For the Love of Donuts

21. Why Else?

Skye

I know I told Anna that my FAKE kiss with Tatum didn’t change anything, but I think I was wrong. Last night at Tatum’s place proved that.

Why else would I be checking him out again? Why else would I freak out about his foot accidentally touching my arm? Why else would I be weird about wearing his shirt? Why else would I care about how I looked in that shirt? Why else would I wonder if he was checking me out in the laundry room? Why else would I be hesitant about our pinky promise? Why else would I take my sweet time ending the pinky promise?

Why else would I feel breathless when he was looking at me in a way he never had before? Why else would I feel disappointed after he apologized for looking at me like that? Why else would I think about the supply closet and our pretend make-out session? Why else would I almost ask him if things felt different between us?

Why else would I prickle at the thought of him possibly having a bachelor party when we talked about me having a bachelorette party? Why else would I get awkward about nonexistent honeymoon plans ? And why else would I have the slightest sliver of jealousy when Tatum mentioned taking his hypothetical future wife to Alaska for their honeymoon?

All of that tells me what I don’t want to believe: everything has changed.

I just don’t know how to handle it, though, because Tatum seems perfectly fine. None of this weirdness has affected him, which is so freaking annoying. Like, why am I the only one struggling here? Ughhhh. He’s going to be here any minute to pick me up for our cake testing excursion and I’m still not mentally prepared. Also, Sprinkles keeps trying to chew on my shoelaces!

I should be mad, but who can be mad at a bunny?

Especially my bunny? She’s too adorable.

“Bad Sprinkles,” I coo, using my phone to take a short video of her. “You’re such a cute baby.”

Then I do the responsible thing and bribe her with one of her special apple treats so she’ll abandon my shoelaces. After that, I put my sneakers on and make sure she’s secure in her cage, just as I get a text from Tate letting me know he’s in the parking lot.

I feel nauseous.

Even so, I force myself to leave the apartment.

“Hey, you there!”

Crap. It’s Grafe.

He never bothers to use names when addressing any of the building tenants, but I’m the only one here in the hallway, so I know he’s talking to me.

How lucky.

“Hi, Mr. Turner,” I say, turning to look at him. “How are you?”

He’s horrible. For some bizarre reason, he’ll be doing horribly like always.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night because that riffraff living in the apartment above mine was blasting his awful music,” he grumbles in disgust. “You couldn’t hear it? If aliens were real, I’m sure they’d be able to hear it on fricking Mars.”

“I didn’t hear anything, Mr. Turner,” I tell him with a shrug. “Maybe you were dreaming? Sometimes my dreams are super realistic and—”

“I most certainly did not dream it!” he retorts, giving me a lovely scowl. “Just like I haven’t been dreaming about someone stealing my newspaper in the mornings. And how would you explain the ugly green clunker that keeps parking in MY spot? I guess you think I’ve just been dreaming about that too?”

We don’t have designated parking spots, but I let it slide.

“Sorry, Mr. Turner,” I apologize, not feeling sorry at all, “maybe you should talk to Phillip again?”

He waves me off before muttering under his breath about our building manager, and then he stomps over to his lair of despair. Aka: his apartment.

One of these days, he will be getting that diary. Maybe for Christmas. Like a snarky Secret Santa?

I roll my eyes and make a hasty exit to the front parking lot, just in case anyone else tries to stop me for some “neighborly” chitchat.

“You good, Pink Stuff?” Tatum asks as I throw myself into the passenger seat. “Everything okay?”

“Grumpy Grafe was complaining about his current heartaches,” I huff, putting my seatbelt on. “And I didn’t want to leave any opportunity for another person to come talk to me.”

Tatum proceeds to tsk. “Such a social butterfly.”

“Shut upppp.” I almost swat his arm, like I usually would, but I can’t deal with more unexpected sparks. “I’m friendly. I just have a harder time when it’s Grafe or Mrs. Nelson—oh, and Amity.”

Amity is my other odd neighbor.

At first, I thought she was chill, but then she started assuming that everyone wants her boyfriend just because he’s a model. A neck model. Yeah. So, when you see a picture online of a “headless” guy wearing a necklace, a necktie, or any other kind of neck accessory, you might be looking at the neck of Amity’s boyfriend.

And she would probably cause you bodily harm just because you looked at his neck.

“Amity,” Tatum echoes, pulling out of the parking spot. “I guess that means she still thinks you’re after her man?”

“Yeah, him and his gorgeous neck.”

That’s sarcasm, people. I don’t even know what his neck looks like. Amity brags about it like her boyfriend has the best neck in the world, but whenever he comes over to see her, he’s always wearing turtlenecks or carefully wrapped scarves.

Turtlenecks and scarves in FLORIDA, even when it’s the hottest summer months!

