I’ve already had two.
The sugar melts on my tongue as I stuff half of it into my mouth, chewing dejectedly, casting my eyes over the rest of my baked treats. These are good cupcakes—the best in the city, in my opinion—but they’re not working their usual magic. Nothing can fix the mess I’ve made of my life.
The bartender deposits my drink in front of me as I polish off my cupcake, and I give her a strained smile, taking a long pull of gin, trying to summon the relief I felt earlier. How could I have let it get so bad? I should have checked my grades at the end of last semester. At least then I would’ve had time to turn things around. But no, I did what I always do and ignored the situation, hoping it would improve on its own, until it eventually blew up in my face.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst part starts tomorrow, at 8 a.m.
Ugh, I don’t want to think about any of it.
I snatch another cupcake and shove it into my mouth, scowling. How do I always manage to fuck up my life so badly?
“Rough day?”
I turn to my right. My gaze meets the steel-gray eyes of an attractive older man, wiping his hands on a napkin as he pushes his empty plate away.
I snort through a mouthful of cupcake, swallowing. I can feel a glob of frosting on my chin.
“What gave me away?” I mutter, grabbing a cocktail napkin off the bar.
The corner of his mouth hooks into an amused smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so miserable while eating a cupcake.”
I sigh. He’s not wrong. Iammiserable.
“And you have a little…”
He motions under his eyes, and I freeze in horror. I whip my phone out to check, and he’s right—I have mascara tracks down my cheeks. That will be from my crying jag on the train.
Jesus, I’m a mess.
“Shit,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Where’s the restroom?”
He gestures over his shoulder, and I slide from my barstool in shame. I turn, then point to the cupcakes still sitting on the bar.
“Could you babysit these for a moment?”
Mirth flickers in his eyes as he reaches for his glass of beer, nodding. I mumble a quickthank youand slink off to the restroom, where I splash water on my face, doing my best to clean myself up. My life might be falling apart, but I’m still inpublic, for Christ’s sake.
Pull yourself together, Iris.
Smoothing my hair and doing my best to pin on a smile, I head back to the bar. The guy is still there, finishing his drink, and he smiles kindly when I return.
“Better?” I ask, motioning to my face, and he nods.
“Much better.” He sets down his empty glass and seems to hesitate, as if considering something, then gestures to the bartender, ordering another. “And another for her, whatever she’s drinking.”
My mouth pops open in surprise. “Thank you,” I murmur, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. How sweet. A tiny light of goodness on this shitty, shitty day.
Plus, a free drink is a free drink. When you’re in the kind of dire financial straits I am, you’ll take what you can get.
“Would you like one?” I ask, opening the box of cupcakes and sliding it along the bar to him. He eyes me for a moment, then drops his gaze to the box.
“Sure. Thanks.”
The bartender sets our drinks down, and I take a long sip, watching the stranger beside me bite into the red velvet cupcake he’s chosen. He’s handsome, with chestnut-brown hair shaved close on the sides, left longer on top in thick waves styled with hair product, his jaw filled with a short beard in a lighter shade. He’s in a charcoal-gray suit, his tie loosened a little around his neck, silver watch glinting on his wrist as he lifts the cupcake to his lips. What is it about a watch on a guy that’s so hot?
“Great cupcakes.” He motions to the box in front of us. “See? You should be happy.” A grin curves along his mouth as he swallows his bite.
Oof. He’s even cuter when he smiles.
