“The girl you had set this up for you is an ex?”
I lick my lips free of frosting. I don’t even know why this girl is trying to be in fashion. She and Aiden are right; cupcakes make life better. “Not really an ex, just a casual fling.”
She raises her brows at me, waggling them seductively. “Should I be worried? She did a great job.”
I scoff. “Believe me. Nothing to worry about. She’s just a friend, and I’m all about supporting small businesses. Hell, pretty sure I’m keeping Brooks House in business.”
“You eat free,” she says dryly, and I laugh.
“But your tips are always top-notch.”
She snorts. “True. I may need to start getting paid at my aunt’s cupcakery so I can buy new shoes,” she says with a sigh, and I feel terrible. I know it wasn’t my fault—the bridge was a little off-kilter and old as hell—but I still hate that she broke her shoe on our date.
“You’re not getting paid?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve been working for free, my choice, and she says it’s ’cause I don’t want it to be real. She’s right, but that may need to change.”
“I feel it should. These cupcakes are fantastic.”
“Thanks,” she says proudly. “I told her about you.”
“Did you? Damn, that’s Emery and your aunt. I hope I get to Aiden first.”
She grins. “You will. Audrey wouldn’t tell a soul, and Emery wouldn’t either.” She pauses. “But get your cash lined up, just in case.” I chuckle as she laughs, bringing her knees to her chest. She’s so beautiful. Her crop top shows off her belly, which is not as defined as I thought it would be. But then I realize that she doesn’t go to the gym; she makes cupcakes. And I, for one, am here for this. I love cupcakes, and I’d love something to squeeze when I’m slamming into her. She doesn’t have a bra on. I can tell because her nipples are visibly hard. Yes, I’m struggling with keeping my hands to myself. I think I deserve more cupcakes for that. Her hair is half down and half up in a playful, flirty way, but I have to say it’s the jeans that do it for me. I love how tight they are along her hips and thighs. It was a gift from God watching that ass as we biked through the park. Hot damn, I won the lottery with this one.
“What’s your favorite thing about playing hockey?”
I smile, confused by the change of topic, but I like it. “I love scoring.”
“I bet you do,” she teases, those brows waggling at me, setting me on fire. “What do you dislike most?”
“Playing friends from my past. Brings up bad memories.”
“That has to be hard. I hate seeing people from high school.”
“Exactly. But now that we’ve won the Cup back-to-back, people are kind of shitty. No one thought we could pull it out and doubted us from the jump. The guys weren’t even in the Cup final, and still, they couldn’t be supportive. Just real negative.”
“I don’t do negativity. I am all about positive vibes. You don’t need that.”
“Yeah. That’s what Aiden and Boon said. I depend on them a lot.”
“I can’t say much about Boon, other than he is the most amazing husband to Posey and an awesome father to Zac. But I know Aiden, and he is, hands down, the best guy a girl could ask for. He loves so hard and is so supportive. You picked a great best friend.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “Hopefully he won’t dump me when I tell him I’m dating his sister.”
Her lips quirk as her cheeks get the sweetest blush to them. “Well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and then I smile over at her when her hand lands in mine, threading our fingers together.
“I do have a question, though.”
“Okay.”
“You do know I’m nineteen, right?”
I blink, confused. “Yes?”
“And you’re twenty-five?”
“Yes. Twenty-six next month.”
“What day?” she asks excitedly.
“The ninth.”
“Ooh! I’ll put that in my phone now.”
I take her phone before she can, laying it back on the blanket. “After you make your point about ages.”
She sends me a sheepish grin. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t drinking age yet and that I am younger.”
“Okay. Am I supposed to care?”
Her grin grows. “No, but some do.”
“Not me. I don’t care about your age. I care how you make me feel.”
“How is that, Wesley?”
I lick my lips then, threading my fingers with hers. “Pretty damn good.”
“Just good? I feel pretty damn great.”
We share a smile. “Fine. Pretty damn spectacular.”
“Ooh, fine. Pretty damn perfect.”
“Wow, you beat me.”
“I know,” she says with a little tip of her chin. “Get used to it.”
She takes her phone back, and I pull out mine to send a quick text. Once I get the answer I want, I send some money through Venmo and tuck my phone in my back pocket. She takes a few photos, and I love the smile sitting on her face. It’s so blissful and happy. When she puts the camera on me, I throw up my hand. “Hell no. I look like shit.”