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T he next day, I bake almost the entire day. Baking is my passion and I hope that I can open my own bakery one day; it also acts as my therapy and outlet for when I am pissed off. That is the reason for the excess baking today. I can’t get my brother’s stupid best friend out of my mind. It is annoying how almost every encounter that I have with him merits this type of reaction. He infiltrates my mind with his comments and actions, and he isn’t so bad to look at either. That is probably the most annoying part about him. Everyone, including my entire family, thinks he is irresistible. Not me.

I decide to make an assortment of pastries including lemon blueberry scones, mixed berry muffins, strawberry poptarts, and my favorite chocolate cupcakes. I have The Great British Baking Show on in the background. It’s one of my many comfort shows. It would be a dream to go on the show, but I also don’t know how I would do under pressure. It’s a lot easier to bake when you do it on your terms, with familiar recipes, and without a time limit or knowing that the best bakers in the world are judging you.

I am the happiest when I am baking. I know it is my dream. I just need to keep working hard to make it happen.

After indulging in one too many cupcakes and one too many glasses of wine, I fall asleep on my couch.

I’m in the Storm arena and it is completely empty except for me and this very muscular man with tattoos all along his arms, who is pressing me against the sideboards of the penalty box, grinding his body against mine. I am in nothing but a green hockey jersey, legs spread open wide and wrapped around his chiseled torso. This man mutters my name but I can’t make out who it is. His voice sounds oddly familiar, but I can’t make out his face. All I know is that I am tangled up with this man and my body is electrified by every kiss and lick against my collarbone and nibble on my ear. Even though this is such a public place, I don’t care at all. I am completely turned on and enraptured by this man propping me up against the boards. I give into him with every caress over every inch of my body with his rough, strong hands.

Our breaths become in sync as I move up against this dreamy man and he matches my movement with his body. My fingers dig into his shoulder blades and pull on his dark hair and as my toes curl under and my heels dig into his lower back. He lets out a groan and mutters a word that shakes me to my core and startles me awake: “Cupcake.”

My eyes pop open. I have never been so disoriented in my life. What the hell was that? Why was I even dreaming about Tristan freaking Lawson? Especially in a dream where everything felt so vivid, so scintillating–it felt like I was really there with Tristan, in his damn jersey, completely at his mercy.

I reach for the remote, turn off the TV, grab my large water tumbler and head to my room to get properly ready for bed. I hazily peek at the time on my phone. It’s already after 10:30 p.m. Shit, I hate falling asleep on the couch. I have to tell Tess about this dream ASAP. She is the only one who I trust enough to confess this to without judgment. Actually, she would be all for this dream coming true for me. Hell she would even want in on this dream since she is obsessed with hockey players. Tristan would be right up her alley.

I yawn, scroll through my latest messages and start transcribing my entire dream out for Tess to read and no doubt analyze. I can’t wait to hear her interpretation of this twisted scenario where I am having sex with my enemy.

I throw my phone onto my bed and walk into my bathroom. I vigorously brush my teeth as if I am trying to scrub away the events that took place in my dream. I want to scrub away the surge of want and lust that I felt for Dream Tristan. Once I am done flossing, swishing mouthwash and washing my face, I head back into my room and plop into my bed. I aimlessly search for my charging cord in the darkness. I find it and plug my phone in and click on the messaging icon, assuming that Tess responded. Hoping that she responded. I already have my phone on Do Not Disturb so I didn’t see or hear the message come in.

My heart plummets when I see the message appear on my phone.

“Well that’s quite the dream, Cupcake. The sin bin, huh? Interesting choice.”

Oh my God. At first I think Tess is messing with me and using my oh-so-endearing nickname as a joke. Then my eyes finally are pulled into focus and instead of seeing Tess Lewis I see the name of the last person in the world that I would ever want to see the message I sent: Tristan Lawson. Shit.

I see three dots load and then another message pops up.

“How was I?”

This is my own personal hell. My ears get extremely hot at the thought of how it felt with Tristan’s hands all over my body, holding me up with ease against those sideboards. How I would imagine his tongue would feel against my skin. I am so thankful he is not here right now to notice the shift in my complexion and staggered breathing or how incredibly flustered I am. As payback, I want to get into his head a little bit since he is so clearly in mine for some reason.

“I’ve had better.”

I am about to click the side of my phone and forget about this horrendous turn of events when I see another text come in.

“Doubt it.”

I stumble my way into my classroom the next morning, with a large container full of a variety of baked goods that I made yesterday. Tess comes in behind me with copies we need for the day. I am thankful every day that the universe set me up with Tess as a co-teacher. We became best friends instantly and any strangers looking in on our relationship assume that we have been friends all of our lives.

“Good morning, B!” She bumps my hip with hers, given that both of our hands are full. She clocks the large plastic container full of goodies, drops the copies and swipes the container from my hands. Already knowing the dynamic between me and Tristan, she says, “Good lord, what did Tristan do this time? Not that I am complaining. I am reaping all the benefits from this dysfunctional relationship.”

“Oh you know, just being Tristan. He is the same pompous, egotistical, supercilious, cocky asshole that he’s always been.”

“Wow, you are feisty today. I love it!”

“I knew he was going to be at Bradley and Jen’s party, it’s just…I don’t know, my body has this strong reaction whenever I am near him. And he is just so full of himself.”

“Yeah, got that from your list of adjectives. Ooooh, maybe the kids can help come up with more words for arrogant. You know, to keep up with your running list. It would be a good vocab lesson for them.” Tess stuffs her mouth with a scone and winks. “Kidding,” she muffles, crumbs falling out of her mouth. We have about five minutes before the kids start walking in. It’s now or never.

“I have to show you something, but you have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone.”

Tess claps excitedly. “I love a good intrigue!”

I open my phone to my text messages and give her the device, simultaneously eager for and dreading her reaction. Knowing Tess, she is going to eat this up and make it seem more than what it is: a stupid dream.

Tess’ jaw drops and then she breaks out into a full-fledged smile.

“You did not text Tristan Lawson your very detailed account of a very spicy dream you had of him last night!”

I slap my hand to my face. “I did.”

“I have so many questions. But first, how did that happen? Did you intentionally text him?”

My voice goes up what seems like a thousand octaves. “No! I fell asleep on the couch and woke up super groggy and disoriented…”

“Ha, I would be a little disoriented too if I was doing anything resembling what you were doing with him in the sin bin.” Her eyebrows wiggle and she smirks as she drinks from her oversized tumbler of coffee.

“Tess, focus please. Anyway, I just saw the T & L and assumed that I was texting you.” I cover my face again. “Ugh this is the worst thing that could ever happen. Tristan is going to hold it over my head until the end of time.” I hold my hand out to get my phone back from my best friend but she looks back down at the screen, still with a silly smile on her face.

“Is he flirting with you?”

I guffaw. “Absolutely not.” I grab my phone, turn it on silent and place it down on my desk.

“I don’t know, B.” She says accusingly, “Even though you two allegedly hate each other, I have always felt there is something underneath the surface of pure loathing.”

“There is no allegedly. And there’s nothing underneath other than more hatred. It was just a stupid dream, Tess. It wasn’t real.” My stomach is aching. I blame hunger, so I take another bite of a scone. Tess is observing my every move like a detective trying to piece all the clues together to solve the case. “What?”

“And why can’t this become a reality again? Remind me.”

“Well, first, I despise the man, and he feels the same about me, so it would never work. Plus, he falls under my one and only dating rule.” Our students start to trickle in. Perfect timing because I want to change the subject and focus on work. “So like I said, Tristan and I will never be a reality.”