Page 14 of Sweet Temptation (Love & Legacy #1)

LEXIE

I used to hope it was you and me in the end.

That was before I realized how soon the end would come and how selfish that made me.

—Lexie’s Secret Thoughts

“ A re you sick of serving pumpkin coffees yet?” Amelia asks, as she walks through the swinging doors from the kitchen, a piping bag in one hand and a beautifully iced cupcake that smells like fall in Kroydon Hills in the other.

“Never,” I tell her with complete honesty. “Bring it on.”

“Here.” She hands me the cupcake. “Taste this and tell me what you think. I’ve been playing with a new recipe.”

I break off a piece of the surprisingly fluffy cupcake and pop it into my mouth. “Honestly?” I ask, feeling bad when she nods. “Maybe try green apple. It’s too sweet. The pumpkin is overpowering, and whatever kind of apple that’s in there is too sweet.”

“Shit. Okay. Back to the drawing board.”

The bells over the doors chime, and I look up to see Lucky walking in, dressed in his game day suit and looking better than any man has a right to. His baby blues focus on the number eleven on my chest before they even catch his mom standing next to me.

“Hey, honey. Let me go grab the pastries for the team.” She heads back into the kitchen, and Lucky leans over the counter, his blue eyes boring into me.

“I see how it is.” His gravelly voice drops low. “Guess we know who your favorite roommate is, don’t we?”

“My name’s on the back of this jersey, Beneventi. You want a coffee to go?” I don’t bother to wait for his answer, it’s easier to just make him a cup than it is to get caught staring, something I’ve noticed I’m doing a whole lot more since we got back from the beach.

I blame it on the salt air and hot bodies. The beach makes everyone hotter. That’s the only explanation I’ve got for the thoughts I’ve been having since we got home.

“You look good in a Kings jersey, little Sinclair. But you’d look better with a thirty-three on your back under Beneventi .”

“What have I told you about hitting on my employees, Lucky?” Amelia shoves three bags full of pink Sweet Temptations boxes at him, and my heart sinks a little with the thought of him hitting on someone else. “Why wouldn’t she wear her brother’s jersey?”

Right . Why wouldn’t I wear Linc’s jersey? Better question —why does the thought of wearing Lucky’s jersey do crazy things to my heart?

Nothing about this man is good for me. Not the way I want him or the way I know I can’t have him. Nothing .

But as much as I’ve tried telling myself that, memories of the past week keep running through my mind. Vivid memories. The kind that make you close your eyes and swear you’re right there again.

The feel of his skin against mine. The way he looked at me in the ocean, his arms holding me. Waking up when the migraine had finally passed and finding him asleep on the chair in the corner of the room.

He might not be good for me, but in Lucky’s own way, he’s good to me. And that feels like it could maybe be enough.

Lucky grins at his mom, then looks at me. “Just saying, Beneventi looks better on a jersey.” He holds up the bags and kisses his mom’s cheek. “Thanks, Ma.”

“Kick ass tonight, honey.”

“Have a good game,” I add and try not to stare at his ass as he walks out of the shop.

Nothing like realizing you’re lusting after your boss’s son.

“Well, I’m going to run out for some Granny Smith apples to see if I can get these cupcakes where I want them.” She unties her apron and makes a cup of coffee to take with her. “I’ll be back.”

“Sounds good,” I tell her as she walks out and hugs Dillan as she walks in.

One of my favorite things about Main Street is the people.

You’re never hurting for a shop to stop in or a friend to talk to.

Especially since Dillan decided to open Hopeless Romantics.

Today she’s covered in pink paint as she slaps a book on the counter.

“I just got the early copies of Mom’s newest book.

Thought it could be our next book club read. ”

The man on the cover is gorgeous as he stands there, shirtless, in jeans, with a football in his hands. Well, hello. “Um, yes, please.”

“Can I have a pumpkin coffee, please and...” She peruses the bakery case until she finds double-stuffed, white cream-filled donuts, and her eyes triple in size. “Oh, come to momma. And one of these, please.”

I hand her the donut and coffee and laugh when she takes a bite and moans. “This, right here—where has this been my whole life?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I just made them this morning. You like it?” I love watching someone enjoy food I’ve made. It’s so satisfying.

“This is better than sex.” She runs her finger through the cream and offers it to me, like I’m going to suck it off.

“Listen, I’m good. But I’m not sure I’d go as far as better than an orgasm.

” Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had some mediocre sex, so my donuts are probably better than that.

But good sex. The kind that comes with mind-blowing orgasms. The kind you know you’re just waiting for the right person to give you— yeah .

.. I guess I’m holding out hope that that will beat my donuts hands down, all day, every day.

“Where did your little deviant mind just go?” She points her cream-covered finger in my face. “Because that smile means you were thinking about sex.” Dillan gasps, and I blow out a breath, preparing for one of her tangents. “You’re having sex. Oh. My. God. Who are you having sex with?”

“Would you lower your voice? A customer could walk in any minute.” I look at the front windows at an empty sidewalk and sigh. “I’m not having sex with anything that is not currently rechargeable.” Dillan shrugs and smiles, and it’s my turn to gasp. “Are you?”

“We’re focusing on you now. If you’re not having sex with anything that doesn’t live in your nightstand, where did your mind just go? Because it definitely went somewhere. Was it the guy from West End? You never told me how your date went.”

“Brice?” I shiver. “Definitely not.”

Dillan moans again as she breaks off a piece of donut and pops it in her mouth. “Fine. Not Brice. Then who? Because there’s definitely a who.”

“You sound like an owl,” I tell her and grab my bottle of water, debating on what to say. I haven’t told anyone the thoughts I’ve been having. Not even Brea. “Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh.”

She stops and stares at me. “Oh my God. Is it old Mr. Denston?”

“The ninety-year-old who lives next door and forgets to wear pants when he gets the mail? No, you troll. It’s not him.” I look outside again, not even sure what or who I’m looking for. “I had a moment last week at the beach... with Lucky.”

“Lucky Beneventi?” she clarifies, like we know another Lucky.

“Yes, Lucky Beneventi. My roommate. We’ve been—I don’t know.

We’ve been different since I got back from France.

And there were a few times last week where I got this feeling.

” I try to figure out how to put it into words, but considering I’m not even sure what it is, it’s harder than I realized it would be.

“I’m not sure what it was, but it was something. ”

“So . . . ? Is that a bad thing?” Dillan pushes.

“Maybe?” I admit. “It’s Lucky. What did you say before? He’s sampled everyone’s cupcakes? I might not want anything serious, but I don’t want to be one of many either,” I admit, even though it stings.

“Why don’t you want something serious? I think serious could be fun with the right person.” She sips her coffee, waiting for my answer, and I make a mental note to push her for some answers of her own later when I’m thinking straighter.

“I just don’t want serious, okay?” I snap back and immediately feel bad.

“Lex, I’d understand if you were out there having a great time with a few different guys, but you’ve been on one date since you’ve been home. What’s going on?” How come family always pushes differently than anyone else?

How do I tell her the truth when I barely want to face it myself?

It took me years of therapy and then a year spent away from everyone to come to grips with it.

I don’t want to fall in love because I don’t want to know that I’ll have someone to leave when I die. If I’m lucky, I might get twenty years. Maybe. I’m not one of the lucky ones the new miracle CF drug has helped.

I’m going to die.

That’s my reality.

It’ll be messy, but I’ve known that my entire life. It isn’t fair, but life isn’t fair. I don’t want to know I’m leaving behind the love of my life to pick up the pieces.

So I don’t. I tell her a version of the truth, an easier one to process.

“I’m scared, Dillan. I come with enough baggage to last a lifetime. One way longer than I’m going to get.” I’m proud of how confidently I manage to get the words out. Words I don’t usually put a voice behind.

“Don’t talk like that, Lexie.” Dillan’s voice shakes as she leans against the counter, moving closer. “You are going to live until you’re old and gray and surrounded by a whole football team full of little blond grandbabies.”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m not. And it’s not fair to expect someone else to accept that when I don’t think my own family has.” The words hurt today as much as they did the first time I wrote them in a journal a decade ago. “I can’t. Not even a man who already knows it.”

She looks up and sniffs, like that will disguise the tears building in her eyes.

“You know, we all like to joke about the Beneventis. They make it pretty easy with the whole bad boys who look like Abercrombie models but with bigger muscles thing they’ve got going on. But you know what else they’ve got?”

I shake my head, not sure where she’s going with this.

“Bigger hearts. They might not let just anyone see it, but it’s there, if you look close enough. If you give Lucky a chance, maybe he’ll surprise you. It might be worth trying.”