Nicholas, ever the best multitasker out of the group, measured out ingredients for his latest cupcake experiment, raspberry chocolate crunch, while he talked. He claimed his multitasking skills came in handy as he juggled multiple women. “Let’s recap. You had dinner with her parents.”
“Only because they heard that she met my mother and sisters.”
“Which does not negate my point. During this dinner, you told her parents and her grandmother, who happens to be our boss by the way, that she’s more beautiful on the inside than she is on the outside. Am I correct or am I correct?”
Donovan scrubbed the pot like his life depended on it. “You’re correct.”
“And you weren’t lying when you said this, am I correct or am I correct?”
“You’re … correct,” Donovan said through gritted teeth. If he wasn’t elbow-deep in dishes and suds, he’d give serious thought to clocking his best friend.
“Sounds like you’re in love to me.”
The towel slipped out of his hand, splashing water everywhere. Donovan barely noticed. Air rushed out of his lungs in a whoosh. Donovan did the only thing he could do. He deflected. “What do you know about being in love?”
Nicholas cracked open an egg and added it to the bowl. “Nothing, but I’ve watched a lot of sappy romcoms on my Netflix-and-chill dates and the dudes in those movies always end up looking like you do right now.”
“Oh, my God, are you serious right now? I’m not listening to you.” Logically, it didn’t make sense. He couldn’t be in love. Not so soon. What he and Jada had was great, but it was new. Football and Sugar Blitz still came first. Right?
“Well, Pretty Boy Nick may not know anything about love, but I have been in love before and I recognize the real signs, not the movie kind, and you’ve got it bad,” August said from where he was restocking the refrigerator.
Donovan groaned. “Really? You too?” So much for brotherhood. “Did you bet on that?”
“Nah, ’cause that would have been a sucker bet.” August shrugged. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”
That he did. Always. Donovan stared at the man he’d known since he was a cocky eighteen-year-old determined to take on the world and win at any costs. Both he and Nicholas were so certain about Donovan’s feelings. Hell, they didn’t even know he’d tracked Rose down for those photos.
Donovan stumbled. Shit.
He was so screwed. He’d fallen in love with Jada Townsend-Matthews, the most unpredictable person he’d ever met, who lived to shake up his carefully ordered world.
And he was happy about it? When was the last time happiness had factored into his decisions?
* * *
Jada turned in a circle, glee pumping through her veins. Everything was ready. Who said adults couldn’t have after-hours birthday parties in a cupcake shop? Not her.
Amanda Spencer, the CEO of a very successful local tech company and the daughter of a former San Diego mayor, wanted to have a bit of whimsy for her fortieth birthday party. If Jada did a good job, she was sure other business would follow.
At the request of the birthday girl, who considered herself San Diego royalty, purple and silver streamers hung from the light fixtures. A HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner, again in purple and silver, was strung along one wall. Each table had a personalized centerpiece along with party favors at each seat. Jada chuckled. Basically, she’d designed a wedding reception for Amanda’s birthday.
She checked her watch. Guests would start arriving in a few minutes. Fifty people, who would all be looking to have a good time, and she would give it to them.
Games, drinks, food, music—she’d thought of it all.
Amanda loved karaoke, so Jada had, with Donovan’s permission, bought a machine and rented a small stage. That decision had brought home the booking. Amanda had been considering having the surprise party at a karaoke bar, but the birthday girl also enjoyed Sugar Blitz’s fare, so Jada had jumped in with the offer.
Freshly baked cupcakes—chocolate, red velvet, and Oreo—spelled out Amanda’s name. A nice touch, if she did say so herself.
The bell over the front door tolled. Putting on her best hostess-with-the-mostest smile, Jada turned to greet the first partygoers. The smile died a sad, sudden death. The blood in her veins curdled.
What in the hell?
Somehow, she got her vocal cords, which had seized up in shock, to work. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, it’s nice to see you again too, Jada,” Lila Patterson said with an arch of a razorbladed eyebrow. She was a tall woman, which didn’t stop her from wearing killer high heels. Her concessions to the long hours of filming were to slick her dark brown hair back into a sleek, stark ponytail, a style that drew attention to her sharp cheekbones and pale skin, and wear three-inch heeled boots, designer silk T-shirts, and jeans.