Summer Breeze Kisses - Addison Moore Page 0,123

I hand him seven boxes of cupcakes and head toward his truck. “What the hell are these? Holy crap, they smell good. Never mind what they are. How many can I eat?”

“Zero.” Which happens to be exactly how many shits I give regarding that cheerleader he just peeled off like a coat. But my stomach tenses, my blood begins to boil as if calling me out on the lie.

We pack up and hit the road. I give him directions to Carlton, and he doesn’t bat a lash as the highway approaches.

“It’s my summer job,” I explain. “I have to make deliveries, but today, I wasn’t really able to.” Totally not a lie. I’m completely unable to. In fact, if you carefully analyze my level of fear, I’m downright disabled from ever getting these confections to where they need to be. “By the way, there’s no way in hell I’ll even let you look at one of those cute little cupcakes.” Because, honestly, they would totally be toast. They really are that delicious. I had about six myself. A thought comes to me. “But I have a very creative way to pay you for your troubles.”

Rex glances at me a second, his hands flexing over the steering wheel as if getting a better grip. “If this involves you, me, a bed, and our parents hovering in horror, you can forget it. Every day this week, my mother has called making sure I haven’t deflowered her ‘daughter’. Do you even understand how wrong that sounds?” He winces into the road up ahead.

“Oh, totally. My father texted and said he’s back on his anxiety medicine. He’s sort of waiting for affirmation that the two of us will never knock boots.” I frown at the sexual side street we just went down. “But, no, my older yet no wiser perverted brother, this in no way involves an incestuous flesh exchange. Although it does involve something sticky sweet with a hole in it that I’m betting you’d be happy to stick your tongue in.” I let him stew in his perverse frame of mind for a moment. “Donuts. I pay in donuts.”

“Donuts.” His head arches back, and he closes his eyes briefly before getting back to the task of keeping us both alive. “Hell yes. Donuts.”

We finally make it to Carlton, to the exact venue where the bat mitzvah is taking place. Rex helps me haul in the boxes of bakery treats to the kitchen where he’s bombarded with the girl of the hour along with about a dozen of her pre-teen friends, all gawking over how cute the delivery boy is. A paparazzi worth of pictures is snapped by the teen scene, with some of the girls boldly asking to pose with him.

Once we manage to escape the underaged mob, we hop into the truck and head back on the road. I pull out my phone and do a quick search for the nearest donut shop and pull it up on my map app.

“They got an Auntie’s Donuts about three miles down if you get off on the second exit.”

“Auntie’s? That’s my favorite.” A wistful look crosses his face as he makes the necessary lane change.

“It’s my absolute favorite. I hit the one in Hollow Brook every Sunday, and it’s a donut-fest from sun up till sundown.”

“Really?” His brows knit into one long black wiggle worm across his forehead as if the thought of me voluntarily clogging my arteries gave him reason to worry.

“Yes, really. I get up early and ride my bike over. I bring back two boxes and leave one in the commons room because I’m nice that way.” I make a face at myself in the passenger’s side mirror because I think we both know I’m not all that nice. The fact I’ve chosen to outwardly deceive my father can testify to that. I can’t help it, though. Lynette Toberman has mistake stamped all over both her and that beach bag of a Louis Vuitton purse she demands to cart around.

“That is nice.” He inches his head back as if this act of carbohydrate kindness stumped him on some level. We get off the highway and thread through traffic until I point across the street at the gleaming green and white building.

“Oh my God, it’s huge!” I marvel at the sheer expanse of the business and silently wonder if this is the flagship store.

“I love it when girls say that.” He shakes his head as if reliving a memory.

“Could you stop