I’ve always wondered if he ever goes swimming while wearing one of his turtlenecks or scarves, but then I stopped being stupid and realized he probably has a wetsuit with an abnormally high neckline.

“Did I tell you about the last time I got stuck talking to her?” I ask as Tatum exits the parking lot. “I think it was a week or two ago?”

His eyebrows crease. “No, doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Oh my gosh, she was literally complaining about—”

But then I stop talking.

On second thought, maybe this isn’t a conversation I should be sharing with him. Normally, it wouldn’t matter, but now I feel like I should avoid any possible awkward topics.

“Skye? What was Amity complaining about?”

I can’t help but cringe. “Uh, nothing?”

“Come on, girl,” he practically whines, giving me a quick look of disapproval. “You always tell me stories about your weird neighbors.”

He’s right, I do.

Maybe I shouldn’t avoid awkward topics then. Maybe the key to getting things back to normal is acting like everything IS normal.

It’s worth a shot.

“Okay, okay, calm down. She was just complaining about how she can’t give Cal any neck hickeys because of his modeling career . And she was all TMI, trying to tell me that she just gives him hickeys everywhere else, which was disturbing…but then she finally shut up once I told her that hickeys are immature and overrated.”

Yeahhhh, why the heck did I even bring up this conversation in the first place ?

“Wow,” Tatum says with a short laugh, “how did I not know that you have such strong feelings about hickeys?”

Noooooo. He was supposed to laugh and that would be the end of it!

Nothing. Else.

There shouldn’t be any follow-up comments or questions!

“My feelings aren’t…strong.”

Well, that was a lame response.

He chuckles again. “You said they were immature and overrated, as if hickeys are the worst possible thing to exist. That equates strong feelings.”

I mean, I mostly told Amity that because I didn’t want the dirty deets of her relationship, but hickeys do seem more “high school” than anything. Not that I’m an expert on hickeys. I’ve never gotten a hickey before, not even in high school. Back then I had an almost -hickey, but that was it.

“Wait, what ?”

I immediately go still.

Did I just blurt all of that out loud?

No way. I couldn’t have!

“Who almost gave you a hickey in high school?”

Tatum

I hate that my voice sounds so gruff, but I’m seeing red right now and it’s not because of the stop light in front of me. While I’m relieved that Skye has never experienced a hickey before, I need to know just who exactly came close to making it happen.

“It’s not a big deal…” She plays with the ends of her hair. “Ben tried to give me one when we were together during junior year.”

Ben Mauro. Skye’s first ever boyfriend. He seemed like an okay guy, but now I want to go back in time to stop them from even meeting each other.

“Did you not want it, and he tried to give you one anyway?” My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Because I—”

“No!” she exclaims with wide eyes. “No, it wasn’t like that! I told him he could give me one.”

The light turns green, and I try not to grit my teeth as I start driving again.

“He just…had a really hard time doing it? I don’t know, he was super nervous, but then he finally gave up once I told him that he was slobbering on my neck like a dog. It grossed me out and he never tried again after that.”

I can’t believe I’m twenty-three years old and I’m jealous of a sixteen-year-old boy for slobbering on her neck. Also, is it horrible that I’m glad she didn’t have a good hickey experience?

It is horrible.

I know I’m being selfish, but if she ever does have a great hickey experience, I want it to be with me. And only with me.

“Anyway,” she says, twisting Dria’s engagement ring back and forth on her finger, “now you know my embarrassing almost-hickey story.”

I tap my thumb against the steering wheel. “So, you’ve never actually had a hickey then?”

“Nope.”

“Not even from Jeff?”

Jeff Cambry was her most serious boyfriend by far, and her most recent ex. They were together for almost five months, so Jeff giving her a hickey could’ve been a definite possibility.

“No, Jeff never gave me a hickey.”

Good.

That’s good.

But then something else comes to mind. Has Skye ever given a hickey before?

Crap, I hope not. That might be even worse than someone giving her one…

“Well, I guess it’s your turn, Tatester. Who gave you your first hickey?”

Maybe I’m imagining it, but she looks almost…reluctant? Like she’s not ready to hear my answer.

“Uh, mine happened in high school too,” I drawl, making a left turn. “It was during freshman year when I—”

“No way!” Skye cuts me off with a curse. “Perfect Paisley gave you your first hickey? She was such a goody-goody though!”

I crack a grin at her reaction. “Sounds like someone wasn’t a fan of Paisley. Why didn’t you tell me back then that you didn’t like her?”

Her lips purse. “I never said I didn’t like her.”

“You just called her Perfect Paisley and a goody-goody .”

She offers a half shrug. “She wasn’t horrible.”

Is jealous Skye making a comeback?

I silently hope so.

“Yeah,” I agree, trying to keep my voice casual, “she definitely wasn’t horrible.”

A little overbearing though at times; I remember that much about her.

