The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (14 page)

“Swooning? Who the fuck says swooning? What are you, ninety?” I pull a few stray pieces out and tuck them behind my ears.

He pulls his sandwich out and hands me mine and we start digging in. “So, what did he mean by ‘the way it felt to be inside you’? I mean, you’ve already had sex with him, so why would he... oh... oh, my God. Did you fuck him without a condom?” He spits bits of chicken salad at me as he shouts hysterically.

“Jesus. Close your mouth. I’d prefer to not be covered in your sandwich.”
Crap. I really didn’t want Joey to know about this, but I manage to forget how fucking insightful he is sometimes.
I grunt loudly before I answer. “Even though it’s none of your business, yes, I did.” I make a face and wipe a hunk of mayo off my apron that had managed to hit me in the middle of my shop logo.

Slamming his hand on the counter for dramatic effect, like he needed it, he finally speaks after chewing and swallowing his bite. “That’s fucking huge and really fucking serious.
I’ve
never even done that. Shit, how was it? Good enough to swear off condoms permanently?” He smiles wickedly at me as I nod slowly.

“With him? Yes, absolutely. It was perfect.”

“So you two are officially a couple now? Fuck yes. That’s what I’m talking about, bitch.” He holds his hand up for me to high-five him. I shake my head as I chew up my bite.
Damn it. Thanks for the reminder.

“No, we’re not a couple. We’re monogamously casual.” I take another bite of my to-die-for sandwich.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I swallow my bite and stare at my sandwich, avoiding his judging stare. “It means we’re not serious, but we’re only sleeping with each other. So it’s still casual and only about sex.” I feel a sharp pain in my chest. “Now that we both have established that we’ll only be with each other in that way, we don’t have to use condoms. Besides, he was my first and I was his.”
And that part right there eases that pain.
I glance up at him and see his unconvinced expression.

“Umm, okay. Honestly, I think you’re both delusional if you think it’s casual for either one of you.
You
light up when you talk about this guy and
he
writes you love letters. Fuck the casual bullshit.” He crumbles up his wrapper and shoots it into the trashcan. “On another note, I think it’s really sweet that you were each other’s first times without it. I’m sure it meant just as much to him as it meant to you.”

I grumble loudly, “Shut up, it’s just sex. And he doesn’t write me love letters. He sends me flour and panties with tiny notes.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Want something to drink?” he asks, moving toward the kitchen as my phone beeps in my pocket.

“Please,” I reply, pulling it out and seeing an unknown number.

Unknown: There you are. Now I don’t have to worry so much about Fred intercepting my letters to you.

I smile and type frantically.

Me: Here I am. And I happen to like your letters so I hope you don’t mind the risk of Fred intercepting them.

Reese: The risk is worth it, love. Can I see you this weekend?

Me: I think I can squeeze you in somewhere. I have a wedding cake to work on tonight, but I’m free tomorrow night.

Joey returns with two sodas and places one in front of me on the counter.

“Thanks. So, where are you and your hot ass lawyer going tonight?” I force myself to keep my eyes on Joey and not the phone that is in my hand.

He notices the struggle instantly. “Some ritzy Italian joint. And you don’t have to hide your enthusiasm about Reese texting you. I’m done trying to convince you it’s more than you’re both letting on.” He takes a sip of his soda and pulls his phone out, pointing to the clock on the wall and smiling wide.

“Sweet. Dance party time,” I squeal, setting my phone down on the counter as he docks his phone onto the speaker station and flips to a song.

Every Friday at noon, Joey and I dance and sing along to one song in the shop. It doesn’t matter if customers come in and it doesn’t matter how busy we are. We always make time for one song on Friday. A few months ago, I had an entire wedding party in here dancing along to “Locked out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars. It was awesome. Justin Timberlake’s “Love Stoned” blares through the speakers as I spin around and begin dancing and singing along to the lyrics with Joey.

I’m on a serious roll when he cuts the music and stands, staring at the shop door, the familiar
hot guy in the building
look on his face. Spinning around to see what the fuss is about, I see a very amused face staring at me. Smiling in a suit and tie, the attractive blond steps forward and tilts his head.

“Well, thank Christ I decided to stop in here during my lunch break. Otherwise, I might have missed that hot little show.” He steps closer to the counter and presses his hands on the top, causing me to stumble back a bit.

“Sweet Mother. You’re like a sexy man-magnet lately,” Joey mutters to me softly.

I clear my throat and smile. “Sorry about that. Can I help you?”

“I hope so, Dylan.” His eyes drop to my nametag and then flick back to my face.
Good, but didn’t have the same effect as my name coming out of Reese’s mouth.
He’s tall and blond, hair cut short and spiky with chiseled cheekbones and thin lips. “My father came in the other day and requested something. He’s not feeling well, so he sent me to come pick it up.” He glances down at the display case and then back up at my face. “Do you have any idea what I’m referring to because he wasn’t specific?”

I think for a minute before it dawns on me. “Oh, the tarts.” I shuffle quickly to the kitchen and bring out the container of treats. “I’m sorry to hear he isn’t feeling well.”

The man smirks. “Yeah, well, I can’t say I share your sympathy. His illness did bring me in here to see you.” He smiles wide, showing perfect teeth and winks at me. I shudder a bit.

“Jesus,” Joey utters as he steps behind the register. I ignore him and the comment from the man.

“Umm, well, the tarts are three seventy-five apiece. How many would he like?”

“I don’t know, three I guess? Can I get your number?”

