Stud Muffin Read online

  I watch from the corner of my eye as Tempest drinks her Coke and tries not to look at me. She glances my way then quickly looks in another direction while biting down on her bottom lip. It’s completely adorable, but I force myself not to react. It’s obvious she has something on her mind but is stalling, so I’ll wait until she’s ready to share, enjoying just being near her in the meantime.

  She’s on her second Coke, straight-up with a lime when she finally turns to face me.

  “Yes, Tempest?” I ask, managing to keep my eyes on the patrons in hopes that she’ll work up the confidence to say whatever she came to say. All the while praying it has nothing to do with the fact I almost kissed her the other night. I’m hoping we can just let that slide. Honest mistake. Beautiful girl. Close contact. These things happen. “Something you’d like to say?”

  “I’m sorry for the other night,” she spits out and my heart drops.

  This catches me off guard. If anyone needs to apologize for that night, it’s me.

  “Sorry for what?” I ask.

  “For leaving so... abruptly. It was very rude of me to walk out like that. I didn’t even say goodbye… or thank you. After you took time out of your day to help me. I swear, I have better manners than that. And I promise I’ll be better next time.”

  “It’s fine, really,” I assure her. Turning to see the earnest look in her eyes. She means it. “I’m just glad to hear there’ll be a next time. I was afraid I’d scared you off.”

  “Definitely not,” she says with a nervous smile that she covers quickly by taking another sip of her Coke. “I really enjoyed it and I slept like a freaking baby that night. Who knew spending the day with you, getting all worked up and sweaty, would end up being so relaxing?”

  Her blush is immediate and the laugh I bark out serves a multitude of purposes. One, I need to diffuse the situation before she runs off again. Two, it was funny as shit. And three, if I don’t distract myself right now, I’ll only be thinking of other ways to make Tempest sweaty.

  Meanwhile, she now has her head in her hands and is mumbling about not going out in public ever again. “Relax,” I whisper, placing my hand on her shoulder, I give her what I hope is a comforting, albeit friendly squeeze, while trying to control my laughter. “You can’t stay locked inside forever, Tempest. Life would be too boring.”

  She picks up her head and looks at me but doesn’t look convinced. “You’re really too nice, Cage. Thank you for being such a good friend.”

  There’s that damn word again. Friends.

  “We are friends, right?” she continues.

  “Of course,” I reply.

  “Okay, then I have a favor to ask.”

  The nervous look is back and I don’t like it, so I sit next to her on one of the barstools, hoping my closeness helps her relax. “What’s up?”

  She takes a deep breath, pushing some hair behind her ear. “You can say no,” she starts, worry creasing her forehead.

  “Just tell me… spit it out.”

  “Okay, here goes… this year is my ten year class reunion. I don’t know if you know what it’s like living in a small town, I’m guessing you don’t, but see, here’s the deal, if I don’t go, everyone is going to talk about me… well, they’re going to talk about me regardless, but if I don’t go, they’ll assume I’m weak and pathetic and that Asher ruined me. And he’ll get to walk around like the king he was back in high school, with his brand new wife on his arm. And well, I can’t let that happen. Which means, I have to go, but I can’t go alone… that would be even more pathetic than if I didn’t go at all. So, I need you to pretend to be my date… or well, you know, go as my friend, but if anyone asks, maybe we could pretend like we’re more than friends?”

  Her words flood out in a nervous, jumbled mess. But I think I get the gist—Tempest has a class reunion and she needs to go to save face and she wants me to be her date. I try not to let a smug smile creep onto my face, but I fail. Instead, I turn my head to look out at the club, making it look like I’m just doing my job.

  “Uh, I guess I could do that… I mean, we’re friends,” I tell her, keeping my tone casual. Nothing to see here, move along. “And friends don’t let friends go to ten year class reunions alone.”

  I turn back to her just in time to see a wide smile split her beautiful face, reaching all the way to her eyes. I think for a split second she’s going to leap off her barstool and hug me, or better yet, kiss me. But instead, she bounces in her seat and claps her hands. “Thank you. Seriously, I’ll owe you an entire batch of whatever muffins you want for the next year.” I could go for being paid in Tempest’s muffin… muffins. I mean muffins, like the baked variety… sweet and delicious.

