The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (86 page)

Mason grabs his coffee and the bakery box. “No worries. You can buy me a round tonight to make up for that little blunder.” He trains his eyes on me, stepping back. “And you. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Damn it. I try, really,
really
try not to smile, but he throws on that damn ‘yeah’ at the end of his sentence, and I can’t help it. It’s cute. I like it.

Luckily, I don’t give him the chance to see it.

I duck down behind the counter, looking busy. “Mm. Yeah, all right. See ya,” I call out as I stare at the gray speckled tile on the floor.

The door chimes. Joey crouches down beside me.

“What the hell are you doing?” he whispers, searching my face.

“Working.”

He glances around the tiny corner I’m tucked into. “Yeah, okay. What was all that talk about giving him an answer? An answer to what? Did you not tell me something last night?”

I straighten and shove past him, moving into the kitchen. “You are lucky I tell you anything, Joey McDermott.”

Snatching my apron off the hook, I join Dylan at the worktop.

My mind begins cataloging possible outfits for tonight. I’ll definitely be wearing heels, that’s for sure. Mason seems strangely intrigued by our height difference.

Maybe he normally dates taller women?

Oh, my God. Why am I even thinking about what kind of women he dates? That damn kiss has left me stupid.

Joey claims one of the stools, pouting. “Brooke is holding out on us, Dylan. Can you please explain to her that there are no secrets within these walls?”

Dylan keeps her eyes on the frosting she is piping, flatly replying, “Brooke, you know the drill.”

I secure the apron string around my waist, ignoring them both.

Screw that. I don’t need to divulge anything.

Joey slaps the wood, then stands. “Fine. I’ll just go ask Mason myself.”

I grip his forearm. “Heyyy, that’s . . . not necessary. I’m sure he’s busy.” I press against his shoulder until he’s seated again, then I start to pace around the room, suddenly no longer able to stand still. My palms begin to sweat.

Damn it. I’m about to recollect this morning, that goddamn kiss.

“Uh, okay, so, you know everything that happened last night. Nothing new to report there. I was getting our coffees and Mason walked in, looking all . . . whatever. You saw him. He explained to me in a very private alley a few blocks down that he wants more with me. Like talking, and . . . dates, I guess, before all the sex stuff. He wants to know me first. How crazy is that?”

I chuckle awkwardly. Everyone else remains silent.

Crickets. All of a sudden, I’m surrounded by crickets.

I do another lap around the room. “So, that’s basically it. He asked me if I can give him that. More. I didn’t
really
answer. I mean, I kind of did. Not really. Oh, and he kissed me. On the mouth.”

“As opposed to . . .”

I snap my head up to look at Joey, then drop it into a quick nod. “Right. That’s it. That’s all that happened.”

Dylan sets her piping bag down. “I take it the kiss was good? You seem a bit wound up.”

Good?

No. It was fucking phenomenal.

I limply shrug as I grab two baking racks off the shelf.

I’ve confessed enough sins today. They don’t need to know how wet I got from fifteen seconds of making out.

“I like him,” Joey beams, resting his chin on his hand.

“Me too,” Dylan smiles at me. “Brooke?”

I set the racks on the worktop. My next words come as I keep my head down and my hands busy. “You know what I like? Working. Getting a paycheck. Orgasms are also nice, which I doubt come with
liking
this guy, so, no. I don’t
like
him. How many special orders do we have today? Three? We need to get started.
I
need to get started. And God, I need to eat something before I collapse.”

I shuffle up to the front and murder a cupcake.

Brown sugar praline. It never stands a chance.

I’m the last one to arrive at The Tavern later that night. I decide to blame my lateness on the traffic, not the forty-plus minutes I spend getting ready, or the pacing I do around Billy and Joey’s condo.

“Traffic? What traffic? It’s not rush-hour.”

