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  I shake away that insanity and get my rear in gear. I have a man to impress with my business mind. As Jeanine said, I need to fatten him up.

  Chapter Three

  After work, I hurry home wanting to clean up a bit. I helped out frosting cupcakes today and while I wore an apron, I ended up with some of it on me. I look at myself in the mirror and smile. Who would have thought I would end up running a shop that sold cupcakes? I definitely didn’t think I would when Ed, Fritz, and I were deployed—the one we almost didn’t come back from. But one weekend retreat for help with PTSD and we discovered Ed was a genius. The retreat featured help through hobbies. While Fritz and I ended up knitting—don’t judge since both of us can make some mean scarves—Ed had fallen in love with baking. He spent the entire weekend with his hands in sugar. From that, the idea just formed. And I’m thankful for it. I get to live here in the city I love near my folks and my sister. And EJ.

  I can’t think of San Antonio without thinking of her. Which is stupid because she’s not from here. Charleston…I think? Is that where her father lives? No, she’s originally from Savannah, and I think that’s where her father lives. I’m not sure because from what I gather, he’s not in her life much. But there is no doubt, she’s a southern woman with all the sass and sweetness. There is something about her accent, the way sex seemingly drips from every syllable. No matter what she says, I can’t help but think about how that voice would sound in the morning, filled with sleepy satisfaction after a night of hard fucking.

  I realize I’m standing there in the bathroom with a goofy smile on my face. Not only that, the familiar beat of arousal thrums through me. I need to get my head screwed on straight, keep my mind on what I need to accomplish tonight.

  My phone rings with my mother’s ringtone. I see her face on my screen and click on it immediately.

  “Hey, sweetie, are you coming over for dinner tonight?”

  “No. I have a business dinner.”

  “Oh?”

  Crap. If my mother gets wind of this, she’ll start needling me. Mom has never been one of those busybody moms. She lets us live our lives. That all changed last month when my sister and Ed got engaged. Now she seems fixated on the idea that I don’t date.

  “Yeah, EJ wants to do some cross-promo.”

  “That’s brilliant but then, that’s EJ.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, not tonight? I was thinking of cooking out this weekend. Ed and Allison are going to come over. I thought maybe you, Fritz, and EJ might want to come. Not sure if Savannah will be able to make it.”

  “Sunday?”

  All of them worked a lot of weekends. It is my weekend off, but Ed and Fritz would be in the shop this Saturday, and I’m pretty sure EJ will be working. Sunday is a day that all of us had off, except Savannah. I have no idea what day she regularly has off—if she has one.

  “That will work.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Good. Have fun tonight.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not a fun kind of meeting.”

  “Hmm, okay. I’ll text the info about Sunday.”

  “Love you,” I say. From the time I heard the word cancer associated with my mom when I was seventeen, I can’t hang up without saying it. I wasn’t a child but being faced with losing her before I was eighteen scared the crap out of me. Now, I never want her to guess how I feel about her.

  “Love you too, Harry. Have fun,” she says again before hanging up.

  With a sigh and a glance up in the mirror, I laugh. I still have frosting in my hair. Jesus, I’m a mess. Looking at the time, I realize I have just a few minutes to clean up, but there’s no way I’m going to EJ’s tonight sweaty and frosted. I start my shower just as my phone buzzes again.

  It’s a group text with Fritz and Ed, started by Fritz.

  Fritz: Do you need pointers for tonight?

  Ed: I know how to win a woman over. So, I can tell you how I sweettalked your sister.

  Me: I have said this before, if you continue with those kinds of comments about my sister, I will murder you.

  Ed: And now they will have a record of your threat. Not smart.

  Me: Happy to go to jail if I don’t ever have to hear about you and my sister again.

  Fritz: Just don’t piss her off like you did on the DFH.

  Jesus, they were never going to let me forget that.

  Me: This isn’t a date. This is business. You stick to being the pretty one. Ed, you stick to the baking. I will handle this.

