The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (57 page)

She smiles wide and slides the book closer to her, her eyes shifting between each picture.

Joey’s right. I would do this for anybody. Because the look on her face right now, the blissful glow radiating from her, this look is totally worth it. It’s what makes my job so rewarding. The long hours. The late nights of baking. The sometimes overly-picky clients. I love my job because I get to see this look. And even if I am a few minutes late to my own wedding, it won’t matter.

Nothing will ruin that day.

“Try and suck in a little more,” the woman says behind me as she struggles to zip and button my dress.

If I suck in anymore, I might actually crack a rib.
Thanks a lot, five-mile run. You obviously were pointless.
I shift on my feet and brace myself against the mirror with my hands while I take in shallow breaths. “I am sucked in. How close is it to fastening?” She pulls the material taut and I gasp, dropping a hand down to my diaphragm.

“There. Have you been eating a lot?”

“No,” I barely manage to get out. “Jesus Christ. I can’t have it be this tight for Saturday. I’ll pass out before the ceremony starts.” I spin around and see five pairs of eyes on me. Two amused sets, courtesy of my best friends, two motherly pairs full of anxiety, and the distraught-looking set belonging to the seamstress. My mother’s jaw is tight, her face full of discontentment. “I swear to God, Mom. I haven’t been eating a lot.”

“Did you have a lot to drink lately? Like in the past week?” the seamstress asks, stepping forward and grabbing onto sections of my train.

I don’t reply right away, and my mother decides to cut in. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dylan. Don’t you know not to drink alcohol at least a week before your final fitting? That’s common sense.”

“To who? And it was my bachelorette party. Of course there was drinking.” I look down at the hands tugging the side of my dress. “Can’t you take it out a little?”

She sighs, flattening her hand against the material and smoothing it down the front. “I could. But if it’s just tight from drinking, I wouldn’t alter it. As long as you don’t drink anymore this week and stick with a low-carb diet, it should fit perfectly on Saturday.”

Well, fuck me.

I grimace at the seamstress. “But I love carbs. And I’m a baker. I taste-test all my stuff.”

“I’ll take that burden off your hands,” Joey offers, stepping up and putting his hands on his hips. His gaze trails up my dress to my face. “I must say, it does look seriously hot on you skin-tight. Fashion before comfort, cupcake.”

“It’s too tight. She can barely breathe in it,” Juls states. She smiles up at me. “But you do look amazing. I’ll never forget when you tried this on for me the first time.”

I shake my head at her, playing over the memory of that day in my head. “Only you can get me to try on a wedding dress when I’m not even engaged.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand lovingly. “I think we both knew Reese was going to be seeing you in this dress.”

I blush, putting my other hand on top of hers.
Yup. I definitely knew.

“I must say, I absolutely love this dress, Dylan.” Mrs. Carroll walks up to stand in front of the pedestal I’m on. She motions with her hand for me to twirl around and I humor her. “You look stunning in it. I love all this lace and the pearls on the back. And this train. My goodness. Absolutely gorgeous.” She moves around me and grabs the train of my dress, fanning it out in front of me. “My son is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this.”

“And his sperm count,” Joey snickers under his breath. I glare down at him and he clears his throat as Juls elbows him in the side. “Well, it looks like I’ll be the only one partying Friday night at The Tavern. Fine by me. And just in case this needs to be said, I’m retired from Brooke babysitting duty.”

My mother steps up next to Maggie and looks at Joey critically. “Joseph, I will not have anyone showing up to this thing Saturday hung over, so keep that in mind, please. This will be a classy event.”

“Of course it will be. I’ll be there,” Joey retorts. “Nothing screams class like the sight of me in a tux.”

I spin around on my pedestal and look at myself in the mirror while the four of them talk amongst themselves. Even though my dress is uncomfortably tight right now, it still looks just as amazing as it did the first time I stepped into it. Lace upon lace, it’s so elegant I feel almost undeserving of wearing it. But no other dress is worthy of Reese. This has always been the one he was meant to rip off me. So, even though my love affair with carbs has been my longest and second-most-satisfying relationship, it will have to be sacrificed. Because there is no way in Hell I am not wearing this dress in five days. Maggie says her son will surely lose his mind on Saturday at the sight of me in this.

And that’s exactly the reaction I’m going for.

After peeling off my dress and being reminded what foods and beverages to avoid for the next five days, I say goodbye to everyone and make my way out to Sam. Reese and I will be staying at the loft every night this week, which I’m grateful for. I want to have as much time there as possible since I’ll be moving out this weekend. Juls, Joey, and I will be having our last sleepover together on Friday night there while the boys all stay at Ian’s condo. That took some major convincing on my part; Reese doesn’t like being away from me, not even for one night. But I begged, telling him it’ll be sweeter if we go a little bit without seeing each other before the wedding. He was still reluctant until I told him I didn’t want him seeing our wedding cake beforehand. That got him to agree to it. He appreciates my work more than any other person and knows I want him to be surprised. And now I’ll have two wedding cakes to tackle on Friday night after the rehearsal, so he might as well hang out with the guys and have some fun.

As I walk up to the driver’s side of my trusted delivery van, I notice something red on the windshield. A stand on my toes and reach my hand across the glass, grabbing the single red rose tucked underneath my windshield wiper. I study it curiously and smile. Roses are definitely not Reese’s style. Nor is any flower. He’s way more original when it comes to sweet gestures. But even though this isn’t his typical way of showing me he’s thinking of me, or that he loves me, it still warms my heart.

