Page 53 of Cupcake of the Month
Jordan sat at the island, still wearing the blue dress. A bag of ice rested over her wrist, and a bottle of ibuprofen sat in front of her next to a mason jar with half an inch of whiskey and a paper plate covered in little white crumbs. The blasted manila envelope lay near her arm, and her phone was face down and out of her reach.
The bravado he witnessed on the library stage was gone. She raised her head when he came in, her eyes listless behind her glasses, her face devoid of emotion. A surge of protectiveness rose up in him at the trust she showed, letting him see her like this. He ached to hold her, to shield her from anything bad.
“Hi.” He grasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her, though he longed to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. “Where are Wendy and Brandi?”
“They fed me whiskey and popcorn, and then I told them good night. They have to get up early. Brandi felt guilty for bringing Blake, but it wasn’t her fault.” She slumped back in her seat. “He used her to get an invitation to the party. Asshole.”
“It wasn’t your fault, either. But you handled it well.”
“We all know how much that matters in politics. There’s already a clip of it online.” She slapped the envelope and smiled, a thin line of lips devoid of humor. “And it was so stupid. He didn’t need that big production. All the lawyer had to do was call my lawyer. Blake wanted a spotlight. He had told Brandi earlier in the evening he had something planned to advance his career. What a dick.”
He unclasped his hands and pulled her against his chest before his brain could stop the urge. Her warm body melted against his. Her wounded wrist remained on the island, but her other hand clutched at his t-shirt and held on.
“Yesterday you left me with lame excuses,” she mumbled after a moment. “Today you kiss me and defend me. I don’t get you.”
Her words tugged at his heart. He had tried to keep her away from the mess of his life, but he was selfish. Wanted one thing for himself. He stroked her hair over the pins in her twist, imagining pulling them out one by one. “I’m surprised you’re not mad at me.”
“I’m mad at you for not trusting me with whatever’s holding you back. From me. From us. I shouldn’t have to prove myself to you.” She shifted to glare at him straight on. The smudges of makeup added to the dark circles under her eyes. “So what’s the deal?”
Josh had to tell her something or lose her forever. He swallowed. “You deserve someone better than me.”
There. He said it. The kitchen hummed with the words and the air compressed around him. Jordan did nothing but stare at him, her beautiful brown eyes unblinking.
“And?”
And? What did that mean? He wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans and stood up, filled with restless energy. “You’re smart and have so much to offer this world, Jay. I don’t want to bring you down.”
“Don’t you think that’s for me to decide?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” The air electrified between them and Josh needed to step away. His mind might be jumbled, but baking would straighten him out. He went into the pantry and came back out with the flour and baking soda.
Her eyebrows raised, and she pushed the envelope awayfrom her. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said. Measuring cups joined the dry goods on the counter, then sugar, cocoa, and vanilla extract.
“We’re not done with this conversation, but I must say you are good at distraction.” She sat up straighter.
Next came the eggs out of the fridge. He put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes as if assessing her abilities. “Can you crack?”
“If you cover my brace.” Jordan held up her wrist.
He went into the butler’s pantry and found the box of latex gloves, then covered Jordan’s wrist.
“How many?”
He had enough dry ingredients for two batches. “Six.”
He measured the flour while she cracked the first egg. “I can’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”
“Do you want me to throw this at you?” She held up an egg. “Come on, Josh. Don’t you want to be with me?”
He couldn’t lose what he never had. “It’s not—”
“Oy vey, if you say it’s not about me, I will dump these on your head.” She cracked the last one with a resounding thwack against the bowl, then slid off the gloves. She sidled up next to him, desire clear in her eyes. Her tongue snuck out and moistened her lips. “Make it about me.”
How could he resist that invitation? He lowered his head, desire burning through him, and devoured her mouth. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her against his body.
She sighed and molded herself to him. “Just like this.”
