Page 87 of Stealing His Cupcake
Some people might consider her behavior unhealthy, but honestly, our entire relationship began with an unhealthy obsession. It’s only fitting that it continues that way, even if it’s now mutual. I still feel guilty about hurting her this much. Neither of us had any idea that my leaving would affect her this badly, but it was my stupid decision that triggered her childhood trauma and sent her spiraling. I don’t think the guilt over that will ever go away, especially since I got off so lightly. She could have tormented me for months, but my sweet cupcake just made sure I would remember who I was wherever I went.
Amy’s husband.
The cuts have healed, leaving crooked scars behind. They still make me smile every time I catch a glimpse of them in the mirror. Amy apologized for hurting me, but I told her she could repeat it whenever she felt like she needed reassurance. Turns out, I actually like being marked by her. That’s probably unhealthy too, but fuck it. That’s how it works in this relationship. As long as she avoids the general groin area, Amy and her knife are always welcome to play with my body.
After brushing my teeth three more times, I finally stop feeling the vomit aftertaste on the back of my tongue. Small mercies. Brushing my hair back to make myself presentable, I check myself in the mirror one more time before collecting my toiletries and leaving the bathroom. Fortunately, my clothes survived the embarrassing ordeal, so I don’t have to change before we reach our destination.
Leaning against the car, Amy is munching on chocolate-coated almonds. She smiles as I come into her view and offers me a pack of salty crackers. “Thought it would be best for your stomach,” she explains when she sees my sour face, “but I also got some sandwiches, chips, chocolate, gummy bears and other necessities for a proper road trip.”
“Have I told you you’re amazing today?” As much as I loathe crackers, I tear the package open and stuff one into my mouth. My stomach agrees that it’s the better choice than gas station sandwiches or chocolate.
“Several times,” Amy replies with a chuckle. “But feel free to continue.”
Swallowing the mouthful of dry crackers, I pull Amy into a tight embrace. “You’re the most amazing, beautiful, and perfect woman I’ve ever met.”
“Liar.”
I sigh. She’s not fishing for compliments. She genuinely still doesn’t believe how beautiful she is, though she came a long way in undoing the damage Craig and her previous exes have done to her self-confidence. “I don’t lie, cupcake. Now, let’s fill the tank and get this show on the run.”
“I filled it already. You took ages in the bathroom.”
“Well, I had to make sure I could do this,” I capture her mouth in a passionate kiss, “without grossing you out. Wait, you did remember this car is diesel and not a gas car like your own, right? Because if you put gasoline in it, this will be a rather short trip.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Yes, I remembered. I think. It’s the one labeled ‘diesel’, right? The one that fits into the hole properly. Why are car things so complicated?”
“Exactly. If you have to jam it in, it’s the wrong one,” I add with a hint of a smile. “And ‘car things’ are not so complicated.”
“They are.”
“They’re not.” Kissing her pouting lips once again, I open the passenger door for her. “Let’s go. I’m sure your friend can’t wait to see you.”
Chuckling, Amy gets in the car and buckles her seat belt. “Yeah, she keeps texting me where we are and why we aren’t there already.”
I try to summon some excitement. “Perfect. I can’t wait to meet her, either.” That’s a lie. I certainly could live without ever meeting Kayla in person, especially with how hostile she’s been to me ever since Amy told her everything. The funny thing is, she’s not at all worried about me being a contract killer. What she can’t forgive me is hurting Amy, which is fair. I can’t forgive that myself, either.
The drive only takes a few hours. Amy directs me to the suburbs of a tiny town with the poetic name Bluebell Springs. Not to Kayla’s house, she explains, but to her boyfriend’s house. Apparently, she also moved in withher partner shortly after meeting him. I sense there’s a deeper story to that since Amy always grins whenever the topic of Kayla’s boyfriend comes up, but she never gives me any details, always teasing me with cryptic remarks and claiming I will absolutely love Ethan Bennett. Which is weird as fuck, but I’ve learned not to press on her.
Pulling up to the curb of a spacious, two-story house, I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. I don’t give a fuck what Kayla or her boyfriend think of me, but I know Amy wants me to make a good impression, and whatever Amy wants, Amy will get.
The front door opens before we even get to it, and a squealing creature lunges herself at Amy. Recognizing the waterfall of black curls, I don’t react, even though my first instinct is to put myself between Amy and any danger. After embracing for a long minute while I stand awkwardly by, Kayla finally releases Amy. “Wyatt,” she greets me coldly, accompanying it by a haughty scowl.
“Kayla,” I reply in a similar manner, though without the scowl. Amy would murder me if I scowled at her best friend, so I do my best to keep my expression neutral since I sure as hell can’t muster a smile right now. I’d much rather be anywhere else but here, especially as it looks like Kayla will have one of her “chats” with me later. As if the many online and phone ones we’ve already had weren’t enough. I love that Amy has someone who cares for her this deeply but dammit, this woman is obnoxious.
Amy elbows my side. “Be nice,” she says.
“I’m always nice, cupcake.”
“Uh-huh, sure. Wyatt, this is Ethan Bennett. Ethan, this is my husband, Wyatt,” Amy introduces me to a tall man who has been waiting in the doorway.
Grasping his offered hand, I raise my eyes to his, my body tensing up at the very familiar coldness buried in them. Fuck. Kayla’s living with a killer and I just brought my Amy right to him. Wait. Kayla is living with a killer? What the actual fuck is going on here? Is this a trap? I move to grab my gunbefore realizing that I couldn’t bring my gun because we took the fucking plane. What now?
My racing thoughts are interrupted by a burst of laughter from Amy and a rather disgruntled grumble from Kayla. “I told you he could tell,” Amy says, still grinning widely. “You owe me ten bucks, Kay.”
Kayla smacks Ethan’s shoulder. “What the fuck, Ethan? I told you to act normal.”
Snorting, Ethan releases my hand. Damn, I haven’t even realized I was still holding it. “This is me acting normal, bunny. The devil knows its own, right?” he asks, smirking at me. “Let’s go inside.”
I pull Amy against my side. “You knew about this?” I whisper into her ear, not eager to join Ethan and Kayla inside.
