Chapter 17

Seventeen

Everett

P ulling up outside of Bake Me Happy after a long day at work, I put the car in park, rest my head on the seat, and inhale a deep breath before exhaling. It was reptile day at school, which means all the students got to gather around the reptile man in the gym and take turns holding and petting various animals while learning about them. It’s something we did at my previous school too, and while it’s such a fun day, it also makes for an exhausting one. At least mentally.

Having the kids all shout and talk over one another, squealing—and sometimes crying—when the lizards and snakes and even the baby alligators touch them is a lot .

All I want to do is get home, change into something more comfortable, and relax for the rest of the evening. Before I do that, though, I need to make a pit stop at the bakery. I wanted to get the guys working on my house something special for how good of a job they’re doing, and who doesn’t like dessert? I called in an order this morning, and Grace said it would be ready by the time I got off work.

Climbing out of the car, I stroll into the shop. The sugary smell greets me as soon as I walk through the door, a bell ringing as I do. There’re a few customers in here, sitting around a couple of the round tables placed throughout. The color scheme is a soft pink and mint green, and glass counters on either side of the register are filled with all kinds of desserts. On the wall behind the register, built-in shelves hold ready-made cookie mixes and tubs of frosting and what look to be cookbooks.

A woman who looks to be in her early twenties is waiting for me as I approach the counter, with a smile on her face and a pink apron tied around her neck and waist. “Welcome,” she greets. “How can I help you?”

Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my wallet. “Picking up an order for Everett Windward, please.”

“I got this one, Rach,” Grace says as she appears from around the corner, grinning as she spots me. Looking toward the woman in front of me, she adds, “You can take your break. I’ll cover you.”

Grace reminds me of Elle Woods from Legally Blonde. Every time I’ve seen her, she’s decked out in pink and glitter, hair curled, makeup done, and her personality is the epitome of sunshine. You can’t help but be in a good mood around her.

“Who are these for?” she asks curiously with a smile as she sets the white, square box full of treats on the counter.

“I’m having some work done on my house, and I wanted to do something nice for the guys from the construction company. ”

“Conway’s company?” she asks, the smile dropping as she rings me up on the register.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

There’s a glint in her eye, and I already know what she’s going to say before she says it. “Small town, sugar.”

“Right.” I breathe out a laugh as I hand her my debit card.

“Don’t worry about it.” She waves me off. “It’s on the house today.”

“Grace, that’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” Flashing me a toothy grin, she hands me the box of treats. “See you around, Everett.”

Taking it from her, I return the smile, getting the feeling that she knows something I don’t. Or maybe knows something about me, like maybe Gemma told her about the other night. Not that I mind; I know she’s close with her sisters. But as I’m walking out of the bakery, feeling like Grace knows every single thing I did to Gemma, my cheeks heat and my heart races.

It’s been a few days, and we haven’t seen much of each other, but I’m not too worried about it. We’re both busy during the week, Gemma more than me, but that night at her house has replayed in my mind dozens of times already.

Like that night, when I left her house, climbed right in bed butt-ass naked, and made myself come in less than a minute with the taste of her still fresh on my tongue.

Or like in the shower this morning before work, with my hand soaped up and wrapped around my aching cock as I stroked myself hard and fast to the memory of how she sounded as she fell apart. The gasps of breath, the throaty, needy moans. Her body tensing up and her thighs clenched around my head. I could feel her clit pulse against my tongue as her pussy squeezed the hell out of my fingers. The smell of her arousal as it coated my lips, my tongue, my chin.

And the way I wish I could bury my face between her thighs all over again.

One taste, and I’m fucking hooked.

Setting the box on the seat beside me, I adjust my growing erection before starting the ignition. Admittedly, I was more than a little shocked to hear her suggest a friends-with-benefits arrangement with me. It was bold, but I think that’s half of what made it so attractive. Up until her proposition, she’s been flirty with me, sure, but for the most part, it felt innocent. Like maybe she just has a naturally flirty personality.

