“Oh, my. That’s horrible.”
“Yes, it’s very unfortunate. She’s a single mom and an amazing baker. Hopefully, we can find a way to help her out.”
“What were you looking to have made for the carnival?”
“We know this is last minute, but we need 150 cupcakes.”
“Umm, that’s a lot.”
“I know and we completely understand if you can’t do it. Jacob and I figured we would give it a shot.”
This would give me a perfect opportunity to work on my recipes, and while 150 cupcakesisa lot, it’s still doable.
“Ok, yeah. I can do that. When do you need them and are there specific flavors you were looking for?”
“My husband is the real one running the show. Can he call you sometime tomorrow to work out all the details?”
“Yes. That sounds good.”
“Thanks again, Olly. We’ll be in touch.”
When I hang up the phone, my heart is hammering in my chest. I have my first order. Excitement builds and I realize I’m doing it. I’m taking the first steps in following my own dreams and not those of someone else.
Classicrockmusicblaresover the shop speakers, suggesting Jaxon won rock, paper, scissors with Mira this morning. Fighting for control over the music is a thing around here. It doesn’t matter to me either way. When working, my brain becomes a whirling, vibrant mess, and I’m blissfully lost in its noisy mosh pit. Except for today. Today, I’m on the distraction train,Choo-Choo, Mother Fucker!
I came in early today hoping to work on a sketch for a client coming in this afternoon. Business has picked up, allowing me to build up my own clientele. There’s even talk about me tattooing full time.
My phone buzzes next to me and I glance over to see it’s fucking Billy… again. I roll my eyes. This is the third time he’s called in the last hour and that’s on top of the five text messages. A group of guys are going cliff diving tomorrow morning and he wants me to come.
I would normally jump at a chance for an adrenaline spike, but the last few times haven’t felt right. The appeal just isn’t there anymore.
Fuck… I think… I think everyone is getting to me with all the ‘You don’t have to always take the risk,’ talk. Blah, blah, blah. I enjoy taking risks.
Risks were not an option growing up. I put my head down and tried not to make any waves. That just left me angry, so I started pushing the boundaries that I never got to.
The need to feel alive was a suffocating pressure, a desperate craving for something more; to feel like I mattered, not like something worthless that could be discarded.
I learned how to go numb in the system, only allowing myself to feel through my brushes of a paint stroke, and nothing more. And it was enough… until it wasn’t, and I needed to feel life beneath my feet.
Another text lights up my phone. Can he not take the hint? Irritation sits under my skin. Billy isn’t even a decent friend. Or an actual friend, for that matter. We party and do crazy shit, but I don’t even know his last name, and I doubt he knows mine. That says something. I ignore him.
It doesn’t take long for my number one distraction to swing back around and take up residence in my head again.Olly.
I keep replaying the other night over and over in my head. The way he kissed me. The way he sucked me to within an inch of my life. The way he looked at me, past my shiny shell, sent shivers down my spine.
My obsession is feeling less like an obsession and more like a… friendship? With kissing and blow jobs?
I’m in too deep and the odds of this blowing up in my face are high.
“Hey, Jasper.”
Another distraction.
I look to see Dom leaning against the door of my workstation.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I was thinking of heading over to Dragonfly for lunch. Do you wanna go?”
