Sweet Cravings by Eva LeFoy Read Free Book Online Page B

my eyes and prayed it somehow did. I needed something to prove to my mom I wasn’t a total loser in the men department.
    “What are you saying? You have a date? With a man ?”
    The shock in mom’s voice takes me down another peg. As if I could sink much lower. “Yes, Mom, a man. A real, live one.”
    She snorted on the other end of the line. “Well, who is he?”
    “He’s a chef, a pastry chef.”
    During the silent pause that followed I could almost see the no-wonder-my-daughter’s-so-fat gears turning in her head. “Mmm-hmmm. And you’re dating him?”
    Well, technically, no. I mean, we had sex in a kitchen twice and then never left the apartment. Last night was more of an “in” date, if you could call it that. Oh hell . To be honest with myself, it was more of a booty call. I suppose that’s what I deserved after practically doing the same thing to him at the hotel. “Not really. I mean, not ‘dating’ dating.”
    Mother sighed. “Look, Vi, whoever he is, just bring your little man along on Saturday, all right? We’ll expect you both at four.”
    Oh dear. This hadn’t gone quite as planned. “But, Mom, he’s…he’s not really—”
    “’Bye, dear.” Click.
    I stared into the phone hoping it might electrocute me by accident and save me the embarrassment of begging the disappearing chef for a fake date. Sadly, it didn’t. Now I had to come up with an excuse for why Max couldn’t make it. Besides the fact he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to hang out with a dessert-crazed sex maniac after all. With renewed vigor, I slunk into the living room, collapsed on the couch, and hit the remote. Maybe some Red Dwarf would cheer me up….
     
    ***
     
    The rest of Saturday passed in a funk. By the time I got out of bed on Sunday to do laundry, the churchgoers had gone, been fed, and arrived back home. The only thing on TV was sports. My place was so damn quiet I could hear the dust bunnies whispering. I half feared they were talking about me.
    With a sigh I gave up trying to figure men out and opened the lone box of desserts left over from Friday night. The very last piece of the chocolate torte sat in front of me, staring at me smugly from its cream-colored dish. I knew how to play this game. I stared back. It didn’t move. I’d won.
    My finger traced along the whip-cream layer, picking up yummy goodness along the way. I stuck it in my mouth and sucked. Mmmm. There was more to life than dessert, but damned if it didn’t cheer me up right then.
     
    ***
     
    On Monday I sat at my desk listening to the chatter around me. Everybody asked everybody else “How was your weekend?” “What did you do?” “Did you see the Mariners game?” Blah. Blah. Blah. I glared at my phone, which still showed no calls from Max. It didn’t move. I won again. Hurray….
    Suzy passed my desk and slid an expense report in my inbox. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the title and winced. My hand reached out to grab the blasted thing and stopped mid-path. Instead I drew my hand back and slapped my forehead. I really didn’t need another reminder of my could-have-been-wonderful-but-I-fucked-it-up weekend.
    I let it stay there all morning untouched and then left for lunch. When I got back, I found a white box sitting in the middle of my desk. A bakery box. Intrigued, I set down my purse and peeked over the top of my cubicle. Nobody seemed to be paying attention. I held my breath as I lifted the lid to find…a single raspberry cream puff. I sucked in a breath and smiled. Someone hadn’t forgotten me after all.
    Later that afternoon, I queried my coworkers. Nobody recalled seeing anyone at my desk. Nobody remembered a heavily built man in a solid white jacket and possibly a tall white hat, carrying a white box. But in my mind, I did. In fact, he’s all I thought about as I devoured the puff. Licking the cream off the cap was like licking the cream off his succulent nipples; dragging the filling out with my index