Mondays have never bothered me. Until today, this particular Monday.

The Monday after my weekend with Mason.

Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to come into work today?

Because I was nursing a wicked hangover all day yesterday and spent my life in bed with my door locked, Joey missed his opportunity to run off at the mouth and bug the shit out of me about everything that happened this weekend. But now that I’m fully coherent and stuck in this chocolate raspberry scented Hell for eight hours? I not only get to try and ignore Joey’s nosy comments, but Dylan is also weighing in with her opinion on everything.

She’s my boss. I can’t exactly toss her through a window to shut her up now, can I?

Plus, there’s the whole pregnancy thing. I’m sure that wouldn’t be good for the baby.

“Cupcake, you should’ve seen her.” Joey’s broad smile reemerges as he steps into the back for the hundredth time today.

I sigh and keep my head down.

“Talking about how sweet Mason was when he removed the tick. How he held her while she cried with those sexy ass arms of his. She even mentioned something about having a decent time up until that point. Can you believe it? Our little mini muffin actually enjoyed camping.”

I place another pastry into the large bakery box in front of me and glare at him from across the worktop. Dylan laughs quietly from her stool. “I was drunk when I said that,” I tell him.

I can’t believe it. I actually had fun camping. What is happening with the world?

“You were barely into your first martini. Don’t even go there with me, Brooke.” Joey points a finger at my face. “I am way past the point of trying to get you to admit you have feelings for this guy, because I think you’re way past just having feelings. I saw you with him when he came over, and I know how you flirt when you’re drunk. That wasn’t it, honey.”

I close the box and stack it on top of the other two I have already filled. A sharp, unrelenting tension builds behind my eyes. I ignore Dylan’s pleased smile and focus all of my annoyance onto Joey.

“Well, I don’t remember how I looked when Mason came over, because like I said fifty times already today, I was well on my way to party hour, but I’m sure I looked how any woman would look when sex comes knocking at their door.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Dylan pushes a sheet pan away from her and crosses her arms under her chest. “Brooke, when was the last time you had sex? How many days ago?”

I open my mouth to answer, then quickly close it.

Fuck. Fuuuck. I can normally count my response to this question on one hand. But today I have no idea . . .

How long has it been?

Paul. That giant asshat was my last regrettable encounter. I met Mason the following week. Am I into double digits territory?

Holy shit. That had to be at least two weeks ago.

“Do you need a calendar, Brooke? There’s one right over there.”

Ignoring Dylan and her question, I open up a paper bag and begin filling it with banana muffins, keeping my eyes down and focusing on my task.

“So what if it’s been longer than usual since I’ve had sex. Who cares? I’m doing other stuff with Mason. I’m still getting off. I don’t see what the big fucking deal is or why both of you are bugging me about it.”

Silence.

No wiseass responses. No amusing little noises like I’ve been listening to all morning.

Have my prayers been answered? Am I suddenly the only employee of Dylan’s Sweet Tooth?

I look up and spot two pairs of eyes on me.

Damn.

Joey looks over at Dylan, grinning wildly. “I so wish I would’ve gotten that adorable speech on camera. You?”

She nods slowly. “Absolutely.”

What the fuck are they going on about now?

“What?” I ask, setting the bag down. My hands flatten on the wood as I flick my gaze between the two of them. “What did I say?”

Dylan straightens on her stool and rests her hand on her belly. “You just admitted you don’t care anymore that Mason is withholding sex from you. You, Brooke Wicks, don’t care about sex because you’re spending time with a man who is making you so happy, you’re forgetting what you’re missing.” She tilts her head. “Now, are you ready to admit why you don’t care?”

“I just told you!” I yell, slapping a hand over my mouth.

Oh, my God. What am I doing?

Dylan and Joey both startle from my outburst. Worried glances are exchanged, and then directed at me.

Shit! Get it together, Brooke. You like having a job. You need a job. No more incidents like that or your ass is going to be out on the street.

“I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my hand and looking across the worktop at Dylan. “I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

She unscrews the cap on her water and brings it to her mouth. “All right.”

Reaching back and untying my apron, I calmly continue after I’ve settled on a more appropriate work-place volume. “As I told you, I’m still getting off with Mason. The orgasms he gives me are some of the best of my life. Maybe even the best. It would be different if I was just hanging out with this guy and he wasn’t touching me, but he is. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t had sex yet. Mason’s foreplay is on point.”

Joey shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “What is he to you? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? What?”

“We’ve been over this,” I sternly reply, tossing my apron onto the table. “Jesus. He’s just this guy I’m spending time with. And in five minutes when you ask me that question again, he’ll still be just this guy I’m spending time with.”

Dylan stands from her stool and reaches for her pink mixer, sliding it in front of her. “Denial doesn’t look good on you, Brooke. Stop wearing it.”

“Oh, my God,” I softly utter, snatching up the muffin bag and setting it on top of the three boxes.

I need to get out of here. Far away from these two. I’ve never done a delivery by myself before but I’ve knocked out tons with Joey. It’s usually the two of us.

Well, that’s not happening today. If I don’t get a break from this madness, I’m going to end up burning this place to the ground just to avoid further conversation.

Joey comes to stand beside me. He rubs his hands eagerly together, looking between the boxes and my face.

“Ready to go, Mrs. King?”

My eyes widen. He did not just fucking go there.

Did I say burn this place to the ground? I meant slaughter a third of the staff.

Fists clenching at my sides, I step closer to him. Joey leans back when he registers the look on my face.

“Too much?” he meekly asks.

“You think?” I lift the boxes and balance the bag on top, glaring at Joey as I lower them against my chest. “I’m doing this delivery alone. Do yourself a favor and eat a dick for lunch while I’m gone. You sound deprived.”

“Ow, kitten.” Joey gapes at me. He looks sincerely hurt. “Just because I’m all up in your business, doesn’t mean I’m deprived. Retract the claws, please.”

I look up at him, trying to stay angry, swallowing down the remorse I feel burning the back of my throat.