Smut, Blueberry Muffins & Desperate Confessions
Sloane
If my life were a novel—and lately I’m convinced it is, judging by the level of plot-related insanity—this would be the chapter where the heroine crawls under a table and refuses to come out until the epilogue.
Unfortunately, reality doesn’t come with a “skip chapter” button.
So here I am.
At Pumpkin Spice Café.
The moment I walk in, the place smells like caramelized sugar, cloves, and fresh paperbacks. Normally, that scent wraps around me like a soft wool blanket. Today? My mental state is one continuous, screeching Munch scream.
I’m sitting at the little corner table—the one with the handwritten “reserved” sign in curly letters—next to Ivy and Lina.
Ivy is, as always, the human embodiment of autumn.
Rust-colored corduroy overalls over a cream oversized sweater, copper hair braided loosely like she just strolled out of a Vermont cottage.
She’s arranging copies of Unmasked, a cowboy romance with a very…
unapologetic cover, in perfect symmetry across the table.
Lina, beside her, is the complete opposite.
She’s wearing a neon T-shirt that says Read Smut in the Sunshine, her hair tipped in acid green today.
Her nose ring matches. She’s inhaling a blueberry muffin with the urgency of a woman who hasn't eaten in weeks—but it’s just nerves, obviously caused by whatever chaos Sebastian has stirred this time.
Her multicolored nails are adorable. Infuriatingly so.
“So…” Lina begins, wiping a crumb off the corner of her mouth. “You’re telling me the walk from the agency to the café—which is literally across the street—took you twenty minutes?”
I drop my face into my hands, elbows on the wooden table.
“Twenty-five,” I groan, voice muffled. “Mrs. Gable stopped me to ask if Becker’s ‘package’ is as impressive as it looks in his soccer shorts. Her exact words. She’s eighty, Lina. Eighty.”
Lina bursts into laughter, almost choking on a blueberry.
“Well? What did you say?”
Of course. Of course that’s what she focuses on.
“That I don’t make public statements about players’… equipment,” I mutter, finally lifting my head. “Then the mailman stopped me. Then the girl from the market. Everyone was staring at me like I’m—God, I don’t know—a celebrity. Everyone wanted to know if it was really Cohen Becker.”
Ivy gently slides a steaming cup toward me.
“Here. Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew. Extra foam. It cures the soul.”
I take a desperate sip. It’s sweet and spicy and for one blessed second, it keeps me from screaming.
“Thanks. I needed that before telling you… the rest.”
The two of them exchange a look.
I adjust my purple heart-arm glasses on my nose. The energy at the table shifts immediately. Lina stops chewing. Ivy abandons her alignment project.
I inhale deeply.
These are my best friends. The only people in Elm Hollow who won’t judge me. And besides, this is the very first meeting of Ivy’s new smut book club. If there’s a sacred, holy place to confess carnal sins and absurd plot twists… it’s here.
And since they’re about to be distracted by everyone else arriving, I might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.
“Okay. Brace yourselves. Because the newspaper story? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath is a Titanic-sized disaster sinking while the orchestra plays It’s Raining Men.”
I glance around to make sure no one is eavesdropping—Mrs Higgins with her poodle, a cluster of high-schoolers—then lean in.
“Do you remember Mark’s awful bachelor party? The one at The Aureum that thankfully ended his engagement before it even began?”
Lina freezes with the muffin halfway to her mouth.
“You mean the party where you tried to send me dressed as Sexy Cupid? And you came back with a hickey you covered with foundation for a week?” She lifts a brow. “Of course I remember. You never told us who the mystery guy was.”
“Right,” Ivy adds, eyes sparkling as she hugs her ceramic mug. “The one dressed as Lucifer, right?”
I close my eyes and nod, painfully.
“Yes. Lucifer.”
Deep breath.
Time to drop the bomb.
“Lucifer was Cohen.”
Silence. One single second of it.
Then Lina literally spits a blueberry across the table.
“YOU ARE SHITTING ME!”
Her scream is so loud Mrs. Higgins drops her poodle’s leash.
“LINA!” Ivy hiss-whispers, grabbing her sleeve. “Lower your voice!”
“I WILL NOT LOWER ANYTHING!” Lina shrieks, leaning across the table and grabbing my arm. “You’re telling me the ‘Sex God’—your words, Sloane Heart, I still have the voice memos from that night—was COHEN BECKER? The man you’ve insulted for months?!”
“Yes!” I wail, burying my face again. “But I didn’t recognize him! We were at The Aureum, I thought he was a bored banker or a model slumming it for a night!”
