Sugarlips (Beefcakes Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Katana Collins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art by: Corin Howell

  Cover Design by: Julianne Burke at Heart to Cover

  Edited by: Erin Marenghi, Rachel Mason

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Looking for more books in Maple Grove?

  About the Author

  1

  Liam

  7:45 p.m.

  Crying women are not my thing.

  Okay, I know this is probably something that most men, if not all, say. And if there ever was a man who liked crying women, that’d be pretty damn concerning.

  The thing is, though. I really don’t like crying women because I’m an empathetic crier. And though many women claim they want a sensitive man who isn’t afraid of their feelings, once they witness me cry… for the rest of my life, all they see me as: Liam Evans, crybaby.

  Empathy shouldn’t be something that makes me feel ashamed. And yet… here I was—standing in front of Chloe Dyker’s front door for the last fifteen minutes staring at the illuminated doorbell but refusing to ring it.

  I glanced down at my feet from over top of the baker’s dozen box of cupcakes resting on top of my hands and kicked some loose gravel off of the stoop. I had no doubts that beyond this door, Chloe was crying inside over the discovery of her fiancé’s (or rather, ex-fiancé’s) affair. Just the thought had my throat tightening. Dammit.

  “This is a favor to Elaina,” I whispered to myself. “That’s all. Just a favor to my brother’s girlfriend—checking in on her little sister.” My reflection bounced off of the inlayed windows of her front door. Shit, were my eyes already red?

  With a deep breath, my eyes fell closed, and I willed my overactive tear ducts to calm the fuck down. I’d go in, drop off the junk food, and then be quickly on my way. I doubted Chloe wanted to see me anymore than I wanted to see her right now. If what Elaina said was true, and her fiancé ended things—no, not just ended things… cheated on her and called off their wedding—then Chloe probably wanted to be alone to wallow.

  Granted, I didn’t know Chloe all that well, so I wasn’t sure if she was the wallowing type. Sure, we went to high school together. My brother was dating her sister. And we may have drunkenly made out once when we were sixteen; but our relationship, or lack thereof, pretty much ended there.

  Closing my fist, I raised it to the door, readying myself to knock. Just before I could bring my knuckles down, the door swung open, and Chloe stood there in all her magnificent glory.

  She wore tight yoga pants that left little to the imagination and a cropped, pink, sleeveless t-shirt that said Donut Worry. Her blond hair fell in soft curls all the way down to the middle of her back, one section over her shoulder grazing the perfectly tear-shaped breasts pushing against that t-shirt—sans bra, might I add. In one hand, she held a large pitcher and in the other, a cigarette.

  And she wasn’t crying. She was smiling.

  “Liam!” she shrieked, throwing her arms overhead. A bit of green slushy liquid from within the pitcher sloshed over the edge, landing on the stoop. The ants would have a field day with that, no doubt. “You’re here!”

  “Did, uh, did you know I was coming?”

  Her brows lifted and her grin impossibly widened more. “No. That’s what makes it so exciting!” Between two cotton-candy-colored manicured fingers, she pinched a straw that I hadn’t noticed in the pitcher and took a long sip. When she was finished, she offered the pitcher to me. “Margarita?”

  “Uh…”

  She didn’t give me the chance to answer. Lunging forward, she clutched my shirt and yanked me inside, where rap was blasting through the speakers.

  “Are you having a party?” I shouted over the music.

  She snorted, then grabbing a remote, turned the music down. “Yes. It’s my good riddance to Dan party! And the lovely host is this here tequila. Tequila is my new boyfriend.” She lifted the half-empty bottle of Herradura Silver and cradled it against her cheek. “You would never cheat on me, would you?”

  Well, at least she wasn’t crying. “No,” I answered cautiously, plucking the liquor from her grasp and setting it gently onto the counter. “But he will probably leave you with one hell of a headache tomorrow. How about some coffee instead?”

  Her nose scrunched. “With a little Irish?” When I sighed in response, she whined, “I thought you were fun.”

  “You’re thinking of Neil.” Or maybe Fin. Literally, I was the least fun Evans brother in existence. And my sister, Addy, outdid all of us in that department. “But…” I grabbed the box of baked goods I had set down on her counter and opened the lid, revealing a smattering of cupcakes and donuts I baked that hadn’t sold today at the bakery. There were never many left over, but we had the occasional few.

  I glanced around her house, looking for any trace of other people. Where were her girlfriends? The ones I met that day at her bachelorette party when Neil and I delivered cupcakes months ago.

  She leaned over the box of baked goods, wide eyed. “Ohhh! Cupcakes and donuts? You’re the best!” She clapped her hands, jumping up and down. I hissed a curse and forced my gaze to the ceiling, avoiding the two gorgeous breasts bouncing right in my face. Groaning, I turned away, pouring some water into her coffee maker.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “I’m a freaking saint.”

  Her hand came down on mine, stopping me as I reached for the bag of coffee. I swallowed as her engagement ring, still on her finger, winked back at me in the dim kitchen light. “Liam,” she said, her voice suddenly quieter. Gone was the bouncing, bubbly girl who had opened the door.

  I slowly dragged my gaze up to meet hers, dreading what I might see. Thankfully, she still wasn’t crying. But her full, sweet lips were curved into a lush pout. And her eyes, bright and blue, were glossy with emotion. “My fiancé has been fucking a hippie for almost our entire relationship.”

  “I, uh… I heard.”

  Silence.

