Page 71 of Baking With A Rockstar

Giving me an exasperated look, she pushes herself up further in the chaise. “Yes, I’m sure. Now let’s stop talking about me. Tell me what cake you made.”

She’s looking around the kitchen with her eyes pinched into little slits, trying to see as much as she can from her position. “Where is it?”

“Such a one-track mind.”

“Always. Or maybe we should call it a two-track mind? You know, food and knocking boots, of course.”

My eyes widen at the unexpected comment. “What on earth is knocking boots?”

“Sex.” She doesn’t even blink an eye.

Shaking my head at her, I chuckle, completely used to her quirky, yet charming personality. “Wow. Your vocabulary never ceases to amaze me. Does anyone actually say that?”

“Sure. I learned that one on the road somewhere.” She shrugs her shoulders as if we’re discussing laundry, but I know she loves to play with me like this. She and Hudson are very alike in that aspect—they both enjoy making me all flustered.

She taps her fingers on the armrest of the chair. “Now tell me already, C. You know I hate waiting.”

I stick my tongue out at her. Sometimes when we’re together, it feels like we’re jumping back in time, our current age completely forgotten. “I made a pink champagne cake.”

“Ooh, I’m intrigued.” She leans her head on the top of the chaise, giving me big googly eyes. “Please tell me more. It’s incredibly sexy when you talk about your baking.”

This woman.

After laughing at her comment, I walk around the corner and retrieve the cake from its hiding spot. I put it up on top of the bar, so she can see it, waving my hands around it in total presentation mode. “It’s a three-layered pink champagne-infused cake, with a classic vanilla buttercream frosting. As far as decoration goes, I kept it simple and thought sugar pearls would give it a nice touch.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, marveling at this mouth-watering sugar concoction.

After having my fair amount of batter and frosting during prepping the cake, I know it’s going to taste delicious.

Monica finds her words first. “Wow. Look at that beauty. I’m sure that would be a hit for weddings.”

Nodding at her, I love that we’re in tune so often. “That’s exactly what I was thinking of. It’s a classic with a nice twist to it, due to the color on the inside and the champagne.”

Licking her lips, she keeps staring at it. “Can’t wait to try it.”

I’m about to snap my fingers at her when footsteps approach.

“Charlie?” Hudson enters the kitchen, and I don’t have to look at Monica to know she’s staring at him too.

Can I blame her?Big, fatno.

My first thought when my eyes land on him issex on a stick.

Monica hasn’t even been here for a day, and she’s already rubbing off on me with her bluntness. This time, I’d have to agree with her, though.

He’s freshly showered, his damp hair slicked back in a lazy way, and he smells delicious. I’m sure my mouth actually hangs open a little, but I don’t care a single bit.

My best friend clears her throat while Hudson walks over to my side of the kitchen island, but my focus is completely on him.

Sorry, Mo.

“Hey, what’s up?” I look at him, craning my neck back a little to see his face.

He looks at me for a long moment without saying a word, just staring into my eyes, like he doesn’t have anything better to do. I smile at him in a daze, feeling—and probably looking—like a lunatic.

From the corner of my eye, I see Mo getting up, her crutches quietly squeaking on the hardwood floor. “I’ll go see if Gabe needs any help.”

I nod absentmindedly, not sure she even noticed.

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