My sister Juls quickly calls me out on my lie after I explain my tardiness. I pretend I don’t hear her as I slowly sip my Long Island and gage the crowd. Imagine Dragons pumps through the speakers overhead. My foot taps along to the beat.

Ian returns with a few beers for the table. “Two dollar beers. I fucking love college night.”

Reese reaches for his mug, his other arm permanently fixated around Dylan. “Don’t you feel old being here with this crowd? I feel like everyone’s looking at me like I’m a chaperone.” He tugs at the knot in his tie, loosening it.

Joey chuckles. “Uh, no. They’re looking at you ‘cause you’re a DILF.”

Reese frowns. “A what?”

“A DILF.” Dylan rests her head on his shoulder, grinning. “Dad I’d like to fuck.”

“Get the hell out of here,” he mutters, lifting his beer to his mouth.

“You’re sexy, Reese. Own it.” Joey holds up his mug. “You know who else is sexy?” He quickly kisses Billy. “Besides my baby.”

I swirl my straw around in my glass. A group of women giggle obnoxiously at the next table. One of them nearly falls off her stool.

The drinks must be flowing over there.

“Brooke.”

My eyes lift to Joey’s. “What?”

“I asked a question.”

“So?”

He gapes at me, then sweeps a hand in front of him. “So . . . would you like to let the table know who
you
think is sexy? Everyone is dying to hear what you have to say.”

Jesus. He is laying it on thick tonight.

I stand and smooth the hem of my dress down. No need to partake in this conversation.

“Me. I think I’m sexy as hell.” I blow Joey a kiss. “Be back. I’m going to hit up the ladies’.”

Joey rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before he turns to Billy and engages him in conversation. I move past them, heading for the crowd I need to get through to reach the restrooms.

“Nice shoes, Brooke. Am I going to be getting those back any time soon?” Dylan’s voice at my back halts me.

I spin around, glancing down at the pink Steve Madden’s I have yet to return. They work amazing with this dress. With my legs. In all honestly, it would’ve been a tragedy not to wear them.

Lifting my head, I limply shrug. “I figured I’d break them in for you since your feet are too swollen to wear heels right now.”

Dylan’s face falls. She glances down at the black strappy sandals on her feet, grumbling, “I’m so over being pregnant.” She whips her head around. “This is it, Reese. Three and we’re done. No more kids.”

Reese leans back to look at her, a deep frown line setting in his forehead. “What? I thought we had agreed on four. What happened to that?”

The look that creeps across Dylan’s face has my feet firmly planted where they are, willing to stick around for another minute. It also seems to pull everyone else’s attention across the table.

Juls with her wide, curious eyes as she slowly brings her drink to her mouth. Joey, grinning enormously, drumming his fingers on the table and practically crawling across it to get a better view. Billy and Ian both take another route and reach into their pockets for their phones, deciding it’s best they look busy and uninterested in Reese’s potential demise.

I bet everyone seated at this table has had this ‘don’t fuck with me’ look directed at them at one point. I know I’m familiar with it. Back when I first started working at the bakery I saw this look quite a lot.

And Reese? His ass has definitely seen it.

Turning on his stool, Reese gently smiles at Dylan before moving in for a kiss. “Love.”

She pushes against his chest. “I’m sorry, are
you
the one carrying a watermelon around twenty-four seven? Are you giving up sushi and fantastic fucking footwear for nine months? Mm? No, you’re not. You can eat what you want, you aren’t bloated and sweaty all the time, and your downstairs region isn’t going to be pushing out a human. I’ve been pregnant for the last four years. Four years, Reese. Do you have any idea how exhausting this is for me? I got up eleven times last night just to go to the bathroom. Did you know that?”

He caresses her face. “I only counted six.”

Through clenched teeth, she leans closer, grunting, “It was a hell of a lot more than six. Maybe I should start waking you up every time, that way you can experience some of this misery with me.”

“You can do that.”

“Ugh!” She bats his hand away. “Would you stop being
you
for five seconds? It’s making me want to have another kid.”

