Dirty Toe Drag by Toni Aleo

Chapter Two

Stella

The smellof bacon first thing in the morning is very therapeutic for me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s from waking up on the days my dad would be home from road trips to a full buffet-style breakfast. It never failed—if he was home, we were eating big, and I loved it. I loved all six of us around the table, I loved the laughter, I loved the teasing and fighting between siblings, but most of all, I loved the little touches my mom and dad would make. Most kids are grossed out by their parents loving each other, but I wasn’t. It made me believe that every queen can find her king. Boy oh boy, did my daddy raise the bar when it comes to men for me. Or maybe it was my mom. She was very insistent that I never settle for anything except a man who loves me completely. All of me, even the weird parts.

I separate the bacon, throwing some on a tray before moving the pretty intact pieces onto some paper towel to dry out. My brothers would be horrified if they were here to watch me candy the bacon since they absolutely hate savory-sweet flavors, but I love it. I then take the pan, measuring out how much bacon grease I need before setting that to the side. I blow away a piece of hair that has escaped out of my ponytail and start the batter. I know I’m supposed to measure the bourbon, my aunt Audrey got on to me last time, but I feel the Lord knows how much the cupcake needs.

With a grin, I mix everything together in the mixer, crumbling pieces of bacon into the batter as it’s starting to become one. It’s so cool to watch, and I enjoy it immensely. Once everything is mixed well, I take the bowl and scoop the batter into little cups. Thirty of them. I throw those into the oven before starting on the frosting. My favorite flavor is maple, and I might be heavy-handed with the extract, but I know it’s gonna taste incredible. As it mixes, I start the candied bacon and check on my bourbon-soaked pecans. I’ll do twenty with the nuts and ten without for my nonalcoholic folks. The bourbon in the cupcake batter cooks off, so I’m glad I don’t have to keep those straight too.

After throwing everything into the blast chiller, I sit on my stool while I wait for the cupcakes to bake. I bring my heels up onto the highest foot rail so I can lean on them as I check the cameras at the house to make sure everyone is still asleep. When my older brothers, Aiden and Asher, lived at the house, it was hell since they were early risers. I had to come up with the lie that I was working out. And, in my opinion, cupcake-making could very well be a workout.

I squat to get the cupcakes out of the oven, I sweat like mad, and I lift heavy pans.

Problem is, I ruin the “workout” when I stuff my mouth with my creations.

Before I can check my Instagram, I hear the oven bell ring, so I move the cupcakes to the cooling area. I then clean because I’m a neat freak, and I make sure everything is ready for decorating. My favorite part. I get my piping bag ready just as the side door opens and my aunt comes in while pulling her hair up into a high bun. As always, her grin is bright and happy, and it gives me that fuzzy feeling.

I love my aunt Audrey.

She is so cool and such a free spirit. She is always laughing, and you can’t help but feel welcomed and loved. That’s probably why Audrey Jane’s cupcakery is such a success in Nashville. There is some stiff competition out there, but Audrey makes a mean cupcake. She’s even moved into cakes, hot chocolate bombs, and together, we’re learning some breakable chocolate hearts that can be filled with candies or gift cards. We haven’t mastered them yet, but we’re getting there.

“There is my gorgeous niece,” she coos to me as she comes over, placing her hands on my shoulders and kissing me on my cheek. “Good morning.”

“Morning. No Penny or Phillipe this morning?”

She shakes her head. “Penny started her period last night and is currently dying on the couch—I’ll need to bring her something on my way back home. And Phillipe is gone with Tate for the hockey tournament in Alabama.”

I nod. “That’s right. I forgot.”

“So, it’s just us.”

I beam over at her. “My favorite.”

She snickers. “Goodness, you’re your momma made over, with Lucas’s eyes. So gorgeous.”

If my grin could grow, it would. If I ever feel bad about myself, all I have to do is hang out with Audrey for a bit. She inflates my head with affirmations that hold me over until I get down on myself again. Really, she is the best aunt ever.

“So, what’re you making?” she asks me as I start to decorate.

“Maple bourbon bacon pecan cupcakes.”

She groans loudly. “Thank the heavens. I’ll need to post that ASAP so people know to come in.”

“I soaked the pecans in bourbon.”