  Cut it the fuck out, Cage.

  “Well, I definitely can’t pass up a deal like that.”

  She reaches into a bag that she’d set down at her feet and pulls out a box I recognize from the bakery. “I was hoping you’d say yes. Consider these a down payment.”

  Cracking the box open, the smell of chocolate and cherries practically knocks me off the barstool. “Fuck,” I groan, immediately picking one up and lifting it to my mouth. Most of the time, I’m not an instant gratification kind of guy. I typically take my time, knowing the best things in life take hard work and patience. Being a fighter taught me that. But right now, sitting on this barstool in a strip club in Green Valley, Tennessee, all of that goes flying out the window.

  I want this delicious looking muffin… that appears to be more of a mini cake than a muffin… and I want it now… almost as much as I want the woman who made it. Taking one bite makes my eyes roll into the back of my damn head.

  Heaven.

  Fucking gooey, delicious heaven.

  “It’s uh, Going Through the Big D… and I don’t mean Dallas,” Tempest says hesitantly, adding on a nervous chuckle at the end. “It’s like, if a Texas Sheet Cake had a baby with a Black Forest Cake… but in a muffin… with chocolate drizzled over the top… I mean, go big or go home, right?”

  That nervous, jumbled mess is back and I’d like nothing more than to shut her up with my mouth on hers, tasting her. I bet she tastes even better than her muffins.

  Is Dallas in reference to me? I almost ask, but hesitate. That sounds a little conceited, even in my head. Speaking it out loud would definitely make me come off as an egotistical prick. But then Tempest sets the record straight.

  “A little you… a little me.”

  The gorgeous blush on her cheeks steals any words I might have, so instead of comments, I just take another bite and swallow down my desire… for now.

  Chapter 13

  Tempest

  Milk

  Cereal

  Bread

  I mentally run through my grocery list because, of course, I forgot to bring my notepad with my actual list on it. I swear, I can’t focus on shit these days. I’d blame the divorce or the ongoing stress of selling the house, but I’d be lying.

  It’s Cage.

  It’s always fucking Cage.

  Actually, not fucking Cage, to be exact.

  I don’t remember ever having this many naughty thoughts about Asher or anyone before, not even when my teenage hormones were supposedly running rampant, but I cannot get Cage Erickson out of my head.

  Our midday kickboxing classes are really the culprit but there’s no way I can quit. I don’t want to, for one. For two, they’re fun and exciting. And best of all, they’re working. I’ve changed in so many ways over the last few weeks—positive changes… confidence, better sleep, less stress—that any lady blue balls I’m suffering are worth it.

  Who can blame me, though?

  Being that close to Cage—with his perfect, sweaty muscles and his ice-blue eyes—for any amount of time would bring most sane women to the brink. And although my sanity has been questioned a lot recently, no one could fault me for lusting after Green Valley’s newest, hottest bachelor.

  The thing is, I think Cage likes me, too.

 
I mean, likes me-likes me. At least, I think he’s attracted to me, much in the same way I am him, which honestly blows my mind. On most days, I convince myself I’m delusional, but then he’ll look at me a certain way—those blue eyes full of heat—or he’ll find a way to touch me without seeming forward or like he’s coming onto me. Maybe he doesn’t want to get mixed up with someone like me, and I don’t blame him for that. I wouldn’t want to get mixed up with me either, if I could help it.

  The way he looks at me, though… there are times when it seems as if he can see into my soul and there’s no judgment, just acceptance. Then, there are the times, like yesterday, where he looks at me like he’s on death row and I’m his last meal.

  The more I think about it, the more I’m certain I felt a bulge against my ass as he came up behind me and pressed his body to mine, in an effort to correct my punching form. It was brief, but I felt it, and now, I can’t stop daydreaming about it.

  “Is that cucumber firm enough for you, Miss Cassidy?”

