Sugarlips (Beefcakes Book 2) by Katana Collins (best love novels of all time TXT) 📗

hands around the shawl wrapped over her shoulders. “Want me to check this for you?” I asked.

She clamped her hands around it like a security blanket. “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it in a bit.”

“Have you ever been wooed, Chloe?”

She started, turning to face me and her brows creased. “Wooed? What does that mean?”

“Woo. Courted. The process of which a man charms and chases a woman he desires…”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I didn’t need the Webster’s Dictionary definition. Nobody woos anymore.”

“Is that so?”

She snorted and contorted her face with a wry twist of her mouth. “Yes. Believe me. I think I’ve had a little more experience in that area than you have.”

Ouch. Well, that was… harsh. Chloe rarely lashed out like that. Especially not with me. “You have,” I admitted. “But my relationship lasted almost four years and ended pretty amicably. Can you say that about any of yours?”

She blinked as the realization of her words sank in. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, fuck. Liam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Only, she did mean that. She saw me as inexperienced. And maybe in some ways, I was. But in others, I far surpassed her in maturity. And that’s what I needed her to see tonight.

“Hi,” A woman slid up beside us, grinning from ear to hear. “You’re Chloe and Liam, right? With The Dump Truck?”

We’d barely made it in the door and someone already recognized us?

“Yes,” Chloe smiled and hooked her arm into mine. “That’s right.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” She pushed her chestnut hair off her shoulder and shook each of our hands. “My name is Serena, and I own a high-end flower shop in Laconia. Your business model inspired me to try something a little different—The Prick Collection!” She used jazz hands to emphasize the point. “I’m now selling potted cacti with cards that say: Congratulations on dumping that prick! I’ve been offering it for less than a month, and it’s already become my biggest seller… I feel like I have you two to thank.”

I barked a laugh and Chloe chuckled as well. “I love it!” she said.

“Do you have business cards?” I asked, and before I could finish the question, she pushed a few into my palm.

“We should find a way to work together,” Chloe said. “Let’s talk next week.”

Serena beamed. “I would love that. I couldn’t wait to meet you both. And your love story is just…” She clasped her hands at her chest and swooned on our behalf. Which I had to admit, was a little weird. “It’s so sweet.”

She quickly bounced on, meeting the next person behind us, and Chloe and I set our things down at one of the tables.

The first forty minutes or so of the party went smoothly. We met several business owners in our state. Chloe and I danced and drank champagne. We talked with the owner of the Boston newspaper about potentially doing a story about The Dump Truck and Beefcakes. My pockets were filled with business cards—everyone from publishers to journalists to jewelry makers.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” Chloe whispered to me, sliding her arm away from mine.

“I’ll get us another drink. Champagne?”

She scrunched her nose. “I’ll do a Paloma instead.” She disappeared through the crowd as I made my way over to the bar.

It had cleared out a bit and I had to admit, the nice thing about events like this was that it was planned so well with several bars spaced throughout, that you never had to wait too long for what you wanted—whether that was another shrimp cocktail or a glass of champagne.

“What can I get you, sir?” A man in a tuxedo asked from behind the bar.

“An IPA and a Paloma, please.”

“Don’t forget the twist of lime,” a voice said behind me.

I recognized it immediately, and jealousy seared through me. Dan.

Why was I jealous of this asshole? Why the hell did he rub me in such a wrong way?

A voice rang in the back of my head: Because she’s not over him.

I pushed that nagging thought from my mind, but couldn’t ignore it entirely.

I took a deep breath. “She didn’t specify that she wanted a twist of lime.”

Dan chuckled, his lip curling back. “She never had to with me.”

My jaw ticked. “Funny. I guess she also never specified monogamy, did she?”

His easy smile hardened, turning brittle. I could have tapped it with a mallet and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces.

The bartender cleared his throat. “With the twist or not?” he asked.

“Not,” I snapped. If she had wanted a twist, she would have asked for it, I reasoned with myself.

Dan shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

I was annoyed at how good-looking Dan was. I’d always thought he was a little dull, but tonight, seeing him in his clean-cut suit, with his blindingly white, straight teeth, I could picture him and Chloe together at an event like this. Together. They fit.

And that pissed me off more than I cared to admit.

He seemed to notice my rigid posture and his lips curved knowingly. Fuck. Why was I letting him get to me?

“What can I get for you, sir?” the bartender asked.

“A kombucha and a glass of grüner veltliner.” He paused, then leaned into me. “You see, it’s customary for you to put your date’s order before your own.”

Possessiveness reached its ugly hand inside my body and gripped my heart. And by the gleam in his eyes, he seemed to be fully aware at how much he was affecting me.

“Is it true that dentists have the highest suicide rate?”

His jaw flexed. “I don’t know. But at least we don’t get diabetes and our teeth definitely won’t rot out of our heads like, oh, I don’t know, someone who bakes sweets for a living.”

I smiled because it illustrated just how little he knew about our business and how at Beefcakes, we made healthy, sugar-free baked goods.

“Ah! Here you are!” Chloe said, sliding in beside me. “Man, the line to pee