  I’m about to set my phone down, but then decide to text EJ.

  Me: Do we need wine tonight?

  I don’t want to stand there waiting, so I set my phone down and ignore any other texts from my friends. I undress as fast as I can. It would not do to be late for a meeting with EJ. The woman is insane about being on time and, well, I want to make sure to start off this thing on the right foot.

  I step into my shower and soap up. Of course, thinking about my companion for dinner tonight makes my dick twitch. Fuck, not just a twitch. She’s been in every one of my fantasies for the last two years. I wrap my hand around my dick and pump it a few times. Unable to avoid the need I feel, I close my eyes and think about her…those lips, those hips, and Jesus, that ass. I hate tiny little women…or I’ve gotten that way in the last couple of years. Now, I gravitate to fuller women, with a little bit of meat to hold onto. And, fuck, did EJ have some meat on her bones. She was luscious in every way, like a treat I would probably never get sick of. That thought should freak me out, but it doesn’t; instead, my fantasy comes into full technicolor. I imagine her naked, water dripping from her flesh…her breasts.

  I pump myself harder, my cock pulsing with need. I can imagine her mouth on me, then one of her delicate hands sliding over my cock. I want her like this, in my shower, wet, so fucking hot that I have to pick her up, slam her against the wall, then thrust into her again and again, until we both come. Her pussy tightening around me as she moans my name. That one vision pushes me over the edge as hot ropes of cum shoot up from my sac and out of my dick. I groan as I give over to my orgasm, shuddering as relief washes over me. Moments later, I’m clean and stepping out of my shower. I have just enough time to get dressed and be on my way to EJ’s.

  EJ: No thanks. I picked up a nice Pino from HEB today. *winky face emoji*

  And just like that, the relief I took in the shower disappears and my need rises to the surface again. At my age, this is just insane. I should have better control over my dick. But here I was, about to get in my car and drive over to her apartment with a hard-on. And it shows no sign of letting up.

  Fuck me.

  Chapter Four

  If there is one thing my southern roots taught me: always be prepared. Sure, the Boy Scouts might like to say they came up with the slogan—my Mama thinks they stole the saying from her great-great-grandma—but there is nothing like a southern woman getting prepared for battle.

  Granted, I don’t think that I have a big fight on my hands. I thought Harry might object to working with me. He doesn’t like me or my ability to stick it to him. After talking to Ed, I knew I had no choice. All he wanted to talk about was cupcakes and cakes. I got nowhere talking about cost and what kind of social media we could do. It isn’t that Ed isn’t smart enough to handle that kind of stuff, but all he cares about these days is baking and Allison.

  So, Harry is going to have to be my point of contact. On Monday, I realized my mouth had once again gotten me into trouble, but I can’t help it. He’s so damned strait-laced sometimes. He was raised by a strong woman, and there’s no doubt Allison would be able to kick his rear. Still, he seems to take offense to me. So, I had avoided him.

  I push down all the feelings that rise up. All those thoughts of not fitting in again. It’s not like I don’t know my worth but being raised in Savannah and Charleston among some of the richest families in the south, didn’t make for an easy childhood. My mother and my grandma had always built me up. Even after t
he shambles of my parents’ marriage, my mother never had a bad thing to say about my father. He was part of me, and she would never do that. My father was another story all together.

  From the moment the joint custody agreement was agreed to, I was forced to spend every other weekend with my father and his child bride. On top of that, I spent most of those weekends alone, which was preferable. When I had to spend time with him, he reminded me why he left my mother, that I was too big, too loud, and too lazy—because being an avid reader made me lazy. By the time I left for college two years later, I did have a few dents in my ego. Thankfully, I built my ego back up with reassurances from my mother and friends like Allison. Now, I’m ready to take on the world.

  I shake away those thoughts and look over the table noting that everything seems to be in place. I took Allison’s suggestion and made my mother’s shrimp and grits. The wine is chilling. All I need is the man.

