Page 2 of Cupcake of the Month (Just Add Peaches #2)

To each his or her own, but the thought of jumping into bed with a different man or woman each month gave Jordan a bad taste in her mouth.

Especially because she could recall all too well the feeling of Josh’s arms around her that night.

And the coldness of the bed the next morning when she had woken up alone.

“So you’ve...” Jordan moved her hands in the air, not wanting to say the words.

“Honey, I’ve taken Josh home more times in the past year than I’ve waxed my upper lip.”

Jordan forced a smile, but her friend’s words turned the wine she’d been drinking into sewer water.

Lana placed her empty glass on the table, then picked up another from the passing server. “Hmph. Maisie Benteen’s southern charms are spilling all over my dessert. She can be ruthless with this game. Come on.” She took Jordan’s wrist and led her amongst the prominent citizens of Macon.

They didn’t get far before Lana sucked in her breath and halted for Mrs. McGraw and the sycophants dogging her steps.

“The evening’s not about me,” the woman was saying when Jordan got close enough to hear.

A man walked with her, dodging around others trying to get into her circle. “Congresswoman, aren’t you enraged that—”

“Lord, Tony, what did I just say?” She waggled her finger at him. “Now someone go get me a drink before I actually listen to the question and start a debate when tonight should be non-partisan in every way.”

“Here you go, ma’am.” Jordan held out her untouched glass and the small crowd parted to let her through.

Wine: the great equalizer.

“Why, thank you.” Mrs. McGraw studied her with a shrewd gaze. “Have I seen you here before?”

“No, ma’am. I’m not from around here.” Now everyone stared at her, so she backed away. The spotlight was not for her unless she was playing first base on the softball field. Thankfully someone jumped into her space.

Lana had continued her way to Maisie, and the two women gave each other sincerely fake smiles.

Josh was nowhere in sight. Rather than get close enough to have to take sides on who was going to whip up his batter, Jordan left them to it and took a break at the temporary bar set up in a small cafeteria.

She released a sigh as she sat on one of the stools. “Amaretto and orange juice, please.”

“We have vodka, rum, and whiskey.” The bartender set a glass in front of her.

She glanced over the brands of alcohol. The whiskey wasn’t from Belle’s Medicinal Brewery, the distillery that was part of Fountenoy Hall. If she drank another brand, she’d feel like a traitor. “Rum and coke.”

The bartender scooped ice cubes in a plastic cup and pulled a bottle off a counter that probably was more used to apple juice and animal crackers.

A TV hung on the wall, tuned to a baseball game with the sound off.

It wasn’t the Red Sox, but she’d deal. A few men sat in the available chairs, their attention on the television.

She sipped her drink and submerged herself in the familiar territory of the game to quell the lingering vision of Josh naked except for buttercream frosting in strategic places.

The first baseman stood too casually, but she guessed he was more alert than he let on and was trying to put the runner off guard. She’d done that herself many times.

She took a healthy swallow of her drink, enjoying the bubbles of the soda and the smooth flavor of the rum.

The baserunner took a few large steps to lead off first and she perked up.

Competing against hungry players was her favorite part of the game.

Their excitement, their eagerness, their despair when the ball made it to the base first. Even the memory of the intensity sent a thrill of adrenaline coursing through her.

The pitcher glanced toward his casual teammate, settled in to pitch to home, then spun and threw to first as the runner took off, the actions mimicking what she and Wendy had done so often when playing in college.

The runner made it safely to second, and the few men sitting at the bar groaned. Jordan could have predicted that outcome. The pitcher and first basemen hadn’t been focused enough.

Wendy would have thrown it better.

A man sitting at the other end of the bar gave her a smile that bordered on assessment. Lana hadn’t mentioned if her game went beyond the server and guest pairing, but Jordan had no intention of being cupcaked. She could give him her iced stare if necessary, but hopefully he’d take the hint.

The smell of garlic and onions wafted to her and she turned to find the source of the scent. Josh stood at one of the tables, holding a tray of folded pastas.

“Kreplach?” he asked the couple sitting there. “Fried to golden brown perfection and served with an apricot dipping sauce.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting his rich voice settle over her as if it was eight years earlier. Yes, he had been a total douche. Yes, she wanted to know what had happened to him that morning. But no, she wasn’t going to live her life in the past.

