Kiss My Cupcake(58)

“Blonan is not a cute hashtag. It’s too close to blowjob. Was this your idea? Who took this picture?”

“I had nothing to do with the hashtag. Your followers came up with it, and they’re loving it. Everyone ships you two.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re not dating, we’re collaborating.”

“Yet. You’re not dating yet.”

We’ve had this conversation several times over the past three weeks—ever since the night I fell asleep on Ronan’s couch. “Am I attracted to him? Yes. Is it a good idea to get involved with him? No.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone who knows what it’s like to date someone you’re working with. It’s a recipe for disaster. See Raphael for details.” She can’t argue with that logic, considering the way that entire situation blew up in my face.

Although, if that hadn’t happened I might not be here, working for myself. I may barely be making ends meet, and I may also be very much in need of a month-long nap, but at least I’m doing what I love.

“Raphael was a douche canoe, and it’s not the same situation at all. You were not his equal, you were his student and he took advantage of a position of power. And then he seriously screwed you over because he likes to stick his dick in everything that moves. Including Baked Alaska.”

I shudder at that image. “It’s still not advisable. We’re competing against each other for Best Bar and we’re working together to keep our businesses afloat so those fuckers don’t push us out.” I motion across the street to the yet-to-open massive adult indoor arcade and bar.

Their grand opening is New Year’s Eve, of course. Which is why Ronan and I have been spending an inordinate amount of time together planning our own New Year’s bash.

We’ve gone over all the fine details relentlessly. I have not, however, been back to his place since the night I fell asleep on his couch. Has there been a suggestion that we might want to work at his place? Maybe, but since B&B closes earlier than The Knight Cap, it makes sense for us to plan at my shop. At least that’s been my rationale, and he hasn’t really pushed it.

Not to mention, that morning when I went into work late one of Tori Taylor’s people, who happens to be local, stopped in before I arrived. I missed my chance to make a good impression—or any impression at all, really.

And of course that same person ended up at Ronan’s, because he’s in the competition, too—only Ronan made it to the bar in time. I might find him attractive, but I don’t want to lose out on any other opportunities, should they arise.

It doesn’t mean we’re not flirting, or that I don’t find myself staring at his mouth, wondering how his lips would feel on mine.

It just means I’ve been circumventing the potential for further complications and excessive distractions. Until this Best Bar competition is over and done with and we see what the impact of this whole Dick and Bobby’s grand opening has on our respective bottom lines, I don’t think it’s a great idea to jump into his bed. Or jump him in general.

I do think about it frequently when I’m in the shower, and in my own bed. And everywhere, really.

“Earth to Blaire.” Daphne snaps her fingers in my face. At the same time her camera goes off.

I jerk back. “What?”

“You were totally thinking about boning Ronan just now, weren’t you?”

“I was not!”

“You definitely were. Look at the expression on your face!” She holds up her phone so I can see the picture she took.

I’m biting my lip and touching my throat, lost in a daydream. About riding Ronan. I push her phone away. “Whatever. Thinking about it and doing it aren’t the same thing.”

Daphne wiggles her eyebrows. “I give you max two weeks before you fold.”

Fortunately, Callie arrives for her shift, ending that conversation.



During the lead-up to New Year’s Eve I average about four hours of sleep a night, and it sure as hell isn’t the restful kind. On the upside, the cohosted events with Ronan have been keeping me from digging further into my line of credit. It’s a little less terrifying to pay the bills when I know I’m not turning my overdraft into a black hole every time or adding to my debt.

New Year’s planning means lots of expenses, but ticket sales for the event have been incredible and we sold out completely last week, which helps offset all the costs.

On New Year’s Eve, I’m up before six in the morning even though I went to bed at two. Ronan and I sat at his bar and went over the plan for tonight, double and triple checking that we have everything we need. Our cohosted New Year’s party has been getting a lot of attention and rumor has it Tori Taylor is planning to come our way soon as the semifinal round closes in.

When I arrive at B&B, I notice that Ronan’s truck is already there, which seems a lot early for him. Imagine my surprise when I walk into my shop and find Ronan behind the bar, making cappuccinos. “What’re you doing here?”

He glances at me, eyes moving over me in that familiar way that makes a shiver run down my spine and heat pool south of the navel. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Sorry. It’s just a surprise to see you here at this hour.” Ronan usually doesn’t roll in until nine thirty or ten. “Oh God, nothing happened next door? We don’t have another wrong delivery, do we?”