Carmen Jenner - Welcome to Sugartown

“Oh, I know exactly what you think of her. You and every other young prick in this town—”

My father is getting riled up again. His face is beet red and he practically has steam pouring out his ears. I wedge myself between them and gently push at his broad chest. “Dad, back off. What happens between Elijah and I is none of your business.”

He puts his hand over mine and looks down at me, “You’re my little girl; everything you do is my business.”

I shake my head and give him a sad smile. “No. It’s not. I can’t be a little girl forever, Dad. I’m not a little girl. I haven’t been since Mum died.”

“Aww, hell, kiddo.” Dad sniffs, and then, I guess to prove he’s not a complete pansy—because the definition of a “sheila” in my father’s eyes is a grown man who cries—he turns away from me and spits on the ground before taking a step back towards the house.

I glance at Elijah, making sure he’s not already planning to run for the hills. He gives me an odd but warm smile, and then his eyes widen when he sees my dad turn around again.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. I don’t mean it.”

I smile, because despite the fact that he can be a big and scary beast of a man at times, underneath he’s like a puppy dog—albeit one with a mean bite—but mostly, I smile because, in my entire nineteen years, this is the first time I’ve ever heard my dad say sorry, to anyone. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I know you’re just trying to look out for me.”

He nods like he’s satisfied with that answer and then points a finger at Elijah. “You remember what I said last night. You think on it long and hard before you make any decisions that affect her or you’ll be seeing the wrong end of a shotgun. You got it?”

Oh god, please tell me he didn’t just threaten to have Elijah killed if he broke my heart? And suddenly Elijah’s speedy exit from the party last night makes perfect sense.

It’s Elijah’s turn to nod. “Yeah, I got it.”

“I’m gonna need you at work bright and early Monday mornin’. You good with that?”

“Yes, Sir,” Elijah replies and Dad walks back up the stairs and inside the house.

I snag my lip between my teeth and glance awkwardly at Elijah. “Hi.”

His smooth chocolate eyes fasten onto me and his lips tip up in the corner so that I know exactly what he’s thinking. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.”

He moves closer, until we’re standing toe to toe and I’m close enough to feel his warm breath on the top of my hair. “I kept thinking of you, all alone in that big old kitchen making pies. Then, naturally, I thought of how good your pie tasted and how I wanted to taste it over and over again.”

Somehow I didn’t think we’re talking about pastries, anymore.

“That so?” I squeaked.

“Mmm, that’s so.” He runs a finger up my arm, over my collarbone and cups the nape of my neck in his hand. He leans in as though he’s about to kiss me and there’s a moment of terrible, delicious torture as I wait for him to bring his lips down to mine, but he presses them into my cheek in a soft, slightly wet kiss instead. “Plus, if I have to choke down another cardboard microwave meal, my stomach’s never gonna forgive me.”

“And who says I’m going to let you taste my pie again?”

“Baby girl, five minutes alone with me and you’re gonna be begging me to taste your pie.”

“Well, I guess it was pretty brave of you to show your face in front of my dad after I spent the night in your motel room. Surely you deserve some kind of reward for your heroism? You get that he’s hurt people for a lot less, right?”

He chuckles and pulls me through the kitchen door. “Yeah, I got that.”

“And you get that you’re not getting a free meal here, right? I mean, if I have to work, then so the hell do you.”

“Wait, you really want me to help you cook pie?”

“No, I want you to stand there like some Greek Adonis looking all ridiculous and cute. Of course you’re going to help.” He looks as though he’s about to protest again so I arch my brow and say, “So help me god, if you say anything about a man’s place not being in the kitchen I’m going to kick your ass, Cade.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“Good.” I rifle through the drawer and pull out two aprons. “Now, do you want the pink, or the yellow with cupcakes? Personally, I think the pink is really more your style.”

Someone was pounding on my door and that someone was about to get their head pounded in. I was sweaty, my head felt like it’d gone a couple of rounds with Tyson and I ached from head to friggin’ toe. Ana’s kid brother had come home from school last week sporting a nasty case of a zombie virus and had since shared it all around. Because sharing is caring. I’d tried to keep my distance, but seeing as Ana spends half her time with Sam and I spend the majority of my time with her, I’d ended up being one of the infected, too. Oddly enough, this damn flu had hit everyone in her family, but Ana seemed immune.

