Don’t Go Away Mad by Lacey Black

Chapter Eleven

Jasper

When I can’t sleep, I cook, and tonight, I’m wide awake. Sure, I could blame it in part to my insomnia, but I know that’s not entirely the reason. I can’t stop thinking about Lyndee. About the fire that burned in her eyes, right alongside the lust. About the way her breathing hitched when I got close and the fact she stopped breathing altogether when my lips barely brushed against her cheek.

I drove home hard as a rock and remained that way until I took a shower. It was images of her standing beside me or down on her knees that eventually helped take care of the situation with my cock. Only, it was short-lived. The moment I lay down in bed, it was raring to go once again, as I pictured her beside me, my pillows and sheets absorbing her rich, sugary scent.

I’ve been in the kitchen for an hour, baking a pie. With Christmas around the corner, I’m working on a few desserts to offer at the restaurant. No, we don’t sell a lot of them, most patrons filling up on our delicious hamburgers and fries, but we do sell a few of our desserts. I usually make something that’ll keep several days. I change our dessert options often, depending on my mood or the season. Right now, I have a homemade red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, topped with a warm fudge drizzle, but I’m suddenly feeling like switching it up to pie.

Chocolate candy cane pie, to be exact.

Once my creation is in the oven, I set the timer and start washing the dishes. When I cook or bake at home, I use everything. I remember my mom always complaining about it when I was younger and wanting to help out. She spent most of the night washing all the dishes than enjoying the fact she didn’t have to do much to prepare the meal.

With the dishes drying on the rack and having another ten minutes before the timer goes off, I head for the living room. I consider texting one of my friends—they’re used to my random late-night messages—but think better of it. I hate disturbing Walker, now that Mallory and Lizzie live with him, and Isaac sleeps like the dead, rarely waking during my midnight barrages.

Jameson is the one I know will answer. The man sleeps probably as little as I do, though for different reasons. My insomnia keeps me from getting the necessary rest, but for Jameson, it has more to do with his own demons that haunt him.

I fire off a text, even though it’s almost one in the morning.

Me:You awake?

The bubbles appear within seconds.

Jameson:Yep. You cooking?

Me: Baking.

Jameson: Normally, I’d say Isaac will be happy, but he may actually be a little disappointed not to go to the bakery. Of course, he could still pop in there without really needing to, right?

Fucker. Why’d I text Jameson?

Me: Who said you guys are getting any of this?

Jameson: Who else do you bake for? Unless you’re trying to impress a certain woman across the street?

Me:No

Jameson:No? Keep telling yourself that.

Jameson: Is that why your car was there after you got off work?

I sigh, wishing I would have just kept my phone in the other room.

Me: I took her dinner. She was there late, getting ready for tomorrow.

Jameson: You’re such a good guy.

No, I’m really not. Most of the time I fantasized about kissing her.

Jameson: So, how was her first day?

Me: Sold out of a lot of product.

Jameson: Good deal. I hope she’s successful. It’ll be nice having a bakery in downtown. Plus, she’s easy on the eyes. *insert smirk emoji*

Jameson: No comment?

Jameson: Fine, I’ll keep talking.

Jameson: I think you really went over there because you like her and refuse to admit it.

Jameson:I mean who wouldn’t like her? She’s pretty and smart and funny and has the cutest button nose…

Jameson:I bet she doesn’t stay single for long.

Jameson: Maybe I’ll head over there after work. See if she wants to hang out for a bit. You know…*insert smirk emoji* *insert eggplant emoji*

My fingers are already moving before I can even think better of it.

Me: The hell you will! You can’t sleep with her, Tank!

The thought has me seeing red.

Jameson: *insert laughing emoji* *insert laughing emoji* *insert laughing emoji*

Me: I hate you.

Jameson: You don’t. You love me.

Me: What do I do? I can’t stop thinking about her.

Jameson: How should I know? I’m the one in our group NOT in an actual relationship. I have no advice. Unless you want suggestions for positions in the kitchen to keep your ass from freezing on the stainless steel countertop. Otherwise, you need Walker.

I snort out a laugh just as the sixty seconds to go notification sounds on the oven.

Jameson: I guess my only offering would be if you like her, go for it. Life’s too short to settle for midnight baking when you could be enjoying midnight nookie.

Me: Speaking of nookie, no Amie?

Jameson:Not the same. That’s casual. Nothing more.

