Page 37 of Not Your Valentine
Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have been honest about that.
What happened? he asks.
Oh, just a crappy day at work.
Want me to come over? I’ll get you something that will cheer you up.
My mind immediately goes to a bunch of dirty places, and my heart thumps in excitement. Disturbing.
Sure, I reply. But you don’t live all that close. If it’s a hassle, don’t bother.
He assures me it’s not and says he’ll be here in an hour.
I can’t help wondering whether he plans to kiss me tonight.
Chapter 13
When I open the door for Taylor, I’m wearing yoga pants and a hoodie. I considered putting on something more revealing but told myself no. It’s just one friend hanging out with another at home. No need to dress up.
Taylor isn’t dressed up, either: just jeans and a sweatshirt from his university. His hair is tied back, but some strands have come loose, and I want to tuck them behind his ear.
Instead, I take the small box from his hands so he can remove his boots. There’s a sticker holding the box closed, with a logo for a bakery that I don’t recognize.
“Go ahead, open it up,” he says once he steps inside.
“I, uh, yeah.” I feel a bit awkward around him now. You know, because last time we saw each other, we kissed, and he’s been starring in my fantasies lately.
I take the box to the kitchen counter and open the lid.
“Oh my fucking God. You didn’t.” I give Taylor a light smack on the shoulder.
He just smiles and shrugs, looking innocent, as if he didn’t buy me a damn heart-shaped chocolate cake.
It’s a small cake, the perfect size for two people. There’s light brown chocolate buttercream on the sides and dark chocolate on the top, elegantly dripping downward. It’s decorated with tiny pink and white hearts.
“You didn’t,” I say.
“I sure did. I heard about this place and figured I’d give it a try. The heart-shaped cakes are a special right now because Valentine’s Day is coming up. When I saw them, I thought of you.”
My heart definitely does not melt to mush at those words. After all, he was just thinking of annoying me.
“It’s supposed to be rich and delicious,” he says, “but if you don’t want it, I’ll eat it all myself.” He smirks.
“Oh, fuck you,” I say.
I cut the cake in two and hand him the plate with the larger piece. Then I lead him to the couch, and as soon as I sit down, I take a bite of my cake. It’s absolutely amazing, and I close my eyes to savor it.
When I open them, Taylor is giving me an odd look.
“Want to tell me about your shitty day at work?” he asks.
“I made a mistake and started feeling like a failure again.”
“You’re not a failure.”
His earnestness is so damn sweet. Ugh.
“Sometimes I regret quitting my PhD program,” I say.
