Page 47 of The Cupcake Standard

“Anything, mmm. I’m starving and, don’t kill me, but I hate corn tortillas unless they’re hard shell. They smell like dirty gym socks to me. Somehow I just can’t get past that.” I wrinkled my nose.

A horrified gasp came from Derek, his eyebrows jumping up. “What? You don’t eat your dirty gym socks? This relationship is over!” He removed his arm, stalking a few feet ahead of me, then waited for me to catch up. “Have we put in enough time for tonight? Are we free to leave?”

“I think if we say farewell to Mommy dearest we’re in the clear.” And that’s exactly what we did.

On the way home, we ended up arguing over what we should eat and how many parsecs Han Solo actually ran the Kessel Run in. So we ordered Chinese, watched Star Wars: A New Hope, and I did a triumphant dance when I was right. I completely forgot about rent until the next morning. But Derek was already gone when I woke up.

Chapter Nine

The week flew by in a flurry of school, work and party planning. I grew more and more frustrated, not only about the rent-free apartment, but because I still didn’t have my own key. Plus, Derek and I hardly had a minute to ourselves. Liam or Gina was always there, though never together, and neither one of them filled me in on what their argument was about.

Friday morning dawned with no classes, thank goodness. I’d set my alarm super early, hoping to catch Derek in time to talk. I need my key, dammit. After pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, I reached the living room just as the door closed.

Yanking it back open, I rushed to the elevator, watching to see what floor he went to. Luckily, it stopped on the basement level, not in the lobby. Ohhh! Maybe the gym is there, and I can finally see his workout. Excited enough to not wait for the elevator, I hurried down the stairs.

I’d never been to this level before. My flash of annoyance faded as I reminded myself I’d only lived here a week, and Derek hadn’t had much time to play tour guide. Not that it was up to him. There hadn’t been much time for me to explore on my own either. I followed my hunch, looking for the signs to the gym. The door started swinging closed. I managed to stick my foot in before it latched, ducking inside without drawing attention to myself.

It was quiet. Derek was the only one here. He sat down at a rowing machine, eyes on a TV mounted high up, earbuds tucked in his ears. His shirtless body had my mouth immediately devoid of all saliva. Then he started moving.

It’s poetry. It’s fluidity. It’s freaking hot.

No wonder he had such an amazing body. Each muscle in his chest tightened as he pulled back on the handle, his biceps standing out. My gaze wandered down his shoulders, his side and settled on his legs—a work of art all of their own. My saliva must have started working again because I was suddenly in danger of drooling. Damn.

My brain woke up from its lusty haze to remind me that I was standing in the middle of a gym gawking at my fake boyfriend. Like the creep that I was. I turned around to go, then realized I still didn’t know which apartment was mine.

C’mon, brain. Think! Four-two-five? Five-two-four? Two-five-four?

It was no use. My brain could not latch on to the right combination, the numbers trickling through my mind like a sieve. Frustration coursed through me.

I ducked around a partial wall, down a short hallway where they had bathrooms and single-person showers. Stupid Derek and his white knight complex. I clenched my fists, annoyed at my own helplessness. If he’d just let me get to the apartment on my own. My shoulders slumped as I realized it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I still didn’t have a key.

As I ran through my options, I dismissed them one by one. The doorman would just call Derek. I didn’t have my cell, so I couldn’t call Liam.

Derek was my only option.

I’d just have to face the music, but I’d wait till he was done. No point interrupting his workout. I slid down the wall, tucking my knees up to my chin, mostly hidden from sight by a big plant. I tried to think of what I would say, how I’d explain, but everything sounded stupid. A few tears leaked out despite my best efforts. All too soon, I heard footsteps. I stood up, opening my mouth to blurt out everything, only to see him disappear into one of the showers.

My body moved before I thought about it. I launched myself at the closing door, wiggling through and latching it behind me. When I turned around, I gasped. “Shit.” He was already naked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Avery?” He yelped my name.

Chagrin washed over me, as I tried to gear up to admit I’d stalked him down here. I dropped my eyes, quickly realizing that wasn’t the best idea as my gaze landed solidly on his package. On full display.

Not that he has anything to be ashamed of. I sucked in a breath. Wow.

His tone changed as he stepped closer. “Have you been crying? What’s going on?”

Why does he have to be so hot? I tore my gaze away from his body, only to collide with his concerned blue eyes.

“Who did this to you?” He reached out to touch my cheek.

Then I realized, to top everything off, I wasn’t wearing makeup. My annoyance became fuel for my anger. “You did.” I stamped my foot. “You and Liam and the stupid doorman. If I’m going to live here, I need a key, Derek. I need to push the elevator button for myself. I need to walk to my apartment and know the damn number.”

The flare of my temper burned itself out, that quickly. I sighed, pressing a hand to my forehead. “My brain doesn’t work right when it comes to numbers. Especially addresses, phone numbers, that kind of thing. They jumble around in my head, and I get all…mixed up. I haven’t had a chance to figure things out here.” My voice broke on the last word. The frustration was too much, along with the embarrassment of admitting my weakness to Derek. Especially to him, the master of numbers. “I don’t feel at home.” A tear slid down my cheek, and I looked at the floor.

“Avery, I had no idea.” He reached out to run a finger over my knuckles, then grabbed my hand. “I never wanted you to feel like that. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m sorry.” His thumb stroked my hand, then his grip tightened. “I can fix this. C’mon.”

He strode forward, only stopping when I placed my hands on his bare, sweaty chest. Surprise crossed his face, and I nearly laughed when I realized he was more concerned about me than with what he was wearing. Or not wearing.

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