I Hate, I Bake, and I Don’t Date! by Alina Jacobs

36

Beck

Tess followed me out to the patio, where the grill was heating up. I almost wished she hadn’t.

What kind of stupid line was that? Have you tried my pickle?

But her tongue against my fingers—I wanted to feel that on my cock.

I slapped the burgers on the grill while Tess hovered next to me. I should say something. But all I wanted to say was that I wanted to spend the rest of the evening fucking her into a sweaty, moaning mess in my bed, which hardly seemed appropriate for the occasion.

“I’m going to make cupcakes,” she said abruptly and went inside.

I stood in front of the grill, breathing in the smoke, cursing myself for flirting with Tess, for not flirting with Tess more, for not just accepting the boundaries in our professional relationship and staying far the fuck away from them.

But I wanted her.

You only want her because she’s forbidden.

“Bro!” Walker called, stepping onto the patio, two glasses of scotch in his hand. “Are you trying to cook those burgers with a death glare?”

“I’m under a lot of stress.”

Walker handed me a drink and adjusted his sunglasses.

“It’s Greg, isn’t it?” Walker said confidently. “He’s been in my shit lately about his whole tower-takeover scheme. I mean, honestly, even if it does work, then Belle’s going to sic her brothers on him.”

“As if the Frosts are any match for me.” Greg scoffed, stepping onto the terrace. “And I’m appalled at the lack of support from my own family, but it’s no surprise. You all are small-minded individuals. If it wasn’t for me and my investment prowess, you two would be hawking hot dogs in Central Park.”

“Hey, I was talking to the hot dog guy the other day,” Walker said. “And he does half a million in revenue a year.”

Greg’s upper lip curled. “With all our companies combined, we do that much in revenue in a day. And, Beck, you would know that if you weren’t so busy chasing after your assistant.”

“I’m not chasing after her,” I argued.

“Yeah,” Walker said, laughing, “he’s just pining after her from afar like a fourteen-year-old boy.”

“I will not have you ruining our sisters’ adoption by scaring off your assistant,” Greg warned.

“Don’t worry, his dick’s not that big!” Walker snickered.

“Grow up,” Greg said, disgusted. He peered at the hamburgers. “Those are burning.”

“You complained last time that they were too underdone,” I reminded him.

“I don’t want to eat rubber,” Greg snapped.

Jesus, my family.

Liam came out with a tray of snacks.

“Tess sends her regards,” he said. “Also, dude.” He lowered his voice. “Are you sleeping with your assistant?”

“Wait, you’re sleeping with her?” Mike asked. He reached for the grill, and I banged him on the hand with the spatula.

“No, and we’re not having this conversation.”

“If you’re not, then I’m asking her out as soon as the adoption goes through.”

“What the fuck?” I grabbed Mike by the collar, holding the metal spatula up to his face. “Don’t you ever ask her out. She’s mine.”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, shoving me off. “Greg!”

“I know you’re not asking me to interfere in your petty fights,” my older brother sneered. “Someone has to keep our family from running off the rails.”

“Is the food almost done?” Enola asked from the doorway. “Our Jell-O needs a little bit longer.”

Mike made a gagging noise, and I kicked him.

“We could just serve it for dessert,” Liam suggested.

“I thought it had fish in it?” Mike asked.

Or we could just toss it.

“You let them make a Jell-O?” Greg asked me, brow furrowed. “What in god’s name possessed you to do that?”

“It’s not a cookout without Jell-O,” Carl said, coming out with a jiggly red slice on a plate.

“Ophelia made this.” He slurped his snack. “It’s 7 Up, mayo, and Vienna sausages.”

“Why can’t people just make a dessert Jell-O?” Liam asked, shaking his fist at the sky.

“Oh, June made one of those too,” Carl added. “It has pecans and chocolate chips in it.”

“That can’t be that bad,” I said.

“And olives.”

“Barf,” Liam said.

I scooped the last of the hamburgers into the aluminum container, and we trooped inside. I set the tray on the table and poured myself another drink.

Tess had changed into what looked like a 1950s pinup girl’s shirt that was formfitting, low necked, and showed off every single one of her curves. A colorful skirt flared out from a wide belt at the waist.

I just wanted to kiss her hard then take my time undoing her.

“Cupcakes are ready,” she said, making a sweeping gesture with her wine glass. There was a stack of cupcakes piled high on platters around the kitchen.

“Seems excessive.”

“I bake when I’m stressed,” she replied curtly.

“Why is everyone so stressed out at a cookout?” Carl mused, cutting off a slice of the toxic green-colored Jell-O that Enola placed on the counter.

“Let’s eat,” Tess said brightly. “Thanks for cooking, everyone!”

“What do you want on your burger?” I asked one of the younger girls.