The pounding in my head and on my front door continues until I finally roll out of bed, snatch up the half empty bottle of vodka on my bedside table and take a hefty swig. It burns like a bitch the entire way down and feels even worse sitting in my empty stomach, but if it’ll help to burn out this flu then I’ll down the whole bottle now just so I can feel better and get back to work.

Still nursing the bottle, I stumble over to the door, wrapped in a blanket and a pair of trackies. I pull the door back, and Ana’s face is the one that greets me, so I have to rethink my plan of pounding in her head because that would just suck. Plus she looks like a fucking goddess in those jeans.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

I just stare at her. I’m sure my sweaty, glassy-eyed, crackhead appearance says it all. “You look awful.”

“Feel it, too. You shouldn’t be here, babe, you’re gonna get sick.”

“I never get sick and I got Holly to cover my shift for me so,” she holds her hand out for me to shake and says in a breathy, sexy voice that has my Johnson twitching in my pants, “hi, I’m Ana, and I’ll be your nurse for the rest of the day.”

“Oh good, ‘cause I have this ache in my pants that could use some TLC.” I smirk and take another swig.

“Nice try. How about you give me the bottle—” she reaches out to take it but I hold it above my head.

“How ‘bout you get drunk with me, instead?”

“Give me the bottle, Elijah, before I hurt you.” She’s serious, too. On any other occasion I might have taken her up on that offer, but in my current state I’ve probably got all the coordination of a newborn baby, and no man wants to emasculate themselves in front of the girl they have perm-a-wood for. I hand over the bottle and surrender myself over to her care.

“Good boy, now go and lie down.” I waggle my eyebrows and she gives me her serious face before a laugh escapes. Even though my ears and nose are full of crap and my hearing’s reduced by about 50 per cent, her laugh is still the best fucking sound I’ve ever heard. “I made you some soup with dry toast. I have tissues, cough medicine, throat lozenges and every Fast and the Furious movie ever released on DVD.”

“Baby girl, what are you doin’ with a guy like me?”

“The same thing you’re doing with a girl like me.” My head is much too messy to even begin trying to work that shit out, so I trudge back to bed and watch her fine arse in those jeans instead.

Within minutes Ana is beside me, fluffing pillows and forcing medicine down my throat that tastes far worse than vodka ever could. Then she feeds me dry toast and the best chicken soup I’ve ever had—come to think of it I can’t remember a time when I ever ate chicken soup before this, but I’m sure even if I had, it was never this good. She slips a DVD in the player when I’m done and settles into the crook of my arm.

About twenty minutes in I remember she hasn’t eaten anything, and when I say as much she replies, “I ate before I came.”

I press my lips into her hair, slide my arm a little higher up her waist and whisper, “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Came.”

She laughs and I slide my hand up over her perfect tits and tilt her head up to mine to kiss her. I know I shouldn’t, but she’s here watching the ultimate guy movie with me and she made me chicken soup and forced medicine down my throat—and yes, she took away the vodka but that was probably for the best, too—and it occurs to me right then, in my fever heady state, that I’ve never had anyone take care of me before the way she does. And then it occurs to me that I could get used to having her care for me.

Too used to it.

My heart pounds around my chest uncontrollably. Fuck, when did I become such a complete pussy?

“Oh my god, you’re like some twisted little sex fiend when you’re sick.” She sits up and climbs over me until she’s straddling my waist. I lift her hips and seat her back down over my cock, which has been rock hard since she curled up next to me.

“Darlin’, nothing about me is little.”

She lets out a breathy laugh which is one part humour and all parts desire. “I can see that.”

She rocks back and forth gently over me. I can feel the heat of her sweet, hot pussy through her jeans and I sink my fingers into her hipbones, but it isn’t enough. I tug at her jeans.

“Off,” I grunt. “Everything off.”

“You’re kinda bossy when you’re sick, too,” she teases. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”