Page 34 of Sweet Hate
He’s worried it won’t be.
So now what?
If it’s not done in time, I have no option but to cancel the order. Not only will I feel like a total asshole letting them down at the eleventh hour, but it will also spell out career suicide for me locally, not to mention putting an end to any hope I have of staying here to run this place for Grams.
The Merryweather’s have the money and the power to get another cake sorted, but they won’t be understanding of the situation. If I thought I felt like an outcast before, that’ll be nothing compared to what it’ll be like if I cancel. No one will choose to support the bakery that messed up with the Merryweather family, no matter how much they like Grams. It's just not done around here.
I’d have no option but to go back to London.
This is bad. Really bloody bad.
12
AXEL
After theincidentwith Haven in the bakery, even cold showers haven’t been enough to kill my desire for her. That barely there kiss has been on replay constantly, leaving me aching with need.
I’ve put a self-imposed ban on my right hand, which leaves me with the worst case of blue balls known to mankind because I can’t even jerk off without picturing her anymore.
I glare at said hand curled around my whiskey glass.Traitor. I can still remember the feel of her hand in mine from earlier today. I hadn’t even realized I grabbed it.
If there was any doubt, absencereally doesmake the heart grow fonder, and all that bullshit. After three days of avoiding my hurricane, the minute I saw her standing there, backlit like an angel in the doorway, all my resolve crumbled under the need to go to her, to touch her somehow—and just that touch has me set to blow.
Maybe I need to see a therapist. I can’t live like this. Perma-boners have got to mess with the brain somehow. How can that function while all my blood is partying down south?
This woman’s presence is my ownpersonal hell.
I need to get laid, but the thought of some random hookup makes my dick go limp almost as quickly as it gets hard around Haven.
Anotherfucking traitor.
I can’t help but let out a frustrated growl, catching the barman’s attention. I signal him for another whiskey draining the rest of this glass in one hit.
I wish Lucas would hurry up and get here. I probably shouldn’t be sinking double whiskeys like shots while I’m waiting, but all I can see is the worry etched across her face. It’s eating me up inside.
I hope he can help me out, because this delay is the last thing I need. I can’t trust myself around her, nor can I let her down. That would hurt me as much as it does her.
I need to fix it for her. And then I need to get the hell away from her.
“Jesus, Verona, grip that any tighter and you’ll break the glass.” Lucas's lazy drawl draws my attention as he sits astride the stool beside me.
“Fucking finally.”
“Where’s the fire?” His sharp blue eyes zero in on my face, his amusement falling away.
Oh no, I don’t need another Beckett situation. Especially since Lucas knows her.
Forcing myself to calm down, I grin at him and buy myself a minute ordering him a beer.
“So, I need a favor. A pretty big favor. You know the bakery under my place?”
“Oh yeah, it caught fire a few weeks ago, right? Your place OK?”
“Yeah, totally fine. I’m fixing it up for Grams. Problem is, there’s a huge issue with the wiring. Hell knows what cowboy installed it to begin with, but that’s what sparked the fire. We’re lucky it wasn’t much worse.”
“Ah, right. Need me to come take a look?”
“Could you? I’ll pay you whatever it is, but I need that sorted like yesterday. I need to have the bakery fully operational in less than a month.” His muttered curse tells me this isn’t gonna be a walk in the park. “I’m sorry, bro, I know I’m asking a lot. I’ll owe you one.”