Me: I hear ya. Anyway, I gotta take the pie out of the oven.

Jameson:I expect you to save me a slice tomorrow. You made me talk about feelings like a couple of women. I deserve pie.

Me: Fine. It’ll be in my office. Help yourself before Isaac finds its.

Jameson:Deal. Later.

Me:Night

I make my way back to my kitchen, depositing my cell on the counter. I retrieve a mitt from the drawer and pull the baked pie from the top oven. The sweet aroma fills the room, making my mouth water instantly. I’m not big on sweets, at least not like Isaac or even Jameson, but I do enjoy the occasional piece of cake or slice of pie.

Or maybe a chocolate iced Bavarian long john donut.

You know, like the one smeared across my lips last week.

I have to admit, it was damn good, even if I only caught a taste.

Speaking of taste, my mind goes right back to Lyndee and the almost-kiss. First, the one we nearly shared a decade ago, but also the one from last night. The one I wanted to happen more than I wanted my next breath, yet knew it was a bad idea all the same. It’s the reason I’m suddenly pitching a tent in my sweatpants at two in the morning.

Ignoring my cock, I finish tidying up the kitchen. As soon as the pie is cooled, I add dollops of fresh whipped cream and a crumbled candy cane as the finishing touches. Placing my creation in a sealed container, I slip it into the fridge, flip off the lights, grab my phone, and head for the stairs.

There are a few different things I can try, if sleep doesn’t come yet, though none of them are super effective. Besides cooking, working out in my home gym is my next go-to tactic. I’ve tried the whole music as background noise like Walker, but it doesn’t work for me. I mean, he uses it because he just needs sound to fall asleep and not for insomnia, but during desperate times, I’d try anything. Well, anything but medicine. Melatonin does nothing, and the few sleep aids I’ve used made me feel worse the next day than if I were just short on sleep.

Slipping my phone onto the charger, I slide off my sweatpants and crawl into bed. I prefer sleeping naked, even during winter months. When I do actually sleep, it’s always on the hot side. I can get sweaty, and it’s not for the reason I’d prefer getting sweaty in bed.

My mind returns to the one woman I can’t stop thinking about, and the cock I had finally convinced had no reason to be hard for is now standing like a soldier at attention and raring to go. “Jesus,” I mumble, closing my eyes, only that makes my situation worse.

All I see is her.

How in the hell am I going to get past this? Past her?

You know what you have to do.

Except Lyndee doesn’t seem like the type of woman to just get naked with someone to blow off steam.

Unless…

With starting her own business running her ragged, I’m sure dating is at the bottom of her to-do list. She might actually be interested in that no-strings idea that keeps popping into my head. Perhaps it would be just what she needs right now.

Like me.

Smiling, I ignore my rock-hard dick and settle against my pillow. My eyes close almost instantly and my body starts to relax as sleep draws near. I may not have figured out how I’m going to pitch this idea, but I’m feeling confident she’ll see the benefits of it.

And believe me, I have plenty of hard benefits to offer.

***

“You know, if you weren’t such an asshole to your staff, you might actually get them to stick around longer than a few months.”

“Not now,” I grumble, without a glance up at Walker. I keep my focus on making five perfect burgers for a late order.

“Mal says you made the girl cry.”

Sighing deeply, I glance up and meet his gaze. “She mixed up the regular mayo and the chipotle mayo, Walk,” I argue, hating how three plates came back on Tuesday with complaints about the wrong condiment. “That’s not acceptable in this restaurant.”

Walker crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “So you made Petra cry?”

I shrug, returning my focus to the five grilled buns and the freshly grilled patties I’m adding to them. “Not my fault she can’t handle the kitchen.”

“Sounds like it’s more about not being able to handle your criticism than the kitchen, actually. You have to stop making our employees cry.”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” I claim, adding fresh fries to the plates and hollering, “Order up!” I can sense Walker’s smile as I scrape the grill. “Isaac’s on it. He’ll find me a day shift assistant chef.”

Walker sighs. “He was out of applicants, Jasp. He’s relying on social media to spread the word now,” he replies. “You’re probably going to have to work without one for a bit.”

“I’ve been without for two days already,” I gripe, recalling how my day took a crap on Tuesday and I have yet to be able to catch up with Lyndee. “Besides, Patrick is doing a killer job helping out,” I add, noting our dishwasher has stepped up and fills in where he can.

Patrick glances over from the dishwasher and gives me a smile.