  As soon as I think it, it brings up one of the many fantasies I have about Harry. He doesn’t like me, and I definitely don’t care for him, but I can’t stop thinking about him. It doesn’t help that I have the most vivid dreams about him. Remember, I told you about it before and yes, my face is still on fire every time I think about it. I’m not a woman who blushes about sex. I’ve been in charge of my own orgasms for a decade, and I don’t really need a man to satisfy me. Granted, a man can be fun, but I’ve learned that depending on one isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. So, while I don’t mind a dalliance, I rely on myself in and out of bed.

  The doorbell rings pulling me out of my thoughts. I draw in a deep breath and walk over to the door. After years of knowing Harry, I still get a little tongue-tied when we interact. It’s that serious look he gives me all the time. Like he’s trying to figure out if I’m insane or not. And now…he’s even more delicious heading toward his mid-thirties. Tall, broad, and with a delicious collection of tattoos, Harry draws eyes anywhere he goes. His milk chocolate eyes and beard complete the look, and he looks even sexier now that a few gray hairs are intermixed in with his dark brown hair. I think I’m prepared until I open the door.

  Good God.

  He’d changed from what he was wearing earlier. A dark green button-down shirt shouldn’t get me hot. I’ve always gone for a variety of different men, but I tend to stay away from any kind of businessman. Of course, none of them have been as sexy as Harry in the simple dress shirt. The shirt is tucked into a pair of jeans that hug his lean hips and leave very little to the imagination. He’s rolled up his sleeves, showing off the colorful ink on his corded forearms. I’ve only seen the entire sleeves once when we all went up to Schlitterbahn. I know the explosion of color covers his back also. Now, I want to see them again. Also, does he have any on his butt? This question has bothered me over the last few months.

  Bad, EJ.

  The date from hell, otherwise known as DFH, should have warned me off the man. We are incompatible on so many levels, but apparently my libido didn’t get the message. Because, right now, it’s telling me to lean closer and kiss him—or bite him. Maybe both. And my out of control libido is telling me I just have to see if his tattoos go all the way down to his ass.

  “Hey, Harry,” I say trying to keep my voice even and totally failing.

  “EJ,” he says in that serious, gravelly tone and I just melt. The man has no idea how sexy he is. I am absolutely positive of that. Still, though, he says nothing else. He just stands there smiling and, of course, that keeps me from being able to think. Like any kind of thoughts whatsoever.

  Good lord, I’m not making any sense in my head, but it’s all his fault. All he does is curve his lips and I can’t form thoughts or words or anything. Also, I am pretty sure my panties are wet. I shift my feet. Yep, those suckers are drenched.

  “Uh, EJ, you want me inside your apartment, right?”

  I snort and step back. “Sorry. Long day.”

  “Completely understand,” he says, stepping over the threshold. It now seems so much smaller than just five minutes ago. He’s been here before, once or twice, when we all hung out. I shut the door and step around him. It’s then that he notices my bare feet. He stares at them for a long time, and I thank the gods that I remembered to have a pedicure this weekend.

  His gaze raises to mine and I wonder at the banked heat I see there. Of course, there’s a good chance I just imagined it because it disappears in a blink of an eye.

  “Do you want me to take my shoes off?”

  I smile and shrug. “Whatever you feel like doing. I can’t stand wearing shoes. You can take the girl out of South Carolina…”

  His smile transforms into a grin and my heart does that little skip. Along with my core, which clenches just seeing the flash of white. Harry can be kind of serious when it comes to everyday life, but when he smiles like that, it’s a beautiful thing. His eyes warm and his mouth curves. Sweet baby Jesus. What does he look like when he’s wearing nothing but that smile?

  It's then that I notice the box for the first time.

  “What’s that?” I ask pointing to it.

  “Ed sent some cupcakes.”

  “Margarita?”

  He nods and I can’t help the smile. Ed might be a goofy baker, but he does know his audience. I take the box from Harry.