“Everything,” she said solemnly.

“Even onions?” Tess teased.

The little girl nodded. “And Jell-O.”

The long kitchen counter groaned with food and from my siblings jostling around it. At least it wasn’t as bad as Christmas at Harrogate where there were close to a hundred of us all trying to eat at the same time.

I had tried very hard over the years to kick the habit of fighting with my brothers for food. Plus, Tess did not need to see us at our worst. I watched our sisters as I sipped my drink. Old habits died hard, and they hadn’t been long out of the cult.

“You can’t take two slices of cheese,” Mike exploded at Carl.

But it seemed like my brothers were, as usual, going to be the problem.

I downed the rest of my drink.

“We have plenty of cheese,” I promised. “There’s a whole other platter in the fridge.”

“Can you all please act like you weren’t raised in a cave?” Greg chided.

Liam stacked several cupcakes on his plate along with three hamburgers and mounds of potato salad and baked beans, slathering the whole mess in ketchup.

I poured myself another scotch.

Luna and Kiki followed his example, though not with quite so much food, and traipsed after him onto the terrace to eat.

Tess grabbed a plate and started fixing a burger for herself.

Damn, she looked great in that shirt. It scooped low in the back too.

I poured myself another scotch and walked up next to her. “You better try some pickles on that,” I said in her ear.

She jumped slightly then grinned up at me. “I already had your pickle in my mouth. I don’t know if I need it on my burger too.”

“You can’t not like pickles,” I said, spearing several and putting them on her burger on top of the cheese slice.

She frowned at them. “I’m not convinced.” Then she shot me a crafty look. “Maybe if it was a whole entire thick pickle?”

My drunk brain took a moment to catch on, and I couldn’t form a flirtatious retort before she had already finished at the buffet line and had gone outside to join the rest of my family.

Enola was telling my brothers, who listened in bemusement, about the recipe app.

“Everyone complains about recipes online with long backstories that no one has tested,” she was saying, “and you have to scroll and scroll until you reach the recipe, then the page will refresh, and the whole thing resets. Our app functions more like Pinterest for recipes, but there’s also a way for people to comment and link to their versions of the dish.”

Greg frowned. “But how does it make money?”

“We’ll partner with large brands or restaurants who want to sponsor a recipe. At a larger scale, if say, the peanut industry wants people to buy more peanuts, we can work with them to drive traffic to recipes that use peanuts.”

“Are you going to invest?” I asked Greg and took a bite of my hamburger.

“I’ll have to see some proof of concept first,” he said, “but on first glance, it’s a better idea than the dog-wash app you and Mike tried to pitch as your first business idea, so they have that going for them.”

“I thoughtwe were going to have more leftovers,” Tess said, marveling at the mostly empty platters on the kitchen island after my brothers left. She poured herself another glass of wine.

“There’s still Jell-O,” I reminded her.

She set her glass down and picked up the platter. The girls had gone up to Mike’s apartment because Kiki wanted to show them her new room.

Tess opened the trash can and threw out the rest of the Jell-O molds.

“I’m shocked that as much of that was eaten as was,” she remarked. “Did you eat any of the Jell-O?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, stacking the trays in the sink and turning on the water.

Tess bustled around me, wiping the counter and sipping her drink, the skirt swishing against her legs.

I grabbed her wrist. “Tess,” I said, pulling her close to me.

“You’re my boss, remember?” she said quietly.

“I don’t really care,” I whispered and closed the distance between us. I had drunk enough that afternoon to have decided that kissing and hopefully fucking Tess was a very good idea, probably my best ever.

I ran my thumb over her lips, which were soft. I ran my other hand along the seam of her shirt, skintight against her curves.

She moaned softly as my hand traveled lower then pushed me off.

“You’re drunk,” she said. “I’m drunk. No one is thinking clearly.”

“Wrong,” I said, my hands still on her. “I have a very clear picture of how I want you.”

Tess’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and she looked up at me, eyes wide.

I wanted to kiss her, to tell her how much I needed her, to set her up on the counter, spread her legs, and fuck her.

But instead, I said, “I’m going to Mike’s.”

Tess was lockedin her room when I came back later with my sisters.

The kitchen had been cleaned. I felt bad for leaving Tess with the mess.

You should have just kissed her, I berated.

But should I have?

She liked having me on her.

She pushed you off.

But the noises she had made…

I took a cold shower, worked in my study, then tried to sleep. But I only ended up staring at the ceiling.

“Time for another late-night run,” I decided, pulling on my workout clothes.

I cut through the open kitchen-living area on my way to the home gym, half hoping Tess would be there.

And then, like a dream, I saw her on the couch, a plate of cupcakes ignored in front of her because her head was tipped back and her hand was between her legs.