Baking Me Crazy (Donner Bakery, #1)(39)

I grimaced because it wasn't the most flattering view of myself. But it felt true. Or it felt better than any line of thinking that had me wanting to feel up Levi, of all people. That would be most inconvenient.

When Harry Met Sally … but on two wheels.

He'd have to calmly explain to me that men and women could never truly be friends because the desire to sleep with the other person would always undermine the relationship. And if I ever lost him …

The thought, just allowing a moment of contemplating it, had my rib cage squeezing too tight and my heart thudding uncomfortably.

No, even that was too mild. It almost doubled me over in stomach gripping, cold sweat inducing, clammy hand fear.

"What I need is another outlet."

Nero tilted his head.

"You get what I'm saying." In my lap, his tennis ball sat between my legs, so I picked it up and tossed it up into the air to get his attention. Scampering to his feet, he turned in a few excited circles. I pulled my arm back and heaved it across the grass.

As he sprinted across the yard, I knew that was the answer. It didn't matter who was throwing the ball to him, Nero would get his energy out, that first important burst to calm pent-up energy churning through his big body.

And considering that was what started this mess, seeing Brad/Chris/Cupcake Guy/Andrew, I knew I had to circle back around to him.

"It's his fault, anyway," I told Nero when he dropped the slobbery ball in my lap. "Isn't it, my big boy?"

He barked, and I grinned, throwing the ball for him again.

I glanced at my watch. I had to be at PT in an hour, then go from there to a shift at the bakery.

One more toss to Nero, and I then went inside to touch up my makeup and change into clothes that would be appropriate for therapy and a few hours at work. As I was leaning over to tie the laces on my white Adidas, I caught a glimpse of Connor and Sylvia's wedding invitation.

I set it back on the top of my dresser and stared in the mirror.

For as different as I felt on the inside, it was strange that it didn't reflect anywhere else. Shouldn't there be a sign above my head?

Beware of the twenty-one-year-old virgin with repressed sexual feelings.

Explosion imminent. Touch with extreme caution.

May spontaneously combust with prolonged eye contact and cupcake purchasing and/or casual swimming sessions.

"You are pathetic," I told myself, backing my chair up before I could fall down the rabbit hole of why this was happening now.

But I wasn't pathetic. That was the decision I came to as I drove out to Maryville.

Lots of people waited to have sex. Twenty-one was a perfectly respectable age for one to maintain their V-card. And it wasn't like I didn't have good reasons.

1-I lived in a small town.

2-Most people watched me wheel by and probably assumed that I had to pee in a bag, let alone have perfectly functioning lady parts.

They functioned, okay? They functioned just fine. I'd explored on my own, so I knew that everything … worked, so to speak.

I pulled into the parking spot at PT and tried desperately not to think about last night, and how when lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, my hand had slid slowly down my stomach, under the edge of my sleep shorts, where I toyed with the lace band of my underwear.

It stayed there for just a second or two, but the moment that my eyes closed, and I saw drips of pool water sliding down a golden-skinned chest, I snatched it out of my shorts and turned on my side, giving my pillow a good punch or two before attempting to sleep.

I was definitely not pathetic as I went inside and watched Andrew finish up with a client. He winked at me, and I forced myself to dissect his appearance in the same way I'd dissected Levi's.

Long legs, broad shoulders, really good freaking hair. Handsome smile, bright eyes, and a straight, proud nose.

He didn't move with the same grace as Levi. And without Levi's dimple, the smile wasn't quite as potent.

Levi's hair was lighter, longer, and it curled up at the edges. Plus, Andrew's jaw was clean-shaven, but Levi was always in need of a razor.

"Oh shit," I said out loud, slapping a hand against my forehead. "Get out of my head, you ass."

Andrew's head popped up, and the hunched over little old lady he was helping glared at me.

"Not you," I explained weakly. "Sorry."

He was smiling as he finished up with her, and by the time he walked over to me, I was one giant ball of mortification.

My cheeks probably looked like someone had shoved a red traffic light under my skin.

"Hi." I smiled a little, except it felt like a grimace.

Andrew set his hands on his narrow hips, which I would not be comparing to Levi's, and grinned down at me.

"Rough day already?" He glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's not even noon."

I exhaled heavily. "Let's not talk about it."

He shrugged. "No problem. You ready to work today?"

"I better not be on that stupid ramp again."

As he laughed, sparkling white teeth showing behind his lips, I made a decision.

No more comparison. Because that inferred that one was better than the other, or that there was a right or wrong choice.

I was a very not-pathetic twenty-one-year-old virgin with sexual needs and a decent rack. So what if I got around on two wheels instead of two legs?