Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,48
to the brink. And although my sanity has been questioned a lot recently, no one could fault me for lusting after Green Valley’s newest, hottest bachelor.
The thing is, I think Cage likes me, too.
I mean, likes me-likes me. At least, I think he’s attracted to me, much in the same way I am him, which honestly blows my mind. On most days, I convince myself I’m delusional, but then he’ll look at me a certain way—those blue eyes full of heat—or he’ll find a way to touch me without seeming forward or like he’s coming onto me. Maybe he doesn’t want to get mixed up with someone like me, and I don’t blame him for that. I wouldn’t want to get mixed up with me either, if I could help it.
The way he looks at me, though… there are times when it seems as if he can see into my soul and there’s no judgment, just acceptance. Then, there are the times, like yesterday, where he looks at me like he’s on death row and I’m his last meal.
The more I think about it, the more I’m certain I felt a bulge against my ass as he came up behind me and pressed his body to mine, in an effort to correct my punching form. It was brief, but I felt it, and now, I can’t stop daydreaming about it.
“Is that cucumber firm enough for you, Miss Cassidy?”
“Huh, what?” I turn to see sweet, little Johnny Baker watching me for some reason. Of course, Johnny isn’t little anymore. I believe he’s now a senior in high school and is having one hell of a football season, but he’ll always be the same little boy I used to teach in Sunday School.
“That cucumber,” he says, pointing to my hands. “You’ve been squeezing it for a few minutes now. If it’s not firm enough, I can maybe go to the back and see if we have any fresh off the truck.”
It’s then I realize Johnny works here at the grocery store and I have a large cucumber in my hands… stroking it.
When did I get to the produce section?
And when did the produce section get so erotic?
Is it hot in here?
“Oh, um, no,” I stutter, grabbing a plastic bag from the dispenser. “This one is fine. Thank you, Johnny.” I give him an apologetic smile and put my one stupid cucumber in the bag, tossing it in my buggy and heading for the back of the store.
Too bad I wasn’t groping an eggplant. At least I like to eat those, unlike the cuke I’m now stuck with.
What am I here for again?
I run through my list again, eliminating items like sausage, because I obviously can’t be trusted right now with phallic-shaped food items, and end up in the canned goods aisle. While I’m scanning the many soups available, trying to make a decision, because this is what cooking for one looks like—cans of soup, frozen dinners, and boxes of cereal—I catch a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye. Glancing over, what I see before me nearly makes me drop the can of tomato soup in my hand.
Well, not what, but who.
Fucking Mindy.
Of course, I’d run into her here, at the Piggly Wiggly. I’ve put this task off for weeks, scrounging around in my cupboards for random things to sustain me, for fear of this exact thing. The last time I broke down and came grocery shopping, I did it right before closing time, in hopes I’d miss all the busybodies, but ran smackdab into Mrs. Mitchell, Mindy’s mother. It seems I can’t even grocery shop in peace.
I make a mental note to start picking up the things I need while I’m in Knoxville… maybe I should just move to Knoxville. No, that would be stupid. I’d have to drive an hour to work at o’dark-thirty, because I love my job… it’s the one bright spot in my life… besides Cage and kickboxing.
As I inspect the adulteress to my left, the petty side of me can’t help but grin when I notice Mindy has put on a few pounds. Maybe she’s a stress eater. Maybe I should send her a dozen muffins… you know, be the bigger person… like an olive branch.
Muffins laced with arsenic.
Get it together, Tempest.
Murder is a federal offense.
Thankfully, she hasn’t spotted me yet, so I quietly move to put a few more cans into my buggy, hoping I can sneak off before being spotted. This