After taking her for ice cream at The Scoop, we make the drive home singing to the radio, and the only time I let go of her hand is when I have to shift gears. When I walk her to her door, she kisses me sweetly, and I resist the urge to press her against the wall and run my hands all over her body.
“This was perfect,” she whispers against my lips.
“You are perfect,” I whisper back.
I press one last kiss to her lips and step away. She opens her apartment door and steps inside, but her eyes never leave mine. Not until the door clicks shut.
I drive back to my condo with a stupid grin on my face, replaying every touch, every smile, and how she reacted to each of my confessions with awe. I’m a dopey lovesick fool and I don’t give a fuck. I’ve always been a bit soft for Ivy, but I’m a fucking marshmallow now.
When I get home, I jerk off to my mental soundtrack of her moans. Because my heart may be soft when it comes to Ivy Rivenbark, but my dick definitely isn’t.
16
“I’m here!” Jesse says as he pops out of the crowd and squeezes in next to us. “Just in time! I got out the door but had to turn around because I almost forgot these.” He holds up a reusable grocery sack, then reaches in and pulls out some scraps of yarn and hands one to each of us.
“What the fuck are these?” Kelley asks as he studies the knitted object. It’s a circular strip of blue and purple yarn, with a white B knitted onto one side.
“What do you mean what the fuck are these?” Jesse puts the object on his head, positioning the B directly in the middle of his forehead. “They’re sweat bands, man.” Jesse flexes his biceps like a body builder and growls. Then points to the B. “With a B, for Bailey the Baking Beast.”
“Oh, they’re so cute, Jesse!” I say earnestly as I put mine on. “Here, I made you a t-shirt.” I hand him over the tie-dye shirt that I decorated with little puff paint cookies and #TEAMBAILEY in all capital letters across the front.
“Sweeeet. Hashtag Team Bailey!”
As we stand in the back of the shop in our matching t-shirts and sweatbands, the excitement in the room is palpable. Bailey is set up behind a long counter, and she is next to four other contestants. Each contestant was allowed to invite up to four guests to watch the competition from inside the bakery. Everyone else has to watch it live on The Morning Show on Channel 5 News.
On the side of the room there is a panel of three judges, and the camera crew for the news station is set up in the corner, giving them a direct view of all the people participating in today’s competition.
I keep my eyes on Bailey, willing her to look my way. She was so nervous last night, and was already gone when I woke up this morning, so I wasn’t able to wish her luck in person. I did let her borrow my crappy car, though, because she couldn’t risk carrying the baked masterpieces on her Honda. Plus, she said she didn’t want to chance having helmet hair while live streaming on local television.
When she finally glances our way, I throw her two thumbs up and she smiles nervously. When Jesse sees her looking, he jumps out in front of us and throws up his arms.
“Go beast mode, Bailey,” he shouts as he flexes his biceps and points to the B on his sweatband. “Hashtag Team Bailey!”
Bailey’s eyes grow wide, and she scowls at him while subtly shaking her head. I roll my eyes at the exchange. I know Jesse did it for laughs, and Bailey might be embarrassed, but she’s not actually mad. Their friendship dynamic is so weird. It basically consists of irritation, bickering, and sarcastic eye rolls. Like siblings.
My attention is grabbed by the guy sitting next to her. He looks so familiar, but I can’t quite place him. He tries to stifle a laugh, which isn’t unreasonable because Jesse is ridiculous, but Bailey pins the guy with a scathing glare. The intensity and hatred behind it I’ve never seen from her before—and Bailey can get pretty worked up when she’s angry, so that’s saying something. If Bailey could shoot lasers from her eyeballs, this guy next to her would be cinders on the ground.
When the contestants present their cookie submissions, the guy next to Bailey introduces himself as Riggs Stanton, and she scoffs and rolls her eyes. It’s not loud or obvious, but I notice because I’m watching her closely. By the way Riggs stiffens, I can tell that he notices, too. Interesting.
The taste-testing and judging doesn’t take long—maybe an hour total, thanks to the pauses they need to take for commercial breaks. When it’s time to announce the
winner, the atmosphere in the room is tense, and I lock my hands with Jesse and Kelley, squeezing tightly.
I’m positive Bailey is going to win.
I’m absolutely sure of it.
Her submission was the most creative, and I know for a fact it tastes divine. One of the judges actually let out a little moan when he tasted her oatmeal raisin and carrot cake cookie.
So, when they announce the winner as Riggs Stanton, I am legitimately shocked, and the blank look on Bailey’s face gives nothing away. When she makes her way to us, Jesse throws his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in.
“Wanna go get high, Barnes?” he says, low enough so only we can hear.
Bailey nods slowly, as if still in disbelief, and says without emotion, “Fuck yes.”
* * *
“What kind of name is Riggs, anyway?” Bailey spits the name from her tongue like it’s poison, and I suppose right now it kind of is.