  “Huh, what?” I turn to see sweet, little Johnny Baker watching me for some reason. Of course, Johnny isn’t little anymore. I believe he’s now a senior in high school and is having one hell of a football season, but he’ll always be the same little boy I used to teach in Sunday School.

  “That cucumber,” he says, pointing to my hands. “You’ve been squeezing it for a few minutes now. If it’s not firm enough, I can maybe go to the back and see if we have any fresh off the truck.”

  It’s then I realize Johnny works here at the grocery store and I have a large cucumber in my hands… stroking it.

  When did I get to the produce section?

  And when did the produce section get so erotic?

  Is it hot in here?

  “Oh, um, no,” I stutter, grabbing a plastic bag from the dispenser. “This one is fine. Thank you, Johnny.” I give him an apologetic smile and put my one stupid cucumber in the bag, tossing it in my buggy and heading for the back of the store.

  Too bad I wasn’t groping an eggplant. At least I like to eat those, unlike the cuke I’m now stuck with.

  What am I here for again?

  I run through my list again, eliminating items like sausage, because I obviously can’t be trusted right now with phallic-shaped food items, and end up in the canned goods aisle. While I’m scanning the many soups available, trying to make a decision, because this is what cooking for one looks like—cans of soup, frozen dinners, and boxes of cereal—I catch a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye. Glancing over, what I see before me nearly makes me drop the can of tomato soup in my hand.

  Well, not what, but who.

  Fucking Mindy.

  Of course, I’d run into her here, at the Piggly Wiggly. I’ve put this task off for weeks, scrounging around in my cupboards for random things to sustain me, for fear of this exact thing. The last time I broke down and came grocery shopping, I did it right before closing time, in hopes I’d miss all the busybodies, but ran smackdab into Mrs. Mitchell, Mindy’s mother. It seems I can’t even grocery shop in peace.

  I make a mental note to start picking up the things I need while I’m in Knoxville… maybe I should just move to Knoxville. No, that would be stupid. I’d have to drive an hour to work at o’dark-thirty, because I love my job… it’s the one bright spot in my life… besides Cage and kickboxing.

  As I inspect the adulteress to my left, the petty side of me can’t help but grin when I notice Mindy has put on a few pounds. Maybe she’s a stress eater. Maybe I should send her a dozen muffins… you know, be the bigger person… like an olive branch.

  Muffins laced with arsenic.

  Get it together, Tempest.

  Murder is a federal offense.

  Thankfully, she hasn’t spotted me yet, so I quietly move to put a few more cans into my buggy, hoping I can sneak off before being spotted. This is me using the tips I’ve learned in my anger management classes—identify pitfalls, seek out solutions, think before you speak. Rather than looking for an opportunity to confront Mindy, I’m taking the high road and leaving before things get nasty. We don’t need to be throwing down at the grocery store, that’s for damn sure.

  Because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment and a freaking idiot, I give her one last look over my shoulder before I push my buggy in the opposite direction.

  That’s when I see it.

  She hasn’t just put on a few pounds, she’s gained a considerable amount of weight. Her new tummy, though, isn’t flabby, it’s very round and pronounced and it makes my own stomach churn with acid.

  Fuck my life, Mindy is pregnant.

  Very, very pregnant, by the looks of things.

  An odd sound pulls me out of my thoughts and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me. I’m making the sound. It’s part whine and part growl and it’s obviously caught Mindy’s attention because she’s walking right toward me.

  Shit.

  What do I do? I don’t want to talk to her, but I’ll be damned if I run away from her. Why couldn’t Lana or Cage, or even Cole, be with me? Don’t they know I can’t be trusted in public alone?

  Just don’t get arrested, Tempest.

  For the love of eggplant and sausage, keep your cool.

  As Mindy gets closer, she begins rubbing her hand over her belly, ensuring I know she’s with spawn, I mean, child. How far along is she anyway? The picnic wasn’t that long ago and she didn’t look pregnant then, did she? Maybe she did, but I was too shocked by the ring on her finger to notice? Also, my mother would’ve said something to me when she broke the news about Mindy and Asher being married, so she must not have noticed either.

