“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 worked on the cake for the Smith/Cords wedding all night, finally passing out a little after 2:00a.m. It was one of the prettiest cakes I’d made yet. The bride had requested edible cherry blossoms along the base of each tier and I surprised myself at just how realistic they turned out. I snapped a close up picture of one before sending it to Reese, since he seemed to appreciate my work. His response was nothing short of swoon worthy. Yes, now that word is being thrown around in my vocabulary as well. Joey texted me early on Saturday and told me that he wasn’t feeling well, thinking he had some bad food at the restaurant with Billy and was being taken care of in bed all day. I’m sure that meant not just in a bring you chicken soup and popsicles kind of way. This meant that I would be making the cake delivery on my own today. I was a bit nervous. I hadn’t done that 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 god damned wedding party calm voice. I chuckle into the phone.

“Hey. I’m just now leaving to drop the cake off so if I’m 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 girl’s 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. “Alright, 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.”

I push against his chest, backing him off a bit. “You’re disgusting. I’m not interested. I’ll never be interested again. Fuck, you’re hurting me, Justin. Let go.” His fingers are digging into my skin and I want to cry but I somehow manage to hold it in. I’ve cried enough over this asshole.

He pulls me towards him and then slams me once more against the van, this time knocking the air out of my lungs and dropping me to my knees. I fall over onto my side, gasping for air as he bends down and leans his face into mine. “Your loss,” he whispers and storms away as I finally take in enough air to calm my screaming lungs. I cough and wheeze, clutching at my chest as I struggle to pull myself up onto my feet. What the fuck? What just happened? Justin turned psychotic, that’s what happened. My entire body is in pain and I want to go back inside and nurse my wounds but I can’t.

“Fucking hell,” I whimper as I climb into Sam and start him up. I pull the visor down and quickly try to recover my appearance so that I don’t look like I just got molested in the street. My hair is a mess, completely unraveled from my bun and my face is streaked with makeup. I wipe under my eyes, removing my mascara, and clean up the rest of my face. Peeling my top down to reveal my shoulder, I wince at the bright red fingertip sized marks that are highly visible. “Jesus Christ. That fucking prick.” I pull my shirt back up and cover them up quickly, resting my head back and taking in several slow deep breaths. That bastard. I’m going to dismember him the next time I see him. I shake my head and fix my hair. I can’t deal with this right now; I have a job to do and I need to fucking do it. I push the events that just transpired out of my mind and pull away from the curb and to a wedding where hopefully, the only dick the bride will be sucking will be her husband’s.