Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,42

choose between them, so the beauty of this recipe is that you don’t have to.

Initially, I had the song on my mind because, even though last night’s kickboxing lesson ended abruptly and, albeit, awkwardly—well, at least on my part, it was awkward—it was still a great outlet. I felt like learning how to throw a proper punch and using my body in a new way, I found the fighting side of Tempest Cassidy.

Showing up and agreeing to him teaching me was a good decision.

Everything was fine until Cage and I started joking around, and then it went topsy-turvy, literally. One minute, I was bouncing around, trying out my new moves, and the next, he had me tossed over his shoulder, caveman style.

I felt the rush of adrenaline.

I felt the release of tension.

I felt the increase in confidence.

And then, I felt something foreign, something I haven’t felt in a long time—lust, desire, butterflies.

I swear, he was going to kiss me.

Or maybe I was going to kiss him.

That’s when I ran home like a yellow-bellied chicken.

The more I’ve thought about it, the more I want to kick my own ass. I battled myself the entire class—forcing myself not to look at Cage like he’s a piece of meat, berating myself for taking his instructions in a sexual manner.

Put your body into it. A simple request. But after my sex-deprived, attention-lacking psyche got ahold of it, it sounded a lot more perverse. I found myself shaking my head, trying to clear out the dirty thoughts and focus on the task at hand, not the man who was spending his free time to teach me.

I’m just glad I left before I did something I couldn’t take back and that I’d be seriously regretting this morning.

But it’s fine.

Nothing happened.

I’ll make him some muffins… as a thank you… and at the next class, I’ll keep my hands to myself and keep my mind out of the gutter.

Merle Haggard’s lyrics—if you don’t love it, leave it—are striking a chord with me this morning. Humming to myself, I walk back into the kitchen with my ingredients. A month or so ago, this song might’ve made me sad— or mad. I probably would’ve internalized these lyrics. I would’ve thought about how Asher didn’t love me, so he left me. And I’m sure that’s true, but it doesn’t affect me like it did.

The feeling that’s taking precedence over all the others this morning is fight. Maybe it’s the empowering feeling still lingering from yesterday. Even though things didn’t end on a good note, the rest of the class was awesome. I’ve never felt so alive and in control of my body as I did punching my way across those mats. It was a rush, and it made me feel like fighting.

Not the kind that will land me in jail, but the kind that says I’m Tempest Cassidy and I’m still here… I’m not going anywhere… and you’re not going to win.

“That’s right, Merle,” I mutter to myself as I measure out the exact amount of flour, leveling it off with a knife. The key to great muffins is precise measuring and not over-mixing. “You know, we’re kind of two peas in a pod…” I continue, speaking to one of the few men who truly gets me—Merle Haggard. “You hear people talking about you…” I mutter as I begin to fold in ingredients. “I hear people talking about me.”

If The Hag was still alive, I think we could be great friends.

I chuckle to the muffin mixture taking shape in front of me. If anyone caught me holding a conversation with a dead man, they really would think I’m crazy. But what’s a girl to do at four in the morning when she has things on her mind and no one around to talk to. Besides, I do my best thinking while I’m creating. This is my time to process and recollect without interruption.

Lana suggested mediation. Well, this is my form of meditation—me, Merle, and muffins.

“If you don’t fucking love it… leave it,” I agree as the song plays on loop. Whatever song I’m using for inspiration becomes my morning soundtrack. Sometimes, I’ll listen to the same song a dozen times. As I sing along to the chorus, folding in some dark chocolate chips, I start to feel a twinge in my bicep, reminding me of the burn I felt during my lesson with Cage.

As my mind wanders from the muffins back to the lyrics, I have a thought: I wish Asher