“I’m sure he is,” Walker states, smiling at the young man who, besides my three best friends, may be the only other person I can’t scare off. “I’ll let you get back to it.” Then Walker heads out of the kitchen, probably to return to the bar.

I try not to let it bother me, that I can’t seem to hold employees. I don’t expect perfection, but I do expect minimal mistakes. Little things like mixing up regular mayonnaise and chipotle mayo—especially when they’re not even the same color—or forgetting to label the containers of cheese so we know which one is which. Stupid, idiotic errors that send my blood pressure through the roof like a helium balloon floating to the ceiling when you accidentally let go of the string.

See? I can totally handle the little things.

I work hard until Ross arrives, then happily retreat to my office. It’s not every day I willingly turn over the grill for some quiet. I’ve been at it for three days and am actually quite grateful Ross is working this evening. As much as I love being in the kitchen, not having an assistant these last three days is taxing. It actually reminds me of when we first opened and maintained our business with minimal staff.

Spending the next few hours in my office, I’m able to dig myself out of the paperwork and orders that have accumulated throughout the week. It’s only Thursday, and shit still piles up if you don’t stay on top of it. I sort the invoices and confirmations and put them into the bin for Isaac, ignoring the way my stomach growls with hunger. Sure, I could slip out of my office and make a quick hamburger, but ever since I talked about pizza with Lyndee on Monday, I’ve had a crazy hankering for a homemade pie.

It’s near seven when there’s a tentative knock on my office door. “Come in.”

I’m sure it’s Isaac.

When I glance up, I’m surprised to see Lyndee peeking through the opening. “Am I interrupting?” she asks hesitantly.

I sit up straight. “No, of course not. Come on in.”

She slips into my office, a white plastic bag in her hand. “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re working, but I took a chance,” she states nervously, wiping her hand against her jeans, “that, uh, maybe, you were looking for dessert. I mean, you can take it home with you…or give it away, if you want. You don’t have to eat it.”

I’m already smiling. Her sputtering is endearing as hell. I like it.

“Lyndee?” She looks up at me with gorgeous wide eyes. “What’d ya make me?”

She clears her throat and steps forward, setting the white bag down on my desk. “I was experimenting with peppermint for the shop. Since it’s close to Christmas, I wanted to offer a few items that feel holiday-ee.”

“Holiday-ee?” I ask, grinning like a lunatic and feeling lighter than I have in days.

“Of course,” she says, pulling the small white box out of the bag. “There are two different baked goods. A cranberry white chocolate muffin and a peppermint twist scone.”

My stomach chooses that moment once again to growl. “Those sound great,” I admit, examining the muffin with a critical eye before taking a small bite from the top. My tastebuds explode with the sweet, yet tangy treat I’m sure is going to be a hit. “Very good.”

“Thanks.” She beams, before pointing over her shoulder. “Well, I should go. Dustin is in the car waiting. We’re going to head home and make dinner.”

I’m up and out of my seat before I can stop myself. “Wait.”

She stops moving and meets my gaze. “What?”

“I’m, uh, getting ready to head home now. I was gonna make a pizza. The homemade kind, not the ones you pull from the freezer,” I tease. “Why don’t you and Dustin join me?”

She opens her mouth, no doubt to decline, but the words seem to stick to her tongue. I use that to my advantage.

“It wouldn’t take too long to make. You could probably be home and in bed by nine,” I blurt out, taking a few steps around my desk until I’m standing in front of her.

“I, uh, don’t want to impose,” she maintains, shaking her head.

“You’re not. If anything, you’re helping me by ensuring I don’t have nearly as many leftovers.” I throw in a panty-melting grin, just to seal the deal.

“Pizza, you say?” she asks, her eyes dancing with hope and excitement.

“Margherita.”

“Really? I haven’t had that in years. Dustin won’t eat it though.”

“Well, good thing I have some pepperoni too. So what do you say? Will you and your brother let me feed you dinner tonight?” I try not to sound hopeful, but I’ll admit, it’s hard. I really want her to say yes.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She nods.

“Great. Let me grab my coat and we can head out. Do you guys want to ride with me?” I ask, shutting down my laptop.

“That’s silly, Jasper. You’d have to drive me back here then afterward, and that’s not reasonable when you’re already home.”

I give her a small smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Still, I can just drive.”

“All right,” I reply, grabbing my coat and the dessert she brought, and flip off my light switch. “Let’s go.”