The sound of a car slowing down next to me catches my attention. Turning, I see Joey’s red Civic come to a stop and the passenger window rolling down. He lowers his head to see me. “What’s up, cupcake? Everything okay?” I hold out the flower in front of me and see Joey’s face contort into a snarl. “Goddamn it, Billy. One fucking gesture would be nice. I’m a major fan of flowers.”

I try to contain my laughter but fail at the sight of his irritated face. “So not like Reese, though. Maybe Billy put it there for me.” I grab my door handle and duck my head down, winking at my assistant. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He speeds off down the street, no doubt on his way to give Billy an earful as I hop up into Sam. After placing my rose on the passenger seat, I buckle up and pull away from the curb. It’s late, already after 8:00 p.m., and I know as soon as I put my head on my pillow, I’m going to pass out.

Once I enter the security code, setting the alarm for the front door of the shop, I grab a small glass off one of the back racks in my kitchen work area. I fill it with water and place the rose in it, putting it in the middle of my worktop. Taking the steps two at a time, I make my way up the stairs and swing the door open.

There are boxes everywhere. On my bed. On the floor. On the kitchen counter. Way too many boxes for the amount of stuff I have. I close the door behind me and peek around my screen, seeing more boxes filling the space around my bed. “Jesus.”

The bathroom door swings open and Reese emerges, a cloud of steam surrounding him. He’s dressed in only his boxers with a towel draped over his shoulder. I moan softly at his appearance. The man could seriously rock a shampoo commercial.

He rubs the towel over this head. “Hi. Did you just get here?”

I nod, glancing around the space and motioning with my hand around the room. “Where did all the boxes come from?”

“A guy at work brought them in for me when I told him we were moving you this week. I’ve gotten a lot of stuff packed away already.” He places his towel on the counter, the crease in his brow becoming prominent as he surveys my expression. “Are you okay?”

I move over to the bed and sit down, kicking my shoes off. “Yeah. I’m just tired.” I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on top, staring at one of the boxes Reese has labeled ‘miscellaneous’.
I’m not ready to pack. Not yet. But I get it. It makes sense to start.

I feel the bed dip behind me and hear the soft creak of the mattress.

“Come up here.”

I turn, seeing him sitting with his back against my headboard. Letting go of my knees, I crawl toward him and straddle his lap. His hands run up my thighs, stopping on my hips. I let my eyes wander over his face, admiring his features before settling on his eyes that are studying me. Always watching. “Hi.”

His lip twitches. “Hi, yourself. What are you thinking about?”

I trace the muscles of his arm with my finger, trailing up toward his shoulder. “That I’m not ready to say goodbye to this place.” I see his smile fade and shift closer, feeling his hands wrap around my waist. I drop my forehead so it’s resting against his, my fingers interlocking behind his neck. “It’s not because I don’t want to live with you. Please, don’t think that.”

He licks his lips before exhaling roughly. “I don’t. I wish we could live here. I know how important this space is to you. But with us trying to start a family now, I don’t see how it would work. We’re going to need more than one bedroom.” I nod against him, feeling his fingers trace along the exposed skin of my back where my tank top has ridden up. “Dylan, I’ll pay for you to keep this place if it’ll make you happy. You can use it as storage or for whatever you want. Do you want me to do that?”

“No. It wouldn’t make sense to pay for a space we really wouldn’t use anymore. It’s fine. I guess I just wasn’t prepared to see the boxes yet.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry. I knew this would be hard for you so I figured I would do the packing. I’ll do it all, I don’t care.”

I run my finger along his jaw, feeling the day-old stubble tickle my skin. “You’re too sweet to me. How much did you get done?”

“About half. I found your yearbooks.”

I drop my head and cover my eyes with my hand. “Oh, God. Please tell me you didn’t.”
Why the hell did I keep those?
I know everyone goes through an awkward stage, but something tells me the man I’m currently straddling never went through such a thing. And I definitely did.

He laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling it away from my face. His fingers tilt my chin up to meet his stare. “I did. You were fucking hot at sixteen.”

Relief washes over me.
Thank God. My high school years were good to me.
I arch my brow playfully, licking the corner of my mouth as I make a mental note to burn all my middle school yearbooks. “Oh? Would you have liked sixteen-year-old, virginal, Dylan?”

“I would’ve gone to jail if I touched you. But I definitely would’ve thought about it.”

Christ, that’s crazy-hot to think about.

I slide my hands along his bare chest, feeling his chiseled body tense against my palms. “Mmm. I would’ve thought about you touching me, too.” I glance up at him from underneath my lashes, seeing his green eyes blazing. “At night. When I was alone in my bedroom.” I lean in closer, pressing my lips to his ear. “I would’ve thought about it a lot,” I whisper.

He growls, moving his hands underneath my tank top and rubbing along the skin of my back. “Would you have gotten yourself off thinking about me and what I’d do to you?”

I nod against his cheek, grinding my hips into him. “Every night. I masturbated a lot back then. I was the horniest teenager.”

“Shit,” he grunts, grabbing my hips and directing the tempo. I hear his breath hitch as he tilts his pelvis up, his length rubbing against me in the most delicious way possible. “I don’t know if I would’ve been able to keep myself from you. I can’t now. I would’ve done anything to touch you. To taste you. Jail would’ve been worth it if I got to watch you come apart in my arms.”