“Fuck,” I mutter. I’d do anything if I could rewind time, right back to my first day at Whitney Briggs, and stop the one-night stand train before it ever left the station.
I’d tell myself there was someone special coming soon that I would fall madly in love with and to hell with all those other girls.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was break anybody’s heart.
13
Icing on the Cake
Roxy
After a long afternoon of listening to LeAnn warble out tunes, I finally crawl home, dog tired, both mentally and physically exhausted. Melanie donated the remainder of her Ecstasy Delights to the homeless shelter, and, well, there were none of my signature cupcakes left. It turns out that everyone who did sleep with Cole Brighton showed up and ate one.
I get off the elevator and head to my apartment just as Baya peeks her head out the door.
“Hi, Rox! I thought you were Bryson. I’ve got a shift at the Black Bear, and he’s sort of my ride. Hey, was I supposed to meet you for coffee? Cole mentioned something about it.”
“No. I ended up having coffee by myself. Sometimes a girl just has to clear her head.” I note the door to my apartment is ajar. “Maybe Cole can give you ride?”
“He’s not home either. He took off a few minutes ago. He said he needed to talk to some girl named Angel.” Her fingers fly to her mouth a second. “Anyway, I’d better finish getting ready. And don’t forget, I’m all yours next Friday. We’re going to nail the competition to the cupcake-loving wall.”
“Right.” I pause a second before heading into the apartment. Angel? That’s the girl that Melanie said he had a thing with.
I step into the entry just as a couple of girls spring out from Cole’s bedroom. They tear open their matching white robes, showing off all of their God-given glory for the free world to see—or, more specifically, my boyfriend.
“Surprise!” They sing in unison.
“You’re not, Cole.” The blonde on the right whines as they both sag with disappointment. “Is he on his way?”
“What?” I snatch up granny’s wooden spoon and chase them all the way to the door. “Come back here so I can properly knock some sense into you!” I shout as they bypass the elevator and head for the stairs.
“Tell him Tia and Mia came by!” They lose themselves in a giggle fit as they trot down the hall.
“Fucking skanks.” I stumble over to the table and flip open my laptop. I need to relax, unwind, and loosen up. Of course, girls are going to look at Cole, want Cole. He’s gorgeous. I scroll through my emails before hitting my roll call of social network sites and…oh, God. Clogging my Whitney Briggs social newsfeed is one picture after another of Cole and Angel? These were taken less than a half hour ago.
“Shit.” I stare at the one of Cole and Angel headed out of the room captioned, luckiest girl in the world. Another one with them on the floor locked in one another’s arms, can’t keep his hands off her. The third is a video. I click on it and watch as Angel giggles over his body while writhing on the floor.
“Oh my, God!” Angel slaps her hand over her mouth. “Yes!”
“Yes?” Cole answers, surprised.
“Yes, I’ll marry you!” Her face lunges toward his and the video cuts out.
“What the—”
The door shuts, and I glance up to find Cole standing there. “Hey, Rox.”
“Are you getting married?” Words I thought I’d never say to my new boyfriend.
“What?” He swoops in and scans my laptop. “Shit. I can explain everything.”
“Oh, fuck.” I jump up and start grabbing crap at random and throwing it into a trash bag. “I’m out of here.”
“No, wait.” He snatches me by the arms and pulls me into him. “I’m not marrying anyone. I swear, I just went over to break up with her.”
“You were seeing someone while you were sleeping with me?” I bark out an insolent laugh. “Boy, was I ever wrong about you.” I break free from his stronghold and dash into my room to gather my things.
“I wasn’t seeing her. She’s obsessed with me. She’s been sending me naked pictures and shit, and tonight she called me her boyfriend, so I went over to set her straight.” He tries to block my path to the bathroom, but I circle around him. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“It would seem realistic.”
