Page 29 of Lovetown, USA

Lane

I’m right in the middle of my research when Trey calls me.

I’m not sure why I smile when I see his name, or why I pick up on the first ring when I should be ignoring it. I never let anything or anyone pull me away from a story.

But this is different.

Hate that for me.

“Hey,” I greet him, still smiling.

“Hey, baby girl. I’m picking you up tonight. Wear something comfortable.”

“Comfortable like sweats, or like casual chic?”

“Comfortable like you wouldn’t mind getting messy.”

“Messy,” I echo. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

His laugh tickles my brain. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

He hangs up, just like that, not even giving me time to verbally thank him for the flowers he sent me.

I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to my laptop.

I’m down a digital rabbit hole with Mayor Daphne’s husband.

According to his LinkedIn profile, Merrick Davis is a good ten years older than his wife, and he definitely looks it.

He’s a “consultant in emerging technologies,” which makes my journalistic instincts tingle.

It’s both too vague and too wordy for me.

I need to know more.

The name of his company is Cognilynx Inc. Never heard of it, but a cursory glance at their website tells me they’re in artificial intelligence.

Which…well, fuck.

That’s basically the bane of every writer’s existence. I’m predisposed to hate this company and that man already.

Before I can dig any deeper, Nadia’s name lights up my phone. I answer her on the first ring, too, and her voice floods my tiny hotel room.

“Girl! I need help.”

“With what?”

“I think I’m catching feelings.”

“For who?” I say, leaning back against the headboard. “Miguel? Amir?”

“No, Ashton.”

I pause to recall that name and come up short. “Who the fuck is Ashton?”

“I didn’t tell you about him?” She laughs. “Ashton’s the painter.”

“No, bitch. Never heard of him.”

“I know I told you.”

“You did not. Cut to the chase, I’m working.”

“Okay, so he’s been on the roster. And I know I shouldn’t be seriously considering an artist, but he’s been so consistent and sweet. He actually listens when I talk, you know? I think I like him for real. What do I do?”

I wanna laugh, but nothing comes out. “You’re seriously asking me ?”

“Yes! I need advice.”

“Okay, well, here’s my advice. Don’t take advice from me.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate yourself for thinking I could help you. I’m a fucking mess over here. You know that.”

She sighs loudly. “What’s wrong now?”

I hesitate, then blurt it out. “I had a threesome.”

There’s a sharp inhale, then Nadia screams so loudly I yank the phone away from my ear.

“WHAT?!?!?”

I grin in spite of myself. “Yep.”

“With who?”

“Trey and Shayla, the woman I told you about.”

Another scream, followed by clapping. “Girl! Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, laughing. “It was a one-time thing. It was fun. I did it because I was keeping an open mind.”

Nadia cackles. “And you see what that got you, right?”

“I do.”

“So are you bi now? How does this work?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m attracted to Shayla specifically, but I’ve never felt like that with any other woman. She’s just…we vibe. You know?”

“I don’t, but I kinda want to now.”

We share a laugh at that.

“But she had the nerve to tell me she thinks Trey has real feelings for me.”

“Good. I agree.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, bitch. From what you’ve told me about him, it sounds like he’s actually romancing you. He sounds thoughtful. Genuinely interested. That’s hard to come by these days.”

I roll my eyes. “Nadia, come on—“

“Just be open to the possibility, that’s all. If you can be open to a threesome, you can be open to a relationship.”

I hate how much sense that makes. “Well when you put it that way…”

We’re silent for a moment before she sighs again. “So what about Ashton?”

“Girl, I don’t know,” I whine. “Just follow your heart or whatever. Go hard or go home. Love like no one’s watching. Accept the things you cannot change. All that good shit.”

She’s silent for a beat. “Yeah, I think we’re both hopeless.”

“Fine with me,” I say. “Hope is pointless anyway.”

“Where are we?”

Trey’s hand is on my lower back as he guides me down a narrow, winding hallway. The building we entered looks like a warehouse from the outside, but the inside is anyone’s guess.

But the smells are awfully familiar…something sweet. Like a pastry shop. Or a Krispy Kreme.

There’s soft light ahead.

“Right in here,” he says as he guides me through the entryway.

It’s a gigantic kitchen.

He grabs two aprons from the wall next to a large walk-in refrigerator. “Our date tonight,” he says as he ties an apron around my waist, “is baking for the women and children’s shelter. They have a dance this weekend, and we’re stocking the dessert table.”

He bends down to give me a soft peck as I stand there stunned.

“Trey…that’s so sweet,” I manage to say. “Do you volunteer often?”

