Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(37)

“So, what brings you to Seduction and Snacks today?” Molly asks, stopping next to my van I left parked at the curb in front of the building.

“You look really pretty today,” I tell her with a smile, knowing all women appreciate compliments. It should be a piece of cake to soften Molly up and make it easier for her to look beyond my avoidance of her the last couple of days.

“Sucking up to me will get you nowhere,” she deadpans.

Or not.

“It’s okay if my family was a bit too much for you,” she continues, without giving me a chance to say anything. “I get it. Not everyone can handle their unique brand of hazing someone new. If you want out, just be honest with me. I’ll tell them you changed your mind or something. Ava is pretty good with computers, I’m sure she can make sure your home address isn’t easily accessible anywhere on the internet until everything blows over.”

Shit, Rosa was right with all that advice she gave me before I passed out. By staying away from her in the hopes that the image of me hurling in her parent’s shrubs would disappear from her mind, all I did by avoiding her was make her second-guess me. I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear the home address thing. Knowing the men in her family would hunt me down and shank me like a thug in the prison yard if they thought I left a pregnant Molly all alone is enough to give me nightmares.

I step right up in front of her until our toes are touching, hoping she notices I smell like Cool Water cologne instead of Cold Water and Piss.

She has a dusting of flour on her right cheek that my hands have been itching to brush off ever since I first walked into that office a few minutes ago. I silently bring my hand up to the side of her face and graze the tips of my fingers against her skin. I keep touching her long after the flour is gone because she feels like velvet—warm and soft and smooth.

“They weren’t too much for me, I promise,” I insist quietly as she lifts her chin and searches my eyes to see if I’m telling the truth.

“I’ll admit, the thirty-eighth hot dog was too much, and I should have tapped out somewhere around thirty-four, but I haven’t changed my mind and I’m sorry for being a dick the last few days,” I apologize.

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry for bringing you into this mess. I know it’s crazy, and you probably think I’m the biggest idiot in the entire world for faking a pregnancy for my sister…”

Her voice tapers off and she sighs heavily, looking away from me to stare out towards the street.

“I’ve spent my whole life feeling like an outsider with my entire family, but mostly with my two sisters,” she explains softly. “Growing up, they were always boy-crazy and fashion-crazy and just plain f*cking crazy, and I couldn’t relate to them. The only thing I’ve ever been crazy about is baking. Until now. Now, we have something in common and something to talk about and I actually like it. It’s girly and it’s dumb and I’m sure they’re going to want to get pedicures and do my hair and watch reality TV together now, but I don’t care.”

Molly laughs softly before turning her face back to mine, and I can tell by the way she had to force the laugh out that she hates sharing her feelings and acting, like she said, girly.

“Can you be a little more specific on the thing you guys have in common now?” I ask with a raise of my eyebrow.

Her cheeks flush in embarrassment and that gives me my answer, but I still want to hear her say it.

“It’s the fashion-crazy thing, isn’t it?” I tease. “I bet you’re going to start demanding everyone in the kitchen at work has to wear designer chef jackets. You’re such a fashion whore.”

She smacks my chest and laughs.

“You know that’s not the crazy I’m talking about and if you make me say it, I will help my mother turn your balls into cream puffs,” she warns.

“As long as you like to eat cream puffs, I’m okay with my balls being cream puffs,” I tell her with a wink and a smirk. “Come on, just say it. There’s no shame in admitting you’re boy-crazy. But you should probably amend it to man-crazy because, I mean, look at me.”

I put my hands on my hips, puff out my chest and give her my best smoldering look.

“What are you doing with your eyes?” she questions.

I try harder, narrowing my eyes and imagining I’m that Ian Somerhalder guy from Vampire Diaries. He has a good smolder. I mean, from what I’ve heard. From people who actually watch that dumb show because I clearly never would, especially since he had to go and get married and now Team Delena is dead forever.

“I’m smoldering you. It’s totally working,” I murmur.

“It looks like you have one of those eye-twitch things happening.”

Dammit, Ian. You ruin everything.

I relax, softening my face and placing my hands on her shoulders.

“I get why you’re doing this and you’re right, it’s completely insane, but I get it.” I knead her shoulders gently. “Doing something like this makes you feel close to your sisters for the first time in your life and you want to hold onto that. I think that makes you brave and amazing, not stupid or crazy.”

Silence stretches between us as we stand on the sidewalk staring at each other. I can smell her cinnamon apple skin and there’s a glossy sheen on her lips that makes me wonder if she’s wearing lip gloss and if it will taste as good as she smells. My dick takes a time-out from the gutter party to rise up and toast me, threatening to bust right through the zipper of my jeans when Molly licks those damn shiny lips.