She blinked, glancing up at me and licked her lips. “Yes. I’m drunk, not dead.”
With a groan, my head fell back against the couch. “And I’m a vagina, not a pussy, remember? I.e., I’m not sexy.”
“Don’t say pussy to me right now unless you’re going to do something about mine.” I tilted my head down, meeting her eyes, and she stared back at me, dead serious.
My jaw went slack. My cock, on the other hand, went completely rigid. “I thought you said we’re going to be best friends?”
“We are.”
“Has Harry taught you nothing?” I said, gesturing at the screen.
She narrowed her eyes at me, and even though she was still drunk, I was grateful that she wasn’t as plastered as she seemed earlier. “I’m going to get a cupcake. You want one?”
I silently sighed, grateful for the change in subject. “Sure.”
She stood, and I quickly diverted my eyes from the heart-shaped curve of her ass in those ridiculously sexy yoga pants. Seriously, why couldn’t she have at least put on a bra?
“Oh!” Chloe squealed from the kitchen. “You brought a unicorn cupcake!”
I had set one aside just for her when Elaina called because I knew they were her favorite. And they always sell out. “I’ll take a toasted coconut,” I said.
A couple moments later, she came back into the living room holding a plate with two cupcakes and a knife. A very large knife. The kind that you slice a watermelon with.
My eyes went wide. “Uh… Chloe, what are you doing?”
“Hold this.” It wasn’t exactly a question as she shoved the plate of cupcakes into my chest and licked some pink frosting off of her thumb. Then, she raised the knife over her head and brought it down into the leather recliner chair, stabbing and pulling it until strips of leather and foam stuffing surrounded her feet.
Just as casually as the Ethan Allen massacre began, she set the knife down on a side table and took her place beside me once more, grabbing one of the cupcakes. “It was Dan’s favorite chair.”
It was the only explanation she gave. And truthfully, it was the only one needed.
“Unpause the movie,” she said, tapping my arm and pointing at the TV screen.
Holy shit. Note to self: Never piss off Chloe Dyker.
10:34 p.m.
“Seriously?” Chloe was on her feet once more, pacing the living room, throwing her arms wildly in the air. In one hand, she gripped the bottle of tequila. Things had escalated anew and she was now drinking straight from the bottle. “How can you hate that movie? It’s classic.”
I shrugged but laughed. How could one person be so passionate about a stupid movie? “You think that’s a classic? Sit back down. I’m going to show you a real classic.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t go all macho on me and make me watch Star Wars or Indiana Jones… I’ve seen them. Yes, they’re great movies, but this is a great movie, too.”
I shook my head, grinning. “Trust me… you’re going to like my choice.” I already had the remote in hand, searching Netflix for what I considered to be rom-com royalty.”
“Chasing Amy,” she read the screen as she sat down next to me. Somehow, even closer than before and handed me the bottle. I grabbed it, took a small sip, then placed on the table beside me, hopefully out of reach for her.
“Ever seen it?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I think this is a more realistic look at what can happen if you blur the lines of friendship with sex.”
“Okay, Evans. Let’s do this.”
I hit play as she ate another cupcake and moaned, her head lolling back against the couch in pleasure. I couldn’t help but wonder… was that what she looked like in more private moments of pleasure?
I immediately berated myself for the thought.
“You are so good at this,” she said, holding up the cupcake.
I shrugged. “I should be. Neil and I have been baking with my mom since we were old enough to hold a spatula.”
She paused, and a bit of mint green frosting clung to the edges of her lips. “You don’t love baking? But… you went to culinary school.”
I shrugged. “I do love baking… I just had other plans for my life.” Those plans did not involve working at my mom’s bakery to keep it afloat after she was diagnosed with cancer, where Neil was the face and brand, and I was the one doing most of the other grunt work.
“Like what?”
I arched a brow and jutted my chin toward the TV. “You’re going to miss the movie.”
She shrugged. “You’re more interesting than that.”
I glanced at my phone. Crap. I had to be awake to open the bakery in a few hours. Swiping a hand down my weary face, I sighed. “You’re going to think it’s stupid. Everyone does.”
“Try me,” she said.
“I’ve always wanted to run my own food truck.”
Her eyes went wide. “Like John Favreau in Chef!”
“Yes,” I answered. “Well, no. But kind of.”
“That’s very trendy right now. What kind of food would you want to sell?”
I shrugged. “That’s the problem.” Or rather, one of the many problems with my half-baked plan… no pun intended. “I don’t really have enough of a hook. I change my mind constantly about what the food truck should serve. At first, I wanted it to be crepes. Then I thought maybe donuts. It can’t be cupcakes because I’ll be competing with Beefcakes and that would be stupid. Not to mention, the cost of a food truck is high and then the permits can be tricky.”
“Well, lucky for you, I have a sister who can help with the permitting.”
“Yeah.” My voice sounded dull. I didn’t even know what kind of food I wanted to cook… this plan was so far off from
