Sweet Cheeks(104)
“These are awesome. Who are these for?”
“Me.”
“You?” He looks confused. “I thought things were getting better.”
I laugh and nod. Then I proceed to tell him about Hayes and his grudge cupcakes. How cathartic it felt smashing them and the fun we had with it. And then how when Hayes told me the other day if he didn’t win me over with his charm, his last resort was another grudge-cupcake match.
“So . . .” I shrug, “. . . he got me thinking about grudge cupcakes. And if people would actually buy them for their friends when they break up. So I make one to eat and one to smash; in a container it’s a 50/50 split with cute slogans. It’s the perfect therapy: chocolate and aggression.”
When he doesn’t smile at my quip but rather just holds a finger against his pursed lips as he thinks it over, I suddenly feel ridiculous thinking this could work or have customer appeal.
“It was just an idea. It would probably never—”
“Would they be normal-sized? Smaller since you’re smashing them? Give me specifics.”
“You and your specifics,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes but feel a little more at ease knowing he hasn’t immediately rejected the idea. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I suppose we could make the ones to smash smaller but then we get into needing custom inserts for the boxes and the trade-off in cost. I haven’t thought that far, Ryder. I’m working on the creative side for now. You know what? Never mind.”
“I think it’s brilliant, Saylor.” He does?
“You do?”
“Completely.”
I stare at him. Wide-eyed. Shocked. Feeling accomplished. “Wow.”
“Now we need to figure how to go about marketing it so we can get the word out.”
Our eyes hold and I’ve never been more thankful to have him as a brother than I am right now. He’s always been protective of me but after our parents died, he stepped up to the plate more than I’d ever imagined he could. It was us against the world. He’s stuck by my side and been my number-one supporter throughout all the ups and downs, sorrows and joys.
Sure I’d had Mitch to pull me from my grief, but it was Ryder who was my rock.
Still is.
A small part of me knows my parents are smiling down on us right now and that gives me hope that things might finally be turning around.
My screen lights up.
The distractions continue.
I’m so engrossed in perfecting little details on the cupcakes that it takes me a bit longer to check my phone. And when I do, I have to scrape a splatter of frosting from the glass to read the tweet.
And I finally have an answer.
@HayesWhitOffcl
The public has spoken. 7 billion people in the world. And I CHOOSE YOU @SweetChks ONLY YOU
#GrudgeCupcakes #ActionsRLouder
Wow. Now there’s a declaration in one hundred and forty characters or less if I’ve ever seen one. The man certainly knows how to get my attention.
Yes, Hayes, actions are louder.
SIX DAYS LEFT
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #DayFour
“Hayes.”
“You’re a hard lady to track down.” I don’t hide the spite in my voice or the fuck you lilt in it. Jenna repositions herself on her lounge chair where she sits in the sun so her cleavage is more prominently on display. “I can see the recovery’s been rough on you.”
I catch her ghost of a smirk before her lips turn into a pout as she slips on her mask to embody the part of depressed victim.
“You have no idea, Hayes. It’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming to check on me. Why don’t you sit down?”
When she puts her hand in mine and tugs on it, I glare at her. A do you really think I’m buying your bullshit right now look on my face.
In the moment I question my judgment of character. How I ever looked at her and saw anything other than what she really is. An attention-hungry junkie willing to use anyone and every situation to her advantage.
“This isn’t a social call, Jenna. This is me coming to you because you’re too chickenshit to answer your phone and deal with the mess you created.”
“Oh, Hayes.” She chuckles that fake laugh of hers and it feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Relax. No one’s talking about it anymore.”
My fists clench as I try to restrain myself from picking up that tall glass of gin sitting next to her and smashing it to make sure I have her attention. But a part of me wants her to not take me too seriously. If she blows me off then she’s had fair warning, and I’ll gladly handle this on my own terms.