste of his time.”
“Yeah, and I’m a virgin.”
I snort. “Seriously. You just told me everything I need to know about him. He does no strings, full stop. I do no strings until I find someone who’s strong enough to deal with my…quirky personality trait.”
My best friend’s lips curve. “Tyler’s kind of intense.”
“Kind of?” I raise my eyebrows. “I have no idea what he’s doing. We don’t really know each other.” An image of his hands trailing up my thighs hits me. “Except physically. Physically, we’re very well acquainted.”
“Just…be careful. I know I said it yesterday, but I mean it. Tyler is a lot like Aaron. Maybe worse. If Ty wants something, he’s not going to stop until he gets it.”
“Translation,” I say around a mouthful of cake. “If Tyler Stone wants me, I’m fucked. Figuratively and literally.”
She nods, chewing cake. “Ew. What is this?”
“Not on the list, that’s what.” I grab my purse. “I have to go to work. I’ll call you soon.”
I hang my coat in the back room and relieve Jeanie of her shift. She waves goodbye with a thankful expression, and I know instantly that Old Dill is in the bar.
Old Dill, or Dillon Bruce, is one of the loveliest old men I’ve ever met. When he’s sober. When he’s had a few ales, he turns into a humorous old letch with a roving eye over all the bar girls.
This happens on a regular basis, given that my boss is a bit of a pig who insists on only having young people behind his bar. Young girls bring in the guys and young guys bring in the girls.
Tonight, Jeanie has brought in Old Dill and kindly left him for me. And judging by the grin on his face, he’s not totally hammered. Yet.
“Liv,” he croons my name like he’s a ‘50s singer. I’ve heard him on karaoke—Frank Sinatra he is not.