I freeze midair as I’m reaching into the container to pick out the tarts.
Jesus, Joey was right. I don’t think I’ve ever been this popular with men before.
Quickly shaking off his question, I pull four tarts out of the container and place them into a pastry box as Joey rings him up.

“I’m seeing someone. Here you go, the fourth one’s free.” I push the box across the counter and meet his eyes. They’re the strangest color, a mix between mustard yellow and pale blue. It’s a bit unsettling and I quickly glance away.

“Well, that’s too bad. If he fucks up and you stop seeing him, give me a call.” He smiles and pulls a card out of his pocket, sliding it across the table. I glance down at it briefly before flicking my stare back up to him. There’s something about this guy that I find to be a major turn off, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. “Thanks for the tarts,” he says, turning and exiting the shop as I pick up his card.

“Bryce Roberts. Well, he was disturbingly forward.” Spinning around, I toss his card into the trashcan and dust my hands off, brushing the creepiness off my skin.

“Excuse you. Why are you throwing out a hot guy’s number? I thought you and Reese weren’t serious?” Joey pries as my phone beeps.

I reach excitingly for it and hear his quiet laugh. “I have the
hottest
guy’s phone number. I’m set.”

Reese: I’ll come to you. 8:00p.m.?

Me: Sounds perfect.

I work on the cake for the Smith/Cords wedding all night, finally passing out a little after two a.m. It’s one of the prettiest cakes I’ve made yet. The bride has requested edible cherry blossoms along the base of each tier, and I’ve surprised myself at just how realistic they’ve turned out. I snap a close-up picture of one before sending it to Reese, since he seems to appreciate my work. His response is nothing short of swoonworthy. Yes, now that word is being thrown around in my vocabulary as well.

Joey texts me early on Saturday and tells me he isn’t feeling well, thinking he had some bad food at the restaurant with Billy and is being taken care of in bed all day. I’m sure that means not just in a
bring you chicken soup and popsicles
kind of way. This means I’ll be making the cake delivery on my own today. I’m a bit nervous. I haven’t done this in years, the last time being when Joey spent a weekend with a very hot Greek guy he met at a club. They fucked and fought while I busted my ass trying to carry a six-tiered cake up a huge flight of stairs. He paid for that one for weeks.

I stare out at Sam through my shop window. The van is pulled up in front of the shop, back door wide open and ready for me to slide the cake inside. It’s almost noon and I need to leave now if I am going to make it to the reception hall to drop off the cake in time. Traffic is always a nightmare on Saturdays, and I know it’s going to take me longer than I would like to get there. I’m stalling, not really wanting to attempt to carry the cake by myself and possibly have a major mishap. “Damn it, Joey.” I grab my phone out of my pocket and scroll to my favorite wedding planner’s contact info.

“Hello, sweets,” she sings with her chipper
I’m going to keep everybody in this goddamned wedding party calm
voice. I chuckle into the phone.

“Hey. I’m just now leaving to drop the cake off, so I might be a bit late.”

“We’re running late as it is, so no worries. This fucking bride is driving me insane.” She sighs dramatically. “I seriously feel bad for her groom. Pretty sure he’s in for a lifetime of annoyance.” I hear commotion in the background and can only imagine what Juls is dealing with. She’s had some doozy brides.

I sigh in relief. “Thank God. I’m flying solo today since Joey is playing house with Billy. I really hate doing deliveries alone.”

I hear her gasp dramatically. “What are you doing? Go find the preacher. He’s been MIA for twenty minutes. Sorry, I gotta go, Dyl. This wedding isn’t going to start at all without me. Hey, are we still on for a much needed girls’ day tomorrow?”

I jump in excitement, almost having completely forgotten about the massages and facials we booked weeks ago after declaring how little we see of each other. “Yes. I’m so ready for the spa and my Juls time. Good luck with your nightmare bride.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it. Bye, sweets.”

I click end and turn around, staring the cake down as it sits on my side table that I do consultations at. “All right, it’s just you and me. Don’t fucking piss me off and I won’t eat you. Got it?”

I prop the front door open and drop down, carefully and oh, so slowly picking up the cake and carrying it out to Sam’s back door. Setting it down on the ledge, I ease it inside while holding my breath and saying every prayer I can think of silently. After successfully putting it where I want it, I close my eyes tightly and force the air out of my lungs.
Okay, half the battle’s over.
Moving the holder in place that keeps the cakes from sliding all around the back of the van, I secure everything tightly and close the back doors. Spinning around to walk to the driver’s side, I’m halted immediately as I run straight into a brick wall of a chest.
Oh, terrific.

“Jesus Christ, Justin, you scared the shit out of me.” I push away from him as he lets out a small annoying laugh.

“Sorry, Dyl pickle.”

Ugh
. I hate when he calls me that. I haven’t been able to eat a dill pickle in two years.

“What do you want? I’m running late and really don’t have time to chat.” Nor do I want to. I move to step around him when his arm shoots out and grips my waist. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

“Oh, come on, baby. I saw the way you looked at me at the wedding.” He pins me against the van, grinding his erection into my hip. I’m struggling against him, but his grip is firm. Really firm. “You still want this. I can tell.”

“Are you insane? Get the fuck off me!” I yell, whipping my head from side to side at the dead street around us. Figures, any other time of day people are bustling up and down the sidewalks. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I know you prefer married men now. Give it up, baby. It’s all good. Sara apparently likes to fuck around behind my back, so I can do the same to her.” His breath reeks of alcohol and my shoulders begin to burn where he’s squeezing me, pressing my body into the side of my van. He runs his tongue over my ear and I buck against him. “Still sweet.”