“Roxy—she’s fucking nuts. I swear there was nothing going on.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me all this?” I snatch my toothbrush and deodorant. I’ll leave the tampons as a reminder of what he lost. Maybe he can shove one up his ass once in a while to remind himself of what a pussy he is. “Face it, Cole, you can’t change. Everybody was right about you. This is never going to work. You just said you loved me to get in my pants!” I roar it in his face as I stumble out the door.
Thankfully Baya’s apartment is unlocked, and I let myself in without knocking.
A gasp emits from the sofa. Baya jumps off Bryson and adjusts her clothes in a hurry.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just hang out in your spare room for a few minutes—or days.” I head over without waiting for a response. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”
I wish it would.
All week I give Cole an icy shoulder. I told him point blank when we “accidentally” bumped into one another on Tuesday that I would kick him in the nads if he ever tried to speak to me again, so, suffice it to say, he’s given me space. On Wednesday he started sending a mountain of text messages, and about six o’clock last night, I responded to a few with an entire slew of red-faced emoticons. That about sums up how I’m feeling—embarrassed and pissed to hell.
Lucky for me, there’s been so much baking to do for my mother’s Valentine benefit that I haven’t had a lot of time to nurse a broken heart although I did eye the vanilla extract crooked a time or two, not that imitation bourbon could ever cure my blues. Nevertheless, I’m sure Holt or Bryson can whip up a Pink Panty Dropper for me at the end of this long weekend. God knows there’s one bartender at the Black Bear I won’t be dropping my panties for anymore or speaking to for that matter.
On the morning of the Sticky Quickie baking competition, I send Baya next door to gather a few of my necessary supplies. Mostly it’s just my good luck charm, my granny’s wooden spoon which I might have cast a pox on when I chased two naked girls from the apartment with it. Freaking Cole and his endless line of hussies. My heart sinks as I stand outside the door of the apartment I once shared with him. Why the hell did I have to fall so hard so fast?
Cole comes out into the hall, ignoring his sister’s perky good morning.
He steps into me and settles his eyes over mine. A fire of lust lights up the tiny space between us, and every ounce of me is begging to close in the gap.
“Let me hold you,” he says it sweet, quiet, like a dying man’s final wish.
“Only if we win.” Like it or not, I still need him. Ten grand is still on the line, and I’ll need every red cent to get on my feet, post graduation. God knows there’s not another soul I can trust to help me once I’m out in the real world.
“Oh my, God—Cole!” Baya wails from inside.
“Not now,” he groans. His eyes soften as he steps in close. “Come inside with me, there’s something I want to show you.” His cologne saturates my senses. My entire body demands to lunge at him and crash my lips to his. Damn hormones.
“Let me guess, you’ve been saving all the condom wrappers you’ve burned through over the years and finally turned them into a collage? No thanks. Save the dick art for someone who cares.”
“It’s not that.” He touches his finger to my cheek, his gorgeous face blooming with grief. “I swear if you just give me a minute I can make you understand. I’d love for you to step inside.”
“Never,” I snipe.
Baya comes out with my basket o’ crap, and we make our way to the elevator.
“Be at the studio by one o’clock sharp,” I yell it
out to Cole like a threat as the elevator doors swoosh shut, and my heart shatters into a million irreplaceable pieces. The truth is, I don’t want my heart put back together. It only beat for Cole, but I’ll never admit it, deep down I know it always will.
“Oh, Rox.” Baya shakes her head. “That boy loves you something fierce.”
I lean against the cool steel of the elevator wall. “Yeah, well, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”
By the time Baya and I arrive in downtown Jepson, the sky has traded in its perky blue hue for a dark layer of ominous purple clouds. Technically Baya didn’t need to be here until later either but wanted to support me from start to finish.