Lina slaps a hand over her mouth. “YOU HAD SEX WITH COHEN BECKER WHILE DRESSED AS CUPID?!”
Two older women at the next table turn.
I glare daggers at Lina.
I do not need more local attention, thanks.
“It was a mistake,” I mumble into my cup.
“No, darling,” Lina counters, “mistakes are bangs cut too short or dating your ex from sophomore year. THIS IS HISTORY.”
I inhale sharply, trying to reel the conversation back into sanity—not happening.
“It was the best night of my life,” I admit. “But I didn’t recognize him. I only saw his name after, when his wallet fell open. Everything connected in one second. He was Dad’s acquisition. The player Dad had invested millions in. I ran like the devil himself was after me. Literally.”
Lina cracks up, wiping a tear.
“You ran?”
“I thought it was over! I thought I’d never see him again!”
“And then your father brought him into the office,” Ivy realizes, jaw dropping. “That’s why you were so weird that day! You said you felt nauseous…”
“I was nauseous because the man I rode at The Aureum had just become my client.”
“Holy shit, this is the best story I’ve ever heard,” Lina cackles. “So all the hate these past months… all the fights… it’s because you wanted to jump him again?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know! I mean… I did jump him again. Multiple times,” I whisper, miserable.
Both pairs of eyes widen.
I pointedly do not mention to Lina that she and Sebastian are one unresolved-tension breath away from combusting.
Ivy nearly chokes.
I press on. Might as well confess everything.
“He’s irritating, arrogant… but then the other night…”
My voice drops. This part is humiliating for… other reasons.
“I was drunk. He drove me away from the… well, you know. You two were there. And he took me to his place because apparently I refused to get out of the car.”
Ivy’s eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. Lina already knows this bit, so she’s not shocked.
“He hooked up with you while you were drunk?” Ivy asks carefully.
“No! That’s the point!” I rake a hand through my hair. “He… removed my makeup. Took off my shoes. Tucked me into bed. Left water and aspirin on the nightstand.”
Ivy lets out a noise halfway between a sigh and a moan.
“But it gets worse!” I continue, rapidly unraveling. “When I woke up I was furious. I went to the bathroom. He was in the shower. I walked in. And… well.”
Lina slams both hands on the table, rattling every cup.
She leans forward, eyes gleaming with obscene curiosity.
“Details. Now. Was Mrs. Gable right? Do the soccer shorts lie?”
“Lina!” Ivy gasps, blushing crimson.
“What? I want to know if it was worth it!”
I cover my face.
“Yes, okay? YES. It’s huge. He’s good. He’s… devastating. The best orgasm of my life. Again. Happy?”
“Very,” Lina beams. “So you’re together? That’s what all this yelling means?”
“No!” I practically cry. “I would never date Cohen-pain-in-my-ass-Becker. But there’s more.”
Ivy emits a terrified little squeak.
Lina looks gleeful.
“My dad obviously saw the article and all the posts. He lost it for forty minutes straight.”
I pause dramatically.
“And he didn’t know Cohen and I already made a deal, so… I had to lie.”
“What deal?” Ivy asks, worried.
“We’re competing in the Valentine’s reality show,” I say flatly. “Together.”
Ivy and Lina freeze.
Look at each other.
Look at me.
Then Lina starts laughing again—hysterical, almost admiring.
“Sloane, sweetheart,” she says, shaking her head, “you are screwed. Completely, utterly screwed.”
“You’ll have to spend days glued to each other,” Ivy murmurs dreamily. “You’ll have to kiss on camera. You’ll have to share a room…”
Pretty sure she’s reliving her own autumn reality show with Cam.
“No thanks. This is not the same,” I mutter.
“You’ll have to pretend to be in love,” Lina adds, grinning wickedly. “And considering he removes your makeup when you’re drunk and fucks you in the shower like a Greek god… how long before you fall for him for real?”
“I’m not falling for him!” I protest, slamming my fist on the table. “He wants to stay single, I made the deal to win and because he helped me with Secret Santa. That’s it.”
Lina raises her coffee in a mocking toast.
“Sure, babe. Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
The bell above the door jingles.
“Oh shit,” Ivy whispers. “The rest of the book club is here.”
I turn. Four girls walk in, laughing, holding romance novels. They spot me instantly. Their eyes widen.
They already know.
All of Elm Hollow knows.
I look back at Ivy and Lina.
“Help me,” I groan.
Lina pats my shoulder—completely unhelpful.
“We can’t help you, Cupid. We can only grab popcorn and enjoy the show.”
“They’re not that bad!” Ivy insists, waving over Miriam, Olivia, Molly, and Penny.