Page 3

Chapter Three

LIE

I check my bag again. Butter, sugar, vanilla, flour, confectioner’s sugar, and cream of tartar. And the all-important cookie cutters in the shape of cocks. A masterpiece of different shapes and sizes because all dicks are beautiful.

And when I’m finished, all dicks are going to be edible too.

I hear the front door open and quickly, though quietly, shut the pantry door. I don’t bother with shoes since I’m running across the yard to Laiken’s to use his kitchen.

That’s the excuse, anyway. Really, I just want to be around him. He’s home but… sexy. Maybe I should be disturbed that he’s the same age as my dad. He changed my diapers when I was a baby. All of that should bother me, right?

Except that I’m all grown up and so is he. Who knew I was in my silver fox era? I skipped all the other eras and went straight for the older, more experienced goods.

Not that I think anything is ever going to happen. I’m stone cold in the best-friend’s-son zone with this one. That’s fine. A disappointment and epic tragedy, but fine. I’m still going to flirt with him until the day I die.

Or find someone as equally mesmerizing, hot, and distinguished.

I slip out the sliding glass doors and practically jump off the deck so I don’t make any noise that my mother will hear. When I’m on the grass, I sprint across the yards until I’m standing at the glass door that leads into Laiken’s house.

I knock and wait.

It’s not long before I see him come around the corner. Mm-Mm-MM ! Yummy. His shorts aren’t necessarily considered short, but they’re not the long, loose ones that guys these days wear, either. They’re to his mid-thighs and hug his body nicely.

I can’t help but wonder what he’s packing. There’s nothing but a hint. I bet he’s an amazing grower. I’d love to see it.

You know, for science. Yep.

He’s shirtless, which is pretty normal. I think I can probably count the number of times I’ve seen Laiken with a shirt and they’re all when he’s at work. As soon as he steps outside, the shirt comes off, and he’s bare- chested for the world to admire.

Admire, I do. He’s not super toned. Maybe a little soft in the middle. His biceps are big, as if he used to work out. There are memories that tug just at the edge of thought, and I think that my dad and Laiken used to work out when I was younger. We’re talking like six or seven.

I might have made that up, though.

His chest is sexy with all kinds of dark, graying hair there. We’re not talking thick like a rug, but it’s there and obvious.

His face is definitely distinguished with a sexy profile with beautiful dark navy eyes and a well-shaped and always-trimmed mustache-beard combo with hair following his jawline to his hair. His cheeks are always smooth, but under his chin and neck are definitely messier. Rarely shaved.

His hair is dark brown, but it’s started silvering at the temples. Just looking at him makes everything inside me shiver with appreciation.

I like what I see. I can’t help but wonder if he likes what he sees in me. I’m still the kid. I’m still Nason’s son. I’m never going to be more than that.

Which is fine. A boy can dream, right?

Laiken slides the door open, eyeing my bag suspiciously. “You know the door is unlocked,” he says as he lets me in.

“Yeah, and you know I’m always going to wait for you to answer. Unless you’re not home. Then I’ll probably let myself in.”

He gives me an amused half smile, his eyes locked on the bag I have. “What did you bring?”

“I’m going to make dick cookies, and I need your kitchen.”

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s super sexy. I have dreams about the way he looks at me. They’re dirty and raw and?—

Not appropriate for right now unless I want to be hard in front of him.

“Dick cookies?” Laiken asks as he watches me pull out all the items and set them on his pristine counter one at a time.

When I get to the cookie cutters, I toss one to him. He catches it easily and snorts. “Jesus, Lie.”

“Mom’s home,” I explain. That’s all the explanation I need. Laiken sighs, setting down the cutter with the others.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as he examines the other five shapes, shaking his head slightly. He’s much more like Dad than Mom, though. He’s amused and willing to humor me.

“You don’t mind?” I ask.

“Nah,” he says and takes a couple steps back. “Help yourself.”

“I left some ingredients because it felt cumbersome. You have milk and eggs, right?”

Laiken leans his hip against the counter and nods. “Yep.”