“Hmm,” she hums, dragging a finger over one of the ripped sections of her jeans, “and I’m sure she gave perfect hickeys.”

It’s wrong, but Skye being jealous is my new guilty pleasure.

As much as I love seeing her get jealous though, I’m not going to keep the truth from her about me and Paisley. “Well, I wouldn’t know if she gave perfect hickeys or not.”

“What? But you said—”

“My first hickey was actually an almost -hickey too,” I clarify, taking in how adorably confused she looks. I also notice how her shoulders relax.

“What happened then? Why was it an almost-hickey?”

“I killed the mood by squirming too much and laughing while she tried to do it.” I chuckle at the memory. “Paisley was so mad, but I honestly couldn’t help it. How was I supposed to know that I’d be too ticklish for a hickey?”

A light smile dances across her lips as she fidgets with Dria’s ring again. “So, after the almost-hickey with Paisley—”

“No,” I answer the question before she can even ask it, “no hickeys for me.”

“Really? What about when you were with Gwen?”

“Gwen was too scared to try after she read some story online about a girl who almost died giving a hickey to her boyfriend.” I clear my throat some. “But I’m honestly glad she didn’t end up doing it. Hickeys are supposed to be love bites, yeah? And I wasn’t in love with Gwen or Paisley.”

They weren’t you.

“So, if you were in love, you’d be okay with hickeys then? You wouldn’t be too ticklish anymore?”

“I think I could handle it.” I glance over at her. “How about you? Has Ben’s slobbering scarred you for life?”

She rolls her eyes. “ No , but at this point I think I would only want a hickey from the right guy. I still feel like they’re mostly immature and overrated, but I don’t know, I guess they can be kind of hot too. Maybe?” She curses with a laugh. “This is so weird! I can’t believe we’ve spent this whole entire car ride talking about freaking hickeys, Tatum.”

Neither can I, but I’m counting it as progress.

“Cake testing was such a great idea,” Skye says before eating another forkful of strawberries and cream cake. “Good thinking, Tate.”

“I have my moments.” I continue to take pictures of the different cake samples on our table. “Hey, you better not eat all that strawberries and cream. I didn’t get any yet.”

“It’s not my fault they’re so stingy with the sample sizes,” she grumbles, digging her fork into the slice again. “I mean, seriously? They couldn’t swing us a couple slices of each flavor?”

“Skye!” I whine as she lifts the fork to her mouth. “I want some of the dang cake, woman!”

She pushes the plate over to me. “You’re so high maintenance.”

I give her a smug look before burying my fork into the cake. “Maybe, but I’m an amazing fiancé.”

“Ehhhh.” She makes a so-so motion with her hand. “It’s still pretty early on in the engagement to make a judgment call on that.”

“Girl,” I say with a tsk, “go back to trying the cakes.”

And she does, without any hesitation. This time, she tries the chocolate hazelnut cake, and her eyes slide shut as she makes a sound of approval. Meanwhile, I snap a few quick shots of her. They might not work for her blog spot, but I think I’ve made it pretty obvious that I just like taking pictures of her whenever I can.

She finishes her forkful of the chocolate hazelnut cake and sighs. “That…was life changing. Okay, enough working for a sec, Jacobs. It’s your turn to enjoy some cake. And I will do the picture-taking.”

I start to protest but she shushes me with a sassy look. “You photograph SO well, Tatum. Don’t get camera-shy on me.” She proceeds to pull her phone out. “And look, I’m going to use my phone, so your baby is safe from me.”

Sometimes I’m still blown away by just how well we know each other.

Once I make sure “my baby” is secure in the camera bag, I scoop a forkful of the strawberries and cream cake. “You ready for this?”

She laughs behind her phone. “Whenever you are.”

I make some exaggerated facial expressions as I hold the fork up—which causes her to laugh even more—and ultimately, I burst out laughing too before finally trying the cake.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” she asks, still taking pictures with her phone. “Does my amazing fiancé approve?”

I most definitely approve of her calling me “fiancé” like that. I’d be okay with hearing it all day long.

“It’s pretty good,” I say with a nod, “but the cream is a little too sweet for me. How about that vanilla almond one over there?”

I motion to the slice of cake that has an off-white frosting between the layers and shaved almonds on top.

“You sound like an actual taste-tester,” she snorts, grabbing the plate of vanilla almond cake for me. “Do you need something to drink before you try the next flavor?”

“I would honestly kill for a glass of milk right now,” I muse, licking my fork clean. “I wonder if they offer that. Should I ask someone?”

I then realize that Skye isn’t listening to me. She’s too busy staring at my mouth.

Just like she was last night.

Perfect. It’s time to lay down some more groundwork.

I slowly retract the fork from between my lips, watching as her eyes get hazy, and I hope with every part of me that she’s thinking about our kiss.

Because I know I am.