Page 3 of Cupcake of the Month
“Oh, yeah. And it’s anybody who wants to bake, not just the women. And not just the male servers, though Josh is usually the coveted blue ribbon. Sometimes he gets into the game and flirts with all of us. Sometimes he chooses his own little baker and ignores everyone else.” Lana studied him as he passed out more food. “I don’t know which version of him we’re seeing tonight.”
To each his or her own, but the thought of jumping into bed with a different man or woman each month gave Jordan a bad taste in her mouth. Especially because she could recall all too well the feeling of Josh’s arms around her that night. And the coldness of the bed the next morning when she had woken up alone.
“So you’ve...” Jordan moved her hands in the air, not wanting to say the words.
“Honey, I’ve taken Josh home more times in the past year than I’ve waxed my upper lip.”
Jordan forced a smile, but her friend’s words turned the wine she’d been drinking into sewer water.
Lana placed her empty glass on the table, then picked up another from the passing server. “Hmph. Maisie Benteen’s southern charms are spilling all over my dessert. She can be ruthless with this game. Come on.” She took Jordan’s wrist and led her amongst the prominent citizens of Macon.
They didn’t get far before Lana sucked in her breath and halted for Mrs. McGraw and the sycophants dogging her steps.
“The evening’s not about me,” the woman was saying when Jordan got close enough to hear.
A man walked with her, dodging around others trying to get into her circle. “Congresswoman, aren’t you enraged that—”
“Lord, Tony, what did I just say?” She waggled her finger at him. “Now someone go get me a drink before I actually listen to the question and start a debate when tonight should be non-partisan in every way.”
“Here you go, ma’am.” Jordan held out her untouched glass and the small crowd parted to let her through.
Wine: the great equalizer.
“Why, thank you.” Mrs. McGraw studied her with a shrewd gaze. “Have I seen you here before?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not from around here.” Now everyone stared at her, so she backed away. The spotlight was not for her unless she was playing first base on the softball field. Thankfully someone jumped into her space.
Lana had continued her way to Maisie, and the two women gave each other sincerely fake smiles. Josh was nowhere in sight. Rather than get close enough to have to take sides on who was going to whip up his batter, Jordan left them to it and took a break at the temporary bar set up in a small cafeteria. She released a sigh as she sat on one of the stools. “Amaretto and orange juice, please.”
“We have vodka, rum, and whiskey.” The bartender set a glass in front of her.
She glanced over the brands of alcohol. The whiskey wasn’t from Belle’s Medicinal Brewery, the distillery that was part of Fountenoy Hall. If she drank another brand, she’d feel like a traitor. “Rum and coke.”
The bartender scooped ice cubes in a plastic cup and pulled a bottle off a counter that probably was more used to apple juice and animal crackers. A TV hung on the wall, tuned to a baseball game with the sound off. It wasn’t the Red Sox, but she’d deal. A few men sat in the available chairs, their attention on the television.
She sipped her drink and submerged herself in the familiar territory of the game to quell the lingering vision of Josh naked except for buttercream frosting in strategic places. The first baseman stood too casually, but she guessed he was more alert than he let on and was trying to put the runner off guard. She’d done that herself many times.
She took a healthy swallow of her drink, enjoying the bubbles of the soda and the smooth flavor of the rum. The baserunner took a few large steps to lead off first and she perked up. Competing against hungry players was her favorite part of the game. Their excitement, their eagerness, their despair when the ball made it to the base first. Even the memory of the intensity sent a thrill of adrenaline coursing through her.
The pitcher glanced toward his casual teammate, settled in to pitch to home, then spun and threw to first as the runner took off, the actions mimicking what she and Wendy had done so often when playing in college.
The runner made it safely to second, and the few men sitting at the bar groaned. Jordan could have predicted that outcome. The pitcher and first basemen hadn’t been focused enough.
Wendy would have thrown it better.
A man sitting at the other end of the bar gave her a smile that bordered on assessment. Lana hadn’t mentioned if her game went beyond the server and guest pairing, but Jordan had no intention of being cupcaked. She could give him her iced stare if necessary, but hopefully he’d take the hint.
The smell of garlic and onions wafted to her and she turned to find the source of the scent. Josh stood at one of the tables, holding a tray of folded pastas.
“Kreplach?” he asked the couple sitting there. “Fried to golden brown perfection and served with an apricot dipping sauce.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting his rich voice settle over her as if it was eight years earlier. Yes, he had been a total douche. Yes, she wanted to know what had happened to him that morning. But no, she wasn’t going to live her life in the past.
She examined the folded pasta when Josh came her way and raised her eyebrows, resolutely blocking his fresh, soapy scent. “Really? Kreplach?”
His mouth twitched. “It’s a wonton. Made with ground beef and seasonings, but no mashed potatoes. And no dairy.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.” She kept her tone as dry as an overbaked cupcake.
