Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,7
socks. Dakota, striped black and gray. Tay, a bright purple dotted with blue bowties to match his suit.
Dakota held his drink on one knee. Next to Tay were two empty cake plates—Tay had eaten both his and Dakota’s, and while his taste buds thanked him for it, his stomach did not.
He wasn’t sure why he’d gone back into the party to grab the cakes in the first place. An uncharacteristic bout of nerves had hit when he’d first spotted Dakota sitting here, and he’d bolted like a child running away from confrontation. Getting cake had given him an extra minute to compose himself. This was what he’d wanted for so long—time alone with Dakota so they could talk and get to know each other.
Tay rubbed his stomach and asked Dakota how he’d gotten into cake decorating.
“It was a gag gift from one of my brothers when I was in high school. A three-hour cake decorating lesson.” Dakota tilted his head back against the wall, lips gently curved upward. “Something to get me out of the house for a few hours. I was brooding after a bad breakup. Little did he know I’d take to it.”
With his head at that angle, it exposed his long neck and the underside of his jaw, a dark evening shadow growing in. Tay bit his lip against the urge to invade Dakota’s space and stick his nose in that neck, inhale Dakota’s earthy cologne, nibble at his jaw, working his way up to Dakota’s pink lips. Just the thought made his stomach clench with desire.
Dakota Cotton looked exactly like the thirty-something professional he was. His black suit with black pinstripes was fitted and sleek, showcasing strong shoulders that tapered to a trim waist and legs that went on for days. The crisp, light blue shirt and red tie with thin black pinstripes, along with his black hair slicked back into a short pompadour, brought out his skin tone, a warm honey three shades darker than Tay’s own winter-white skin that matched his palest pencil crayons. A high forehead that dipped down from a straight hairline, deep-set eyes the shade of an overcast sky, a prominent nose, and an angled jawline covered in the same dark shadow as his neck.
And that belt, all thick, black leather. Was there anything sexier than a man in a belt? Yes. When that belt was paired with a suit Dakota could’ve been born in.
“Are you listening?”
Tay dragged his gaze up from where it had lingered over the material of Dakota’s pants, stretched oh-so-enticingly over his privates. Unrepentant, he shrugged. “Sorry. Your face distracted me.”
Dakota choked on his drink. Nabbing Tay’s water bottle, he swallowed back the last quarter. “You weren’t looking at my face.” His voice was gravelly. An effect of choking or something else? It was a little less rough when he added, “You’re very forward.”
Why beat around the bush? “Well, I am a forward, so . . .”
Pointing the empty water bottle at him, Dakota said, “That is a very bad joke.”
“You’re laughing. Can’t be that bad.”
“Don’t mistake this for humor. I’m just trying to make you feel better about yourself.”
“I’m feeling pretty good, not gonna lie.”
Dakota nodded at his stomach, which Tay was still rubbing. “Oh yeah?”
“Totally the cake’s fault.”
“That asshole.”
Tay laughed, smile stretched so wide his face hurt. And then there they were, grinning at each other while sitting in a coatroom at a party, the music loud enough for them to hear but not so loud they had to yell at each other to be heard. The live band started a cover of “I Gotta Feeling,” which, yeah. Appropriate. Tonight was a good night.
“Okay, tell me again.” Tay straightened a leg and prodded Dakota’s knee with the top of his foot. “How you got into cake decorating.”
“Should I turn around so my face doesn’t distract you?”
Tay winked at him. “I can multitask.” Maybe. Dakota’s face really was very distracting. Like an itch on the sole of your foot while you were driving. But nicer.
“Uh-huh. Well, my brothers gave me—”
“No, yeah. I got that part. The gag gift. But how did that one lesson turn into—” He removed the card Dakota had given him from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “—a business?” Once Upon a Time Cakes the card read, along with a phone number and email address.
“It was something Calder and I started in high school. He’d bake and I’d decorate. For family stuff, mostly—birthdays, Sunday dinners, bake sales at my little brothers’