I busy myself with pulling out his stand mixer and finding a few mixing bowls. He watches me. I can feel his eyes on me, though I try to ignore it as I move around his space.

I’ve used his kitchen a lot in my twenty years.

Especially once I came out to Mom. Suddenly, the things she’d found cute were now feminine, and I shouldn’t be doing them.

Like baking. Never mind that the three bakers on Bane are all men.

One looks like your stereotypical biker, which Mom thinks is super masculine.

When I point out that he’s the best baker on Kala—he’s won awards and shit—Mom says that I’m different , but then quickly follows it up with ‘ different doesn’t mean bad . ’

It doesn’t. It means she’d rather have the same, though. Not different.

Dad always scolds her, and she’s quick to apologize, but when Dad’s not home, I prefer not to stick around and listen to her passive digs at everything about me.

And thus, when I feel like cooking something that I will inevitably burn, I use Laiken’s kitchen. I think he’s taken out an extra homeowner’s insurance policy to cover my cooking.

The one thing I can make successfully are my grandma’s sugar cookies with petit four frosting. No matter what shape I cut them into, they taste like childhood. They remind me of my grandma.

It’s strange living in a world with my grandparents no longer in it.

I didn’t talk to either of my grandparents often, but I still always considered us close.

I just lost my last grandparent eight months ago, and it was hard.

Not necessarily because she was the one I was closest to, but because an entire generation of my family tree is gone.

I can no longer pick up the phone and call just to hear their voices.

Anyway… cookies.

Laiken stays where he is, watching me as I cream the butter and sugar together.

I had the foresight to steal a couple sticks of butter last night and hid them in my bedroom.

Yep, that would have been a strange conversation if one of my parents found two sticks of soft butter in my room.

The questions they’d have… I almost snort just thinking about it.

My mother would probably be horrified.

While it’s creaming in the mixer, I use a sieve and run my flour and baking powder through it so there are no clumps. Back to the wet ingredients, I add the eggs, one at a time, and then the milk. Then it’s a slow incorporation of the dry.

“You just going to watch me?” I ask when Laiken hasn’t moved.

“I’m supervising.”

“I haven’t even turned the oven on yet.”

“Somehow, I think you can still manage to set a fire.”

I glare at him and say, “I can set a fire of a different kind, though.” It’s a lame attempt at flirting. I know that. I’ve said much smoother things in the past.

So why do I actually get a response from this one? Laiken answers, “I know you can.”

My eyes remain locked with his for a long few seconds as I determine whether he was answering my flirting or just pointing out that I’m likely to set a fire in the kitchen, even with a glass of water.

For the record, water can be burnt. Don’t ask me how I know.

I turn back to the dough because I don’t want to over-mix it.

That’s bad. I wait for everything to just come together and begin pulling away from the side of the bowl before I turn off the mixer.

I lay out a couple of silicone mats and work the dough until it’s a solid, smooth ball.

After wrapping it in plastic, I stick it in the fridge to chill for an hour.

The trick to perfect shapes is using cold dough. That way, when it cooks, the shapes don’t spread. I’ll have some perfectly shaped cocks to eat, and I am here for it.

I don’t bother washing the mixing bowl, instead moving on to the frosting.

A bunch of sugar, cream of tartar, and hot water go into a pot over medium-high heat, and I stick in the candy thermometer to monitor while it cooks.

It needs to reach exactly 226°F and then drop to 110°F before adding the vanilla and confectioner’s sugar.

Yes, it’s a precise process. While I’m waiting for it to melt and reach temp, I move around the kitchen. Set dirty things in the sink and set up the area for rolling out dough and getting the cookies in the oven. Then a station to let them cool. And finally, a frosting station.

I bet I can convince Laiken to help me frost dicks. The thought makes me smile.

Someday, I’m going to get some piping bags and learn to truly decorate cookies. That day is not today, though.

While I move around, I check the thermometer often. You can burn sugar very easily. I’ve learned that over the years. I’m not even going to count how many times I’ve burned sugar. Cleaning those pots is a kind of punishment all on its own.

