I want to shove the rest of it in my face instead of answering, but I lift my hand to cover my mouth so I can ask a question instead of affirm what she clearly already knows. “What is it?”

A slow smirk spreads across her lips.

She doesn’t say anything right away, so I jam the rest of it in my mouth. Half of me wants to beg her for more, but I know if I do, then somehow I’ve managed to give her the upper hand. Which is ridiculous. It’s just a cupcake, and regardless of what she thinks, we’re not really competing with each other. For the YouTube thing sure, but I don’t see how she can win against me and my kickass cool bar and the axe throwing. And now the whole live bands idea and karaoke.

The cupcakes-and-cocktails theme is cute. But that’s about all it is.

I try to keep my groan in this time, but a sound of contentment slips out.

“So you like my screaming orgasms?” she asks.

Which is when I start coughing. I also try to inhale with food in my mouth and choke. And cough some more. Blaire takes a step back since I’m spraying the counter with half-chewed cupcake. It’s a travesty because I want that all in my belly and not on the counter.

“Are you okay?” she asks when I continue to cough for another solid fifteen seconds.

“Yeah.” Cough. “I just”—cough—“didn’t expect that.”

“It’s the name of the cupcake,” she informs me.

“I figured, since you didn’t scream even once.”

“I’m not a screamer.” Her eyes flare, as if she didn’t mean for that to slip out.

Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Is that right?”

She spins around, but I can see her face in the mirrored wall in front of her. Her ears have gone red and she mutters something to herself, nabbing the box from the bar behind her. She rolls her shoulders back and turns to face me again. Her cheeks are the same color as her ears. She drops the box unceremoniously on the counter. “I figured you’d want more than one.”

“Yes. Definitely.” I nod.

“Multiples really are the best.” Her cheek tics, and the tips of her ears look as if they’re going to light on fire and take all her hair with it. I wonder how much product she uses to keep it looking so perfect and if it’s soft to the touch or not.

“I love multiples.” Both the giving and the receiving. I leave that part out, because I would prefer to eat the cupcakes, not wear them, and I feel like we’re suddenly treading a very fine line. Either that or we’ve already jumped right over it. I shake my head to clear it. “Uh, what do I owe you?”

“Those are on the house. Enjoy your night.”

Blaire usually happily charges me full price for my cupcake addiction. Although she does tend to toss in an extra one for good measure. I’m tempted to ask if I’m going to end up hogtied in the trunk of a car if I eat the rest of these, but I figure that might be pushing it. “I can’t imagine anyone has ever said no to free multiple screaming orgasms.”

She gives me a patronizing look. “Okay, Ronan, the joke is over. Off you go.” She shoos me away. “I have customers to serve and they want what you had.”

I leave the cupcake shop feeling a lot like I lost that round. I even forgot to pass her a coupon for free beer and fried pickles.

Lars has moved on from flirting with the group of women so he can serve other customers. I round the bar and flip the box open, intent on eating another one of the cupcakes. I shake my head when I see the rest of them. Each one has a message written on tiny sugary cookies: EAT ME, BITE ME, SUCK IT and there’s one rogue Death by Chocolate cupcake, complete with skull and crossbones.

Huh, looks like Alice has a sense of humor after all.

chapter six

So Hilarious

Blaire

My customer poll shows me that poetry slams are not quite as popular as I thought. So my plan to open our events with one is vetoed by Daphne and Paul in favor of Comedy Night.

It took all of two days, a few social media posts and two hours of auditions to secure our night of entertainment—I will say that there are a lot of people out there who think they’re funny but are not. We’re paying our entertainment in free cupcakes and booze, and even with the entry fee, which I was originally on the fence about, the café is packed. We have a fabulous selection of drinks, cakes, and savory treats. And Daphne has offered to make a few video clips of the entertainment to post on YouTube, which is amazing since I’ll be too busy mixing cocktails to handle something like that.

I fully believe nothing can ruin this night. That belief is naïve and likely shortsighted.

However, since the EAT ME cupcake incident, there’s been a shift with Ronan. One I’m not sure how to take. Yes, I still think he’s an asshole. Yes, I’m still wary. Yes, we still stand outside on Friday afternoons and toss coupons at customers, trying to get them to spend their money on our wares. But he’s addicted to my cupcakes. He comes in here every single night to get a hit of my special treats, and he can’t even hide his excitement or his enjoyment.

Normally I charge him, but that night I was feeling extra generous because he’s inadvertently sparked my cupcake creativity. I knew I had a winner on my hands, and that his reaction would inspire customers to buy what he was getting off on.

Every time he puts on a performance, I usually sell out of whatever’s left in specialty cupcakes, so the initial out of pocket was totally worth it. Is it annoying that he constantly leaves me coupons for wings and asks me if I’m ready for a “big girl drink”? Sure, but toying with him is as much fun as watching him scarf down my cupcakes while grudgingly moaning his delight.

He hasn’t made his daily stop yet, although generally he comes in later, within a couple hours of closing and after his dinner rush. I give my head a shake, because fixating on when Ronan stops in for cupcakes is unhelpful when I should be focused on my event.

Twenty minutes later, the opening act hits our small makeshift stage. Chairs and tables have been rearranged so everyone has a great view. At first I’m worried, because the guy is clearly nervous, but as the jokes start flowing and the crowd begins to chuckle and then laugh boisterously, he gains confidence. He finishes to a huge round of applause, and the bar is flooded with orders between the acts. Three comedians are scheduled tonight, which is perfect. It means rounds of drinks, appetizers, snacks, and desserts come in waves, which we’re prepared for.

Everything is going as smooth as buttercream frosting until the final comedian sets up. It’s almost nine and the sound of bass and feedback filters through the wall I share with Ronan’s bar, making the floors vibrate.

As the final act begins, she’s rudely interrupted by the sudden, very loud banging of…drums? It’s followed by equally loud guitar riffs, and a growly voice belting out lyrics, which eclipse the comedian entirely for a few seconds.

It stops as abruptly as it begins and the performer makes a joke, setting off a round of nervous chuckling. Unfortunately, not thirty seconds later it happens again. “Dammit.” I drop a stack of plates into the bus bin. The clatter would be loud if the noise coming from next door didn’t drown it out, along with Karen the Comedian. She tries speaking louder, but it doesn’t help. “I’m going over there.”