We head into the kitchen studio where the competition will be broadcast from and meet up with the network liaison. It’s a live show that’s going to air on the local cable network, but I’ve been trying hard not to dwell on the fact thousands of people will potentially watch me freeze up in front of the camera and look like a doofus. The truth is I can’t wrap my head around the competition right now. Instead I’ve been ruminating on my brief encounter with Cole this morning. There was something sweet in his eyes that said I need you, at least that’s what I want to believe. They might have been saying I covered the evidence from last night’s romp pretty damn well! Maybe I should invite her inside and see if she notices? Why the hell else would he want me to step into the apartment? Certainly he could have told me everything he wanted right there in the hall, like I’m sorry and I’ll burn my balls at midnight to prove it.
Baya and I are led into an oversized auditorium where an endless string of stage lights hover above. The cameras are all neatly pointed at miles of bulky appliances, and the stainless kitchen facility is painted a cheery shade of blue.
“This is really happening!” Baya grabs my hands and jumps up and down like we’ve just won the lotto. “I can’t believe this, Rox! You’re hitting the big time!”
I glance around at the well-lit facility, the oversized glossy kitchen with its fancy stainless ovens and frown.
“Yeah, well, I guess it’s all right.” A part of me would much rather be baking in Cole’s tiny apartment while he begs on his knees for my first batch discards. I’d probably lace them with arsenic, but that’s beside the point.
“Just all right? Are you nuts?” She drags me over to the vast display of ingredients, and electric mixers big enough to fit a small car in. “This is baking nirvana! You’re going to win this. Trust me”—she leans in just as Melanie Harrison walks in with one of her girls, the two of them clad in matching pink polos—“I’ve tasted her cupcakes. Ecstasy Delight? Not so much.”
I give a little laugh just as the studio liaison comes by with a shit load of paperwork for me to fill out. The next few hours fly by, and, before I know it, they’re cuing us into our respective positions.
Melanie trots over in her six-inch killer heels. I hope she cracks both ankles in half before the day is through.
“I guess it’s you and me representing Whitney Briggs.” She lets out a string of requisite giggles. The other two competitors are both from Ridgewood University, our crosstown rival. I guess if I didn’t win, I’d rather it be Melanie, but I’m not feeling charitable enough to verbalize the sentiment.
“So it seems.”
“May the best girl win.” She offers up a knuckle bump, but I sneer down at her pasty-looking hand.
“Don’t worry, I will.” I cross my arms over my chest in the event she plans on standing there all day with her fist pointed at me. I’m feeling a little ornery toward girls who’ve slept with Cole Brighton. In fact, I’m thinking of changing the name of my signature cupcake to just that, I Hate Girls That Have Slept with Cole Brighton, which covers all girls in a twenty-mile radius—minus Baya and Laney. God, I’m back to hating people again. Isn’t the planet about due for some mutant contagion?
The judges take their seats, and LeAnn gives me a little wave. I’d smile back, but I’m done with fake relationships.
Speaking of fake relationships, I can’t help but note I’m down one assistant at the moment.
“Where’s your brother?” I whisper to Baya. I’m pretty sure it’s not cause for elimination to be one man down, but, holy hell, this will suck big hairy dicks if he doesn’t show up quick.
“I don’t know. I’ll shoot him a text.”
The host comes out with all the fanfare of the Oscars and does a little spiel before introducing us to our choice ingredient we’re to integrate into at least one of the cupcakes we present to the judges.
“Please don’t be fish, please don’t be fish,” I mutter to myself.
He plucks the tablecloth off the mystery mountain, and I swear, every girl in the room sighs with relief.
“The mystery ingredient is fruit!” he shouts, and everyone gives a gleeful clap, myself included.
“I can do this!” I spin into Baya—only she’s not there anymore.
Crap.
The bell rings, and I run to the table and slap my hand over the pineapple at the exact same moment Melanie decides to unleash her crooked claw.
“It’s mine, bitch!” She snakes it from beneath me and takes off running.
Shit.
The two skanks from Ridgewood grab a bunch of bananas and strawberries respectively. Double crap.
I reach for the kiwis and head to my table.