“God bless you.”

We giggle together as I start to assemble, using such care and precision just like Audrey taught me. I may not be as fast as her, but I’m getting there. I know I’m good at it, but hearing her gasp and cheer as she looks over my masterpieces solidifies my confidence.

“Oh, Stella Ann. So good. Where is my taste?”

I hand her an extra, and she moans once the flavors hit her tongue. “Jesus above. I swear, you are a magician with your flavors. So damn good.”

My face warms as I take a bite, all the flavors exploding in my own mouth and making me feel all kinds of good. “I think Thursday, I want to do a butterbeer cupcake, with little Harry Potter glasses on them.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes, I’ll do a pumpkin juice. Maybe a Sorting Hat!”

“Ooh, we should plan for a Harry Potter theme day!”

“Yes, girl! Yes! I love those days. The kids will enjoy that, and of course, we’ll have to get some for Aiden.”

I lick my lips nervously. “You will.”

She side-eyes me. “Stella, why don’t you—”

“You know why,” I interject very quickly, not having this conversation.

She grabs my arm, though, stopping me from cleaning up. “My love, they’ll be supportive. I know them. And if they’re not, I’ll kill them for you.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You can’t kill your sister, and we both know orange is not your color. Also, can we trust Tate with Penny’s hair?”

My cousin has the craziest curls that came with puberty. Only Audrey can tame that mane. With a knowing look, she holds out her hands. “These are all huge truths, but another truth is, they’d be supportive.”

I disagree with a shake of my head before going back to cleaning. “Let’s seriously plan that Harry Potter theme. I’ll think of something else for Thursday.”

She knows I won’t argue with her, that I’ll just shut down about the whole thing. I know it frustrates her, but I can’t tell my parents what I do in the mornings.

I just can’t.

* * *

I sneakdown the hall very quietly before slipping into my room.

I exhale once more, relieved I wasn’t caught since I hate lying to my family. I throw down my bag and kick off my sneakers before heading toward my bathroom to shower and get ready for my day. I have a long day of classes and then a shift at Brooks House tonight. I’m gonna be exhausted, but when I have night shifts, I don’t work the next mornings at Audrey Jane’s. I guess I can’t call it work since I don’t get paid. It’s more having fun, which is payment in itself.

I undress as I head toward the bathroom, but when I reach my open door, I notice that my younger sister Emery’s door is open and her light is on.

Fuck.

I reach for a towel, wrapping it around my naked body, and walk toward her room. I find her in bed with her favorite stuffed animals surrounding her, a huge blanket wrapped around her as her eyes are fixed on the TV. Like it always is, some true crime documentary is on, and she’s completely engrossed.

At six o’clock in the morning.

My sister is a psycho.

I scrunch up my face as I look over at her. “I thought we said we would save the docs for nighttime. No killing before going to school.”

With the most even look ever, she says, “You said that. I feel this gets my rage out so I won’t commit these acts on the idiots at school.”

I scoff. “Or you’re making sure you learn not to get caught.”

She grins with all her teeth, her eyes hooded, and I swear her mug shot is going to be incredible. “Maybe.”

“Please don’t. I really don’t want a murderer for a sister.”

She waves me off. “Eh, don’t worry. I don’t have plans today.”

“Thank God,” I mutter, but then I remember why I came in here. “Why are you awake?”

“You woke me up with all the cussing you did when you dropped your necklace behind the sink. Also, why do you need jewelry for working out?”

“I always wear my necklace. Dad gave it to me.”

“Gag, you’re such a daddy’s girl.”

“So are you!”

“Whatever,” she says, knowing damn well I’m right. “Also, are you eating a lot during the day? Because you haven’t lost any weight in that head of yours.”

I let out a groan of annoyance as I head back into the bathroom.

“Doesn’t the kind of fashion you like hate bigger ladies?”

“Go fuck yourself, Em.”

“Stella!”

I stop, glancing back at her. With a wide grin, she says, “In this episode, the guy killed his kids with a spell. Not the Harry Potter kind either. Though, I cast a mean-ass Sectumsempra.”

God, having a sister is a blessing.

“I’m going to tell Mom you need therapy.”

“She already knows, and I already go, so ha!”