She examined the folded pasta when Josh came her way and raised her eyebrows, resolutely blocking his fresh, soapy scent. “Really? Kreplach?”

His mouth twitched. “It’s a wonton. Made with ground beef and seasonings, but no mashed potatoes. And no dairy.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” She kept her tone as dry as an overbaked cupcake.

Josh didn’t move away, and she waited for him to say something else. Instead, he nodded and approached the people gathering in the hall. She watched him go, ignoring the pang in her heart. Why had he even gone to the bar when the event was in the large gym?

Someone slid into the seat next to her and she braced herself for a worn-out pick-up line. She tightened her grip on her rum and coke in anticipation.

“You’re All-American Jordan Shoenover,” said the feminine drawl next to her. “Ready with the wine glass or to help pick off a runner at first.”

Jordan opened her mouth to decline the offer of a drink, then closed it when she realized one wasn’t extended, and the person who occupied the seat was the congresswoman. And Jordan was fairly certain reciting softball lingo wasn’t the new pickup line. “How did you…”

“I knew I’d seen you somewhere before. It took me a minute to remember since you were covered in dirt and wearing a University of Georgia ballcap the last time I saw you, not holding a life-saving libation and wearing sparkling barrettes.

” Mrs. McGraw grinned at Jordan’s perplexed expression.

“My son was on the baseball team. We watched you girls when the games were scheduled close together and we had the time.”

Jordan circled her hand in the air while she mentally recalled the baseball roster. “Sic ’em!”

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Mrs. McGraw barked back.

They exchanged grins and Jordan nodded, the congresswoman’s son falling into place. “How is Luke doing?”

“He’s one of my aides now. Lord help him for following my footsteps into public service. He and his wife are about to give me my first grandbaby.” She picked up the tumbler of whiskey the bartender set in front of her without her ordering.

“ Mazel tov !” Jordan raised her own glass.

The congresswoman clinked them together. “I thought you had moved back up north after college.”

“I did, but I missed it here. I’m actually staying with two of my teammates at their Inn. Wendy Marsh and Brandilynn Clayton.” She didn’t mention Belle’s distillery. It honored its Prohibition roots by keeping its existence a poorly-held secret.

Mrs. McGraw nodded. “You girls were unstoppable. Always fun to watch.”

Flattery of her softball skills boosted Jordan’s mood. “I’m surprised you remembered. It’s been a while.”

“You lead the team to four national titles. How could I forget that? Besides, I have to cling to the fun I had before I was elected as a state rep. I’m too busy for anything else these days.

” She slung back her drink and set her glass down with a solid thunk.

“So what are you doing with yourself now? I always knew you’d go far.

You had that hungry, competitive air about you. ”

Jordan kept her face from revealing her current situation. If going far meant getting sued by her client’s employees, then Mrs. McGraw was right. “I’m a business owner.”

“Lord, honey, you say that with about as much enthusiasm as eating burnt gravy on a biscuit.”

“It’s been a difficult summer.” Jordan’s throat tightened at the simplistic understatement.

“What type of work do you do?”

“I dive into the interworking of companies and help them improve both their business and morale. To see if they can go from good to great with the people they have and how to fill in missing talent.” It was something she was good at and loved to do.

To see companies grow and their employees have more job satisfaction.

And then the owner of the last company turned her expertise into a weapon, completely ignoring her research and professional advice and sucking the joy out of her work.

“That sounds like a skill I could use with my constituents.”

The sound of an old-fashioned telephone escaped her clutch, and Jordan closed her eyes as a wave of resignation hit.

“I know that look.” Mrs. McGraw waved off the bartender about to pour her another drink. “Let me know if you and your friends are ever in the mood for a pickup game. I’d love to see you and Luke battle it out. Don’t tell him I said this, but I bet you’d kick his ass.”

Jordan grinned. She wouldn’t mind trying. “Yes, ma’am. Excuse me.”

She put money on the table and escaped the building to the deserted back patio.

The heat still lingered in the late summer air even after the sun went down, so most everyone was taking advantage of the cooler temperature inside.

She opened her clutch to retrieve her phone.

If her lawyer had gone from texting to calling, she should probably answer.

“Did you see the files I sent you?” Larry Weinschenk’s commanding lawyer voice boomed out over the line.