“Contestant number three, where is your team?” The host looks stunned with his manufactured smile, his doll-inspired hair plugs.
“In the bathroom.” I glance at the darkened corridor that leads toward the facilities. I pray to God Baya makes it quick.
“Let’s hope a little downtime on the throne is all that’s needed.” He starts to walk away then does a double take. “Where’s your other assistant?”
“Also in the bathroom,” I snip. “Let’s hope a little downtime on the throne is all that’s needed,” I parrot back.
Great. I’ve all but let everyone in a tri-state area know that both Baya and Cole are constipated.
“Well, it looks like your competitor is down one man as well.” He points the silly glitter-covered mike toward Melanie.
Ha! I didn’t even notice she had a handicap. This is going better than I hoped.
I lose myself trying to do every job on the planet for the next half hour until it dawns on me that neither Baya nor Cole have managed to elbow up beside me.
I pluck my phone from my jeans. Crap. There’s a text from Baya.
Emergency - had to leave. Won’t be back. Sorry!
I sway in my shoes for a moment.
“What the heck?” Oh my, God, it’s really happening. Everything I’ve ever wanted is slipping away. What the hell is wrong with me? Did I step on the last four-leaf clover as a child? Did I puke in a pot of gold at some all night kegger? Why is it that things can never go my way?
My entire body stings as if I were just bitch slapped by the universe because apparently I was.
“I can’t believe this.” I stagger from my table with the mixer still spinning, the ingredients laid out haphazard, the pound of kiwis taunting me as I pull away. “I’m not going to win.”
There’s no way in hell I can do this alone. I glance over at Melanie barking out orders to her single assistant, and I do the unthinkable—I head over.
Just because I’m out doesn’t mean Whitney Briggs, is.
We bake our asses off for the next five hours straight and take this motherfucker all the way home.
The host hands Melanie a ten thousand dollar check, the size of a small refrigerator, and I shed a little tear.
It could have been mine.
And somewhere out there that rabbit foot I tossed in the trash back in fifth grade laughs.
Cole
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Bryson waves his hand over my face far too close for me to ever make out what the fuck he’s holding, no less how many there are.
“Dude, get the hell away from me.” My lips are so swollen it comes out
like garbled bullshit. In fact, I would have much rather had my body gnawed on by a bunch of bulls until I literally turned into shit rather than have my ass kicked by a band of burly bikers.
“Do you remember what any of them looked like?” Baya is shaking, she’s so frightened for me. I told Bryson not to call her, but he insisted. He said she’d kill him if he didn’t. He’s probably right, but I knew she’d come straight here, and, more importantly, I knew where she was at.
“No,” I grumble, wincing as I sit up. “I stepped into the parking lot on the way to my truck, and there was some gorilla in a leather vest leaning against it. He dragged me behind the building, and”—I hold out my busted arm—“the ass kicking ensued. They all looked the same—big, hairy white dudes with combat boots. If you need to know a shoe size, I’m sure I’ve got a few imprinted on my back. I’m damn lucky to be alive. If Angel didn’t come around the corner screaming, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
Baya and Bryson exchange a quick look.
“What?” I moan reaching for the ice bag the nurse left on my bedside. “And, by the way, you can check me out of here. I want to go home.”
Baya runs her fingers through my hair, and I try not to groan. “Not until the X-ray comes back for your arm.”
“It’s broken.” I’ve had enough broken bones in my life to know, not to mention once the beast bent it far enough back, the clean snap gave it away—sounded like a tree limb cracking off.
Bryson turns on the television and fiddles with the remote until we land on a local channel that’s hosting the baking competition.
Baya sucks in a lungful of air as she stares up at the screen.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Roxy. Her workstation is dark. The camera just panned right over it.”
Crap. I knew I should have kicked Bryson in the balls when he went for the phone. Bryson just happened to step out of the building in time to see them hauling my sorry ass off in the ambulance.