Page 25 of Strong Side

Indifference Is Bullshit

Clayton

“Hey, girl, hey.” I wink at Nancy at her usual spot behind the checkout counter as I enter my favorite artisanal baking supply shop.

Her face blushes the way it always does when I greet her. “Hi, sweetheart.”

And like he always does, her husband grumbles from his spot next to her, “You ever going to stop hitting on my wife, boy?”

“Only when she stops looking sobeautiful, old man.”

Nancy tucks a strand of silver hair behind her ear before winking back at me. “Oh, hush, Kevin. Let the poor boy be.” Kevin huffs out a sigh and continues flipping through the pile of paperwork on the counter in front of him.

“Got anything good for me today, Nanc?”

“Sure do. Got some more of that double zero flour you like, and there may or may not be an apron around here somewhere that says, ‘Kiss me if I look hot in this apron.’”

Tipping my head back dramatically, I clutch my chest. “Nancy, you really do know the way to my heart.”

She laughs as I make a beeline to where I know the apron is hanging, making sure that’s the first thing I throw in my basket; not because I need it, but because I know she ordered it especially for me. And it’s also clever as hell. I also stock up on my favorite double zero flour, which I use for most of my breads and doughs. Mindlessly, I move about the rest of the store, stocking up on all the things I know I’m short on. Which, considering the excessive amount of sourdough, cookies, and muffins littering my kitchen counters, is almost everything.

Besides business school, volleyball, and fucking… there’s one other thing I can confidently say I’m really good at. Baking. I’m not even ashamed of it, either.Women love a man in the kitchen, and men love to eat. It’s a win-win all around.

1 From the moment I learned how to use a stove, Marissa taught me everything she knew about baking. And before I turned twelve, I knew how to make her world-famous double chocolate cake from scratch. I loved it. And soon, it became my escape when I was feeling anxious about everything in life. Whenever my dad harps on me relentlessly about how I’m never enough, I bake. Whenever my mom insists on being anywhere but around her only child, I bake. Whenever the pressure of becoming the next volleyball star feels like too much, I bake. And whenever I start panicking about the fact that I can feel myself falling deeper and deeper for a certain bull-headed man, even though I’ve never wanted a serious relationship in my life, I bake.

So it’s safe to say I spend a lot of time baking. Especially the past few days.

It’s been three days since our night in the hotel room. Three days since Rocky trusted me with his body. Three days since I felt his shivers of pleasure beneath my hands. Three days since I tasted him on my tongue. Three days since my entire worldshifted on it’s axis.

And now I’m standing in front of a shelf full of chocolate chips, shifting my basket in front of my rapidly growing dick. If Kevin finds out I have a boner in front of his wife, not only will he kill me, but he will never let me shop here again.

Which would be a great travesty. Because how will I ever continue my astounding apron collection?

I try to force the thoughts of that night from my mind but the only thing that’s ready to take their place is Rocky’s face the following morning. It was the same one he wore on the way home from our game and the same one he had yesterday at our Monday morning practice.

It wasn’t one of panic—no, I think I’d almost have that. Instead, it was one of indifference, like what we did together was neither here nor there; like it wasn’t as life-altering for him as it was for me.

What’s more, I know that’s a heaping pile of dog shit.

I know he feels something for me. And if what he’s feeling is a fraction of the emotions coursing through my body like a tsunami crashing into the Florida shoreline, there’s no way he would beindifferent.

Which means he’s hiding it.

Like he always does.

I’m about sick and fucking tired of his aloofness. I have enough people in my life who are only in it when it’s convenient for them. I don’t want Rocky to be oneof them. Hecan’tbe one of them. Neither my waistline nor my mind can handle his indecisiveness any longer. Either he’s in this, or he’s out.

I’ve wanted nothing more than to confront him about it, but it’s nearly impossible to do when he’s been the epitome of cordial since we woke up Sunday morning. He smiles and gives me one-word answers, but it’s like pulling teeth to get him to do anything else. Every time I text him to ask if we can talk he says he’s busy studying, and he dipped out of practice so fast the last two days there was practically a cloud of smoke behind him.

I think I'd literally kill for an eye roll or a “What the fuck, Clay?”

Forcing myself out of my existential crisis in the middle of Delectable Desserts, I grab the chocolate I need for the raspberry chocolate mousse and head toward the checkout counter. I’m rounding the corner of the aisle when a familiar deep voice stops me in my tracks.

“Here’s the rent check, Mrs. Wilkins.”

“Thank you. But for the hundredth time, Rockwell, I really wish you’d just call me Nancy.”

“I know. I’ll remember one of these days,” he answers while shooting her one of his rare authentic smiles. The same one I’ve been dying to see for the last two days.

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