  Maybe she just carries big… and early. Maybe she’s pregnant with multiples. That would be rich—I can’t even get pregnant with one, but Mindy Mitchell, husband stealer extraordinaire, can have my husband and all the babies.

  All I know is I have to stop gawking because Mindy is enjoying this way too much.

  “Hey, Tempest. Soup for one, I presume?” Her smile is large and condescending as she glances at the contents of my shopping cart.

  Bitch.

  “You know, I’ve been so busy lately that canned soup is all I have time for some nights. It’s not always the healthiest option, with all that sodium, but I’m fortunate to not retain water, like you obviously do.”

  Really, Tempest? Is that the best put-down you can think of?

  “I’m not bloated, silly.” She laughs, swatting the air in front of her face. “I’m pregnant! Of course, I don’t expect you to notice the difference.”

  It’s illegal to hit a pregnant lady, Tempest.

  She’s not worth the jail time.

  Deep, cleansing breaths.

  You don’t look good in orange.

  “How far along are you?” I ask, willing myself to stay calm. “Elephants are pregnant, for what, two years?” I know I’m being immature, but I’m using my words and not my fists, so I’m calling it a win.

  “Gah, you’re such a bitch. No wonder Asher wanted to leave you. At least I was able to give him what he wanted,” she brags, rubbing her belly even faster than before.

  Maybe if she rubs a little more, a fucking genie will pop out, and I can at least get three wishes out of this deal. Wish one: Asher and Mindy disappear off the face of the planet.

  “And,” she continues, “because I know it’s driving you crazy, I’ll let you in on the secret. I’m in my third trimester.” She smiles and squeals, like we’re BFFs and she just told me the best news. “Just a couple more months to go and this precious bundle of joy will be in the world… gah, Asher is going to be such a great daddy.”

  The blood drains from my face as I do the math in my head. Asher and I have been divorced almost two months. I found them in bed together three months before that. Two plus three does not equal the amount of months it takes to be in the third trimester. I know my pregnancy facts.

  Mindy just answered one of my many burning questions: that sack of shit
was cheating on me months before I busted him.

  And now, he’s having a baby with someone else.

  Honestly, I don’t know how to feel right now… numb, blind-sided, furious, hurt?

  All I know is I’m trying my damnedest not to lose my shit.

  Deep breaths.

  “Believe me,” Mindy says, breaking through the haze I’m in. “I tried and tried to get Asher to leave you before you found out about us on your own, but he didn’t listen.” She sighs, like she’s disappointed for me… like she’s on my side and she was trying to do me a favor. “Oh, well, life goes on, right?”

  We enter into a bit of a staring competition for a brief moment, her bright, smiling eyes against my crazy, sadistic glare. I feel the crazy oozing out of me. When she finally starts to back her buggy up to make a U-turn in the aisle, she has the audacity to smile... and wink at me.

  She’s the incarnation of Satan.

  Asher and Mindy aren’t going to have a bouncing bundle of joy, they’re going to have a devil love child. I should alert the media. This has a horror movie written all over it.

  “See you around, Tempest,” she says over her shoulder, before stopping and turning. “Oh, I guess I’ll see you at the reunion, if not before… and you’re bringing a date, right?”

  Deep breaths, Tempest.

  I don’t answer her with words, only with my glare, hoping it burns a hole in her skull.

  You can do this.

  Don’t let that cow win.

  After she makes a turn onto another aisle, I take a few more deep breaths, willing my nerves to calm, and when that doesn’t work, I close my eyes and try harder. With my hands on my knees, I suck in air like it’s going extinct. My breathing becomes routine and I automatically start swaying my body in preparation for the Tai Chi moves that come next.

  Cage has been teaching me a little bit of Tai Chi to further help channel my anger and anxiety and I have to admit, I love it. Completely forgetting where I am, I begin to perform my favorite combination of steps. If people see me, I don’t care. I’d rather them talk about me doing Tai Chi in the canned goods aisle than losing my shit at the Piggly Wiggly.