“Not like this,” he says, tying his own apron on. “I usually do mobile care at the shelters once or twice a month. I thought you’d enjoy this more.”

Right here, surrounding by gleaming silver machines and the cold draft of the air conditioning blowing right above my head, my body warms intensely as I stare at this man.

For a slick one, this sure feels genuine.

He claps his hands together. “Where do you wanna start?

“Cookies,” I say. “Those are easy.”

“You don’t seem like the type to take the easy way out,” he teases.

“I’m not. I am the type to burn water, though, so you might wanna take the lead on this.”

He laughs. “I can lead if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

He winks, and my stomach does a flip.

I watch him lug bags of flour and sugar, enjoying the sight of his muscles bulging under the weight.

Together, we grab mixing bowls, utensils, and other necessary things I don’t have in my kitchen at home, like a whisk and sheet pans.

Reginald used to tease me about my lack of domesticity, but I’ve never been the type to cook. Or decorate. Or clean. I just did what I had to do to be able to afford hiring those services out.

But I know now that some men wanna take a career woman and make her a housewife. Just to say they did it.

Trey and I fall into a rhythm almost immediately.

I crack eggs while he measures sugar. We occasionally bump into each other at the mixing bowls.

At one point, we fight over the whisk—I want it to stir my cookie dough, but he insists he needs it for the buttercream icing.

He wins by default when I realize the cookie dough is stiff as hell and I don’t have the arm strength, but he’s nice about it. He only teases me a little.

Then my eyes fall on a large electronic mixer on the back table.

“Wait,” I say, drawing his attention. “Why are we using elbow grease when there’s a big ass mixing machine right there?”

Trey doesn’t even look over at it. “It’s more fun this way. Aren’t you having fun?”

“My arm hurts.”

He bursts out laughing. “You’re the one trying to mix cement with a toothpick.”

I give him a playful look. “Why you bringing up old shit?”

He looks up, then walks closer to me. “Hold on…you have…” he trails off as he swipes a finger across my cheek. “Flour.”

But I don’t care about the flour. I’m warm again, this time from his touch. And staring up into his eyes isn’t helping.

I think…I like him.

He dips his head to press a soft kiss against my lips, but it’s over before I can even close my eyes.

“Lots to do,” he says softly. “Let’s not get distracted.”

“You’re the one who came over here touching me.”

“My bad,” he says. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He says that, but then five minutes later, he’s behind me, assisting me as I stir the brownie mix.

It’s not a two-person job in the least, but I like the feel of his body behind mine, his large hand covering mine.

And when he presses against me, and I feel his erection, my eyes flutter shut.

My body shivers when he nuzzles my neck with his nose.

“Trey…”

His response is a kiss just below my jaw.

“We’re supposed to be working,” I murmur.

“This works for me.”

I giggle at that, using my ass to push him backwards. His quiet groan tells me I just made things worse.

“Two things,” he says against my neck. “I missed you when I was gone. And now that I have you back, it’s damn near impossible to keep my hands off you.”

“I don’t mind,” I admit. “But we’re in the middle of a good deed.”

“You right.” His tongue grazes the shell of my ear, sending another shiver through me. “I got another good deed for you later.”

Honestly, he could have me right here in the flour if it wasn’t unsanitary.

But we rein it long enough to get the sugary treats in the industrial ovens, wipe down a bit, and transfer the icing to piping bags.

Once the cupcakes are cool, Trey watches me ice them, a smile lingering on his handsome face.

“You look like you’ve done that before,” he says.

“Nope. But I’ve eaten plenty. Does that count?”

“Not even a little bit.”

I stick my tongue before getting back to work. I’m concentrating hard, too, making sure the pink icing applies evenly. Once I’m done, I step back to admire my handiwork just as Trey steps up and holds out a finger.

“Gimme a little taste.”

I pipe a small glob of icing on his fingertip, which he then holds out to me.

I hold his gaze while I lick the icing off his finger, relishing his heated stare before I close my lips around it and suck gently enough to make his breath hitch.

“Hello, hello!”

“Fuck,” Trey mutters as he takes a step back. “Hey, B.”

I turn just as a man in a full chef’s uniform comes walking up. “How you doin’? I’m Brian.”

“Chef Brian,” Trey corrects like it isn’t obvious. “The baddest pastry chef in all of Florida. I realize that’s a weird ass sentence.”

I laugh at that as I shake Brian’s hand. “Is this your kitchen?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you for letting us use it.”

“Any time for Doc. Did he tell you what we’re doing?”

“For the shelter, yes.”