  “Do you want some wine? I opened a bottle of Russo’s newest Pinot Grigio.” It’s a winery that we both like. It is one of the few good things that came out of the DFH.

  “Sounds fantastic.”

  I walk over to my small kitchen and set the box on the tiny breakfast bar. One day, I’ll have a massive kitchen with a big stove and lots of cabinets. Right now, I’m putting all my money back into Magnolia Books. That’s my focus for right now. After pouring us both a glass, I set one up on the breakfast bar. “Have a seat while I finish this up.”

  He does, then stills when he looks at the stove. “Is that shrimp and grits?”

  I smile. “Yeah.”

  “You know that I’ll probably be happy to work with you on anything, right? You don’t have to ply me with food or get me drunk.”

  I roll my eyes. “It would take more than a glass of wine to get a man your size drunk.”

  He grunts at that and takes a sip of the wine. “True. Even so, Ed pretty much said we were doing it without asking me.”

  I laugh and his eyes narrow. “Sorry, but Ed’s kind of focused on the food. He gets all excited about a new recipe and he’s lost in that. Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s why Camos and Cupcakes is doing so well, but I know when it comes to particulars, I need to talk to you.”

  He cocks his head. “Did you just give me a compliment?”

  I stop chopping the garlic and look up at him. His serious look is back. I shift my weight again and feel how wet my panties are. Damn. I’m pretty sure my panties are ruined.

  “Kind of, but basically just stating fact. When it comes to the work behind the scenes, I know it’s you.”

  “And you would know, wouldn’t you? I mean, you have to do all the work. I have two other adults to help.”

  I laugh and start chopping the garlic again. “No, you don’t. Ed lives for baking. Fritz, well, he’s the player. Don’t get me wrong, they have their jobs and they do them very well. But I don’t have to juggle monkeys every day like you all do.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks as I toss the garlic in the heated skillet.

  “Your inventory changes over daily. It makes my eye twitch to think about starting over every morning. I know Ed lives for it. But, me, I like to hide out with my books.”

  I take a sip of wine, then grab the shrimp to have them at hand for when I have to throw them into the pan. One of the things I know ruins shrimp and grits is overcooking of the shrimp. Everything else is ready.

  He hums and I look up. Harry isn’t a man I would think would hum. “What?”

  “It just all smells so good.”

  I smile. I do know how to cook, my mama made sure of that. I don’t often do it for men, but then
I don’t get that involved with them. All surface. That’s the way I like it. Men are expendable and if a woman relies on one too much, she will be left high and dry. I’m not an idiot who thinks all men are bad. There’s Ed. And Mr. Bradley, Harry and Allison’s dad. But James women have a really bad history with men, and I don’t want to deal with the heartache.

  “What’s that look for?” he asks.

  I blink. “What look?”

  “You looked a little sad.”

  There is no way I’m exposing my feelings right now. Not to Harry. My friends don’t know the entire story. So, I do what I do when things get too serious. I lie.

  “I miss Charleston every now and then.”

  “Why did you stay in Texas?”

  “Charleston and Savannah—which is really where I would put a bookstore if I wanted to open in the area— has grown in the last few decades, but it’s still like a little town. Everyone knows everyone else in Savannah society.”

  “That might help you.”

  Smart. He has always been the brains behind the cupcakes.

  “True, but there’s a price that comes with it too. I like Texas, and why would I want to give up my store when it’s set up across the hall from Camos and Cupcakes?”

  He chuckles. The sound of it slips beneath my skin and leaves me a little breathless. Calm down, woman.

  “That’s true. Is that why you told Allison about the space?”

  “Sort of. Plus, I wanted a business I knew would do well. The owner of the cafe before you was an ass.” He had made my skin crawl. “So, when Allison told me about your plans, I told her about the spot.”

  When Creepy McCreepason went out of business across the hall, I immediately told Allison. I did not want to take the chance of having another creepy guy across the hall.

  I toss the shrimp, then grab the pot of grits. After I prepare the two plates, I turn off the heat under the shrimp and add that to the grits.