“I’m gonna tell her you need to be committed.”

She claps her hands. “Yay! I can make friends.”

I mutter a curse as I slam the door and head into the shower. I really don’t know how Aiden, Asher, and I turned out so great. Maybe Mom dropped Emery on her head more than us? I’m not sure, but if I didn’t know her, I wouldn’t trust her. She’s crazy, but she wouldn’t hurt anyone. Seriously.

I mean, she has pulled my hair, cut my hair, and thrown things at me, but she always feels bad and tries to suck up to me after. I’ve watched enough of those true crime shows with her to know a real killer has no remorse. Emery does. She just wants to seem scary.

Which she is very good at.

After showering off all the flour and frosting, I get dressed in an outfit I’ve been so stoked to wear since Mom and I went shopping. Leather pants, a crop top that makes my boobs look bigger than they are, and an amazing buffalo plaid cardigan. I totally get Taylor Swift vibes in this cardigan, especially when I pair it with my magnificent Christian Louboutin combat boots. I bought them with my first check from Brooks House, and I treat these things like they were made by God Himself.

I love this outfit so much that, when I get to campus, I have my closest college friend, Lake, take a picture of me in front of this gorgeous fountain.

“Yes, queen!” Lake hollers, snapping his fingers at me as he takes picture after picture. We call each other our Instagram spouses, and we always make sure the other looks incredible. I met Lake Wellingburg the first day of classes last year. We were both scared to death to be in our first design class, but he decided that since we were the best-dressed people in the room, we should be friends. Lake was right, and I adore him. We have so much fun, and he always makes me feel like a queen. If only he weren’t gay. Sigh. Tall as all hell, with chocolate-brown skin and long brown hair that he has in a high pony like mine, he’s beautiful. Inside and out.

Once I’m done, I meet him in the middle, and he hands me my phone. “The third one is the one.”

“Really?” I ask happily before looking through the photos. He’s right, and I post it immediately. We don’t do filters unless it’s just for fun, and we make it clear. We are firm believers in being as natural as we can. It’s hard when we live in a world of Photoshop, but I want to be a role model for kids. My sister doesn’t do social media, but if she did, I’d want her to know everything I post is real.

Because if I did Photoshop anything, she’d be the first to call me out.

“Girl, yes. God, you’re so gorgeous. Why can’t you have a dick?”

I tap my chin. “Sorry, those went to my brothers.”

Lake smacks my arms. “I’ve done told you, do not even bring up those men when we know I can’t have them. You got that hockey hunk of a brother, and then that Clark Kent-looking one. Jesus. Your gene pool is touched by angels.”

I grin. “Oh, hush. Your brothers and sisters are beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as me,” he corrects, and I nod quickly.

“Well, duh,” I say as my phone vibrates in my hand with a notification. I don’t have to open it to know who it is.

“Your stalker?” Lake asks as I open the notification to see his name.

Wes_McMillan.

Or as it should read, my_stalker.

“You know it.”

I’m met by his laughter as my body turns into lava. Only Wes can make it do that. I can still taste his lips, the mint from the mojito he was drinking at my brother’s wedding. I can still feel that damn six-pack as I ran my fingers along his abs. Most of all, I can still feel his cock against my hip. I regret not sleeping with him, but I’m not dumb.

“Girl, he stays on your shit. Give him a chance. I know you want more of him.”

“It would be messy.”

“Who cares? It’d be worth it.”

“Pissing off my brother and breaking my heart is not worth it.”

He groans loudly. “Baby girl, I said fuck him. Leave your heart locked up, and open those legs for some of that sexy hockey hunk. I actually think he’s hotter than your brother. Jesus, so many men. But for real, my lover Stella Ann—fuck him, Don’t fall for him. It’s easy.”

I laugh to keep from scoffing or even gawking at my friend.

Easy?

Shit, maybe if Wes hadn’t ever come into my life.

Maybe if he weren’t so funny it hurts my gut.

If he weren’t so gorgeous, maybe then it would be easy.

But most of all, if I hadn’t already fallen hard for him, I guess it would be easy.

Which is why I have to keep him at arm’s length. Because he could shatter not just my heart, but all of me, faster than it takes him to get from one side of the rink to the other.