I pull some utensils from the drawer. They get tangled and a wooden spoon goes flying. I bend over to pick it up, and from the corner of my eye, I see Laiken’s attention drop to my ass.

Because I can’t help myself, I ask, “You like what you see?”

“Everyone knows a full moon is beautiful,” he answers without missing a beat.

Oh my… did he just…

I get to my feet and meet his eyes. He doesn’t appear to have said those words. I imagined them. It was the blood rushing to my head as I bent to pick them up. Yep, that’s it. That’s what happened.

I search my brain for something sexy, full-moon related, and perhaps an innuendo, but come up short. I’m still a little shocked. Words tumble from my mouth before I can think better of them, though. Because I don’t know how to shut up.

“Not everyone likes full moons,” I point out. “Some prefer…” Where the hell am I going with this?

“I love a nice full moon,” Laiken says, rescuing me from having to come up with something quippy. “There’s nothing better than a full moon. I could stare at the most perfect full moon for hours.”

Oh… holy fuck. Is he smooth or am I horny?

Silence fills the kitchen. Laiken doesn’t look away from me. His eyes remain locked with mine. Waiting for me to answer.

Through the silence, I hear the gas burner running and abruptly turn away to check on my sugar. Good thing too. It’s just cresting 220°. I studiously watch the thermometer and simultaneously give Laiken a full, uninterrupted view of my ass.

My cheeks feel hot. Which is stupid. I’ve flirted with this man for years and have never, not once, been self-conscious of the fact.

But then, he’s never ever, ever commented back. I don’t know what to do with this. Where do I even go from here?

Thankfully, I’m saved from answering to concentrate on my frosting. “Will you wash the bowl for the mixer?” I ask.

“Is that why you want to use my kitchen?” Laiken asks as he moves toward the sink. “So you have a dish monkey?”

“Nope. That’s just a bonus.”

“I better be getting some of those cookies,” he says.

“You can eat all the dicks you want,” I offer. “You get first choice.”

“Do I?” he asks.

“Definitely. Though I suggest waiting until they’re frosted so you can decide based on the finished product. They look different all dressed up.”

“Indeed,” he muses.

As I watch the sugar cool, Laiken turns the water off and dries the bowl. I keep him in my peripheral vision, already contemplating how many times I can bend over for him while sticking trays of cookies in the oven.

He sets it on the stand mixer and washes the cookie mixer thing that I used to mix the cookies with. I don’t need that one for the frosting, though. There’s one that’s a big whisk. I’m planning to use that one.

Laiken is back to watching me as I move on to the next leg of frosting making. He’s closer now. Just a couple of feet away. I can practically feel his body heat.

It’s making me flush. Does he know that? Is he messing with me right now? Calling my bluff on all the innuendo offers I shoot his way? Is this a challenge for me to react? To prove I’m serious?

I’m not sure where to go from here.

In baking, being exact is helpful. I can’t give Laiken my full attention right now, or I’ll risk ruining my cookies, and my heart is set on dick-shaped sugar cookies.

But as I finish up my frosting and there are still twenty minutes to wait until I take my dough out of the fridge, I turn to look at Laiken. My eyes drop to his lips when he licks them.

I swallow. My tongue traces the same path along my own lips that Laiken’s took across his. My chest feels like it’s going to pound its way out of my chest. My dick is pretty sure that Laiken licking his lips while looking at me is the hottest thing ever and is threatening to plump up right here.

“What if I already know which dick I want before we finish?” Laiken asks.

A whimper sticks in my throat as my entire body shivers at his words. I bite my tongue so the sound doesn’t come out. Fucking hell. Laiken is flirting with me!

He reaches toward me and my breath punches from my lungs, but then he holds up a cookie cutter and my eyes flicker to it.

“This is the one I want. It’s got the sexiest shape of them all, in my opinion.”

It’s a curling one. As if the dick is bending down, bowing over the balls. I’m not exactly sure where to go with that comment.