Laughing, Reese grabs her face and kisses her. Dylan seems to melt against him, letting go of her anger, maybe even her conviction on the subject. They break away from each other enough to breathe, but keep their foreheads pressed together, Reese’s hands cradling Dylan’s face and hers holding his wrists. Their eyes remain locked as if they’re sharing this silent moment, conveying unspoken words, and I take that as my cue and remember why the hell I got up in the first place.

I melt into the crowd and push my way to the back hallway. The restroom is cramped and smells like a cross between the fragrance department at Macy’s and an ashtray. My nose burns as I apply a light sheen of gloss to my lips.

God, I hate cigarette smoke. Can’t these bitches here read? There’s a no-smoking sign posted every ten feet.

Tugging the material of my dress away from my body in hopes it’ll air it out a little, I drift through the bar, making my way back to my friends. A tall figure standing next to the table halts my progression.

Mason has his hand on the back of my chair as he converses with the group. His dirty blond hair is carelessly tousled, maybe a bit wet. I can’t tell from this distance. He wears a fitted blue T-shirt and jeans, and as he reaches across the table to extend his hand to Reese, the material stretches over his ass and lean thighs. A hint of flesh peeks out from above his waistband.

Fuck. Okay, he’s here. He’s here, and he looks like
that
.

Change of plans.

I cut a hard left through the crowd and grab a stool at the bar.

No way am I going to sit at that table with seven pairs of eyes on me like I’m some sort of freak-show exhibit. Joey is clearly already on a mission to embarrass me tonight, and I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to tolerate his obnoxiousness yet.

I wave over the bartender. “Give me something. Not beer. Something . . . girly. Or wine. I don’t care. Surprise me.”

The older man smiles, then turns and grabs a glass.

I set my clutch on the wood, fiddling with the contents. Phone, cash, keys, license, lip gloss. A warm body presses against my back.

“Little devil. You’re hard to find.”

A shiver runs through me as his breath moves against my hair. I turn my head, then tilt it back.

Mason moves to stand beside me. I fight the urge to grab his face and molest him.

It’s a struggle.

I wet my lips. “Hey, hi. Did you just get here?”

Obviously, I already know the answer to this question. Way to act like you haven’t been watching for him, Brooke.

He smiles and slowly sinks onto the stool next to me. “I did. Class ran over a bit. I had to shower, find the place. Why are you over here and not with your mates?”

I risk a glance in their direction.

Juls waves. Dylan smiles from her seat.

Oh, my God. Is Joey seriously videoing this with his phone?

“It was a bit crowded.” I swivel on my stool so that Mason’s body completely shields mine. “And I was trying to avoid this guy who has a tendency to stalk. You might know him. He’s Australian too.”

He pulls his shoulders back and looks around the bar. “Yeah? Point this wanker out. I’ll take care of him. Unless he’s a big fella. If that’s the case, I’ll sneak you out the back.”

I laugh as the bartender sets my glass down in front of me.

It’s a tall, skinny beverage. Something blended, with red and white slush swirling together and a pineapple wedge tucked on the rim.

“That’s fancy lookin’.”

I nod at Mason’s observation as my hand closes around the chilled glass. I take a sip. Very tropical.

“So, was the turn-out for class today as ridiculous as last night?”

“You thought it was ridiculous?” His mouth pulls tight. He looks adorably puzzled.

“Women were lined up outside like you were handing out free orgasms.” I give him a cheeky grin. “Clearly, you weren’t. Unless that service was offered to everyone
except
me.”

His face softens with a smile. “Nah, that’s the Brooke special. It comes with dinners and private lessons. Spending time together. Friendship.”

“Friendship? You want to be my friend?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to sleep with me?”

“I want everything,” he states negligently. “Friendship is a part of it. Why wouldn’t it be?”

I shrug. My eyes fixate on the bar.

This glorious specimen of a man also wants a friendship out of this. How . . . strange.