Never have I been happier to be wrong.

Back at my place, I’m able to catch Conway before the guys wrap up for the day.

“What’s this?” Conway asks, eyebrows lifted as he stares at the box in my hand like it’s a bomb about to go off.

“They’re mini peach cobblers.” I nudge the box closer to him as he finally takes it. “Got them from Bake Me Happy to say thank you for all your guys’ hard work so far.”

“Well, that’s nice of you,” he huffs. “Thank you. We’re done for the evening. We’ll get out of your hair. Have a good night, Everett, and thanks again. The guys will appreciate this.”

Inside the house, I busy myself with the chores I’ve been putting off all week.

Sometime around five-ish, I hear a knock on my door just as I’m tossing a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner. Rounding the corner into the hallway, I can see that it’s Sutton before I even open up. Baseball mitt on his hand, he smiles up at me as I answer.

“Hey, wanna play catch with me?” Waving the mitt in the air for reference, he adds, “I’m getting a lot better at throwing the ball!”

Glancing over my shoulder into the house, I think for a minute before looking back at Sutton. “I’d love to. Let me set a timer on my phone because I’ve got a pizza in the oven. I can play until it’s done. That cool?”

His eyes light up, and he nods. “Yeah!”

“Cool. Let me grab my glove, and I’ll be ready.”

We toss the ball back and forth a few times, and I’ll give it to the kid… he definitely has improved from when we first started practicing together.

“You had practice tonight, didn’t you?” I ask him, throwing the ball to him, pride bursting in my chest as he catches it with no problem.

“Yeah, but I didn’t go.”

“How come?” My brows pinch as he tosses the ball back, it landing perfectly in my glove.

“Mom says she has a fever,” he explains, his face scrunched up as the sun hits it. “She hasn’t felt good all day, so we stayed home.”

Oh no. I wonder what’s wrong with her. Maybe I should go over there, see if she needs anything. “Is she doing okay?”

Sutton nods. “Yeah, I think so. I made her some soup and brought her a new glass of ice water before I came out here.”

“That was nice of you. You can make soup all by yourself? ”

His smile is contagious. “Yeah, Mom taught me to make a few things not too long ago. I can make my own cereal in the morning, but I also can make bagels and toast in the toaster, really anything in the microwave, and soup and chili on the stovetop.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” I reply as I toss the ball back to him. He misses this time, but it’s probably from the sun in his eyes. I make a mental note to remind him to put on a baseball cap before we practice again. “I don’t think I knew how to make even half that at your age. I bet that’s a big help to your mom.”

Preening under the compliment, he sends the ball back my way. We go like this for another few minutes, not really saying much until he asks out of nowhere, “Do you like my mom?”

Coughing on the spit that gets lodged in my throat, I hit my chest a few times. “Uh, yeah, buddy. Of course, I like your mom.” Remembering her rule, I add for safe measure, “We’re friends.”

Sutton eyes me, a little skeptically, but I think that’s paranoia on my part. He’s ten; I highly doubt he means what I think he means.

“She is a pretty cool mom,” he finally says in response, but before I have a chance to agree, the timer on my phone goes off.

“Pizza’s done,” I announce, taking the glove off my hand. Then remembering how Sutton said he made his mom soup because she doesn’t feel well, I ask, “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Not yet.” He shakes his head.

“How about I cut this pizza and bring it out here? We can eat on the porch so your mom doesn’t have to worry about making anything.”

His face lights up, making my chest warm. “Yeah!”

“I don’t have a lot of options for drinks at my house. Do you have anything at yours? Or is water okay?”

Shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug, Sutton says, “Water’s fine. It’s typically what I drink with dinner anyways. Mom says it’s important to drink water and stay hydrated.”

Chuckling, I murmur, “Your mom is right. I’ll be right back, buddy.”