  Wow, I sucked at this whole comforting thing. No wonder I didn’t have too many
friends. Well, that and I worked all the damn time. Waking up at three in the morning, six days a week, didn’t exactly lay the foundation for a great social life.

  “I’m sorry?” I tried again.

  “Was that a question?”

  Shit. “Chloe,” I said, setting my coffee down and taking her hand. “I’m sorry. Dan’s an asshole and an idiot. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to call any of your girlfriends to come over?”

  “I already called them,” she said. “They’re all either working or out of town.” She gave a shrug that suggested nonchalance, but her eyes revealed quite the opposite.

  “Really?” I asked. “Even your best friend… what was her name? Tanja.” Granted, in the few times I’d met her friend Tanja, she seemed like a train wreck. Maybe it was better she wasn’t here tonight.

  “You know what you could do for me, Liam?”

  “Tell me.”

  She caught her full bottom lip between her teeth. Slowly, she leaned into me, brushing her mouth against my ear, and whispered, “You can loosen up and have a fucking margarita.”

  8:05 p.m.

  “Holy crap, how much tequila did you put in this pitcher?”

  “Apparently, enough that I can see your vagina.” She snorted a laugh and fell over onto her side on the recliner chair, cracking herself up.

  Still, laughing was better than crying.

  “Did you just call me a pussy?” I chuckled.

  She hiccupped, paused, and raised her fist to cover her mouth. Oh, fuck. Puking, on the other hand, was decidedly not better than crying. I nudged the glass of water closer to her, and for the first time since I arrived, she drank half of it without protest.

  Then, slamming the nearly empty glass back on the table, she pointed at me. “No, I called you a vagina. Pussies are sexy and shouldn’t be used derogatively.”

  I paused, thinking and taking another sip of my incredibly strong tequila. “So, vagina is okay to use derogatively? Also… I’m pretty sure you just said I wasn’t sexy.” I placed a hand over my heart and cringed an exaggerated expression. “Ouch, Chloe. That hurts.”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed her margarita once more. “Oh, please. You know you’re sexy. I don’t make out with non-sexy people.”

  I froze, the straw halfway to my mouth. We never spoke of that kiss after it happened. But more importantly, did Chloe Dyker just say she thought I was sexy? “We haven’t made out since we were sixteen. And even then, it was only once.”

  Chloe was on her feet, stumbling across the living room, and she fell in a clumsy heap beside me on the couch. “Yeah, it was only once because you never called me!”

  “Sure, I did.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, I called you dozens of times for months after that… and hung up as soon as you answered.”

  Tucking her feet beneath her, she nuzzled into the crook of my arm and sighed. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because…” I gulped, glancing down at her blonde hair fanned out across my black t-shirt. How drunk was she? Would she remember any of our conversation in the morning? “Because, Chloe Dyker, you’re intimidating as hell. You were at sixteen and you are now at twenty-six.” Not to mention, I was one of dozens of guys in high school who had a crush on her. It wasn’t long after our make out session that I saw her kissing some other guy at a different party.

  She smirked and her body jerked with a silent chuckle. “You said my whole name. It feels like I’m celebrity or something. Like Brad Pitt. Or Nick Jonas.”

  “In high school, you were kind of a celebrity.”

  She snorted a laugh. The sort of laugh that was so real and true that she couldn’t even contain it enough to make it sound cute. Or… maybe she was just that drunk. “I like it. It’s bullshit, but I still like it.”

  She adjusted, angling her body up to look at me and as she did, she stuck her pointer finger into my chin dimple. “You know what I think?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think we’re going to be best friends.”

  “Is that so?”

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded, and I couldn’t contain my smile as I looked down at her. In that moment, I really hoped she was right. But somehow, I doubted it. By the time the sun came up tomorrow, she’d forget all about the empty promises of tequila.

  “You know what I think?” I asked.

  “Hm?”

  “I think you should drink more water.”

  9:15 p.m.

  “I don’t get this movie!” I shouted, gesturing at Meg Ryan, Billy Crystal and their weird 80s hair. “Seriously, no one in their right mind would fake an orgasm in the middle of a very busy New York deli. It’s ridiculous.”

  “I would,” Chloe said.

  “I know you would. I said no one in their right mind.”

  “Hey!” she spun and smacked me on the abs, only her hand stayed right there, palm pressed against the ridges of my stomach and her eyes went wide, hungry. “Oh.”

  I quirked a brow at her, which she pointedly ignored and began moving her palm in slow circles until my shirt was riding up to reveal a strip of skin between the waistband of my jeans and the hem of my shirt. I gently grabbing her wrist to stop her. “You’re drunk, Chloe.”

  She blinked, glancing up at me and licked her lips. “Yes. I’m drunk, not dead.”

  With a groan, my head fell back against the couch. “And I’m a vagina, not a pussy, remember? I.e., I’m not sexy.”

  “Don’t say pussy to me right now unless you’re going to do something about mine.” I tilted my head down, meeting her eyes, and she stared back at me, dead serious.

  My jaw went slack. My cock, on the other hand, went completely rigid. “I thought you said we’re going to be best friends?”

  “We are.”

  “Has Harry taught you nothing?” I said, gesturing at the screen.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, and even though she was still drunk, I was grateful that she wasn’t as plastered as she seemed earlier. “I’m going to get a cupcake. You want one?”

  I silently sighed, grateful for the change in subject. “Sure.”

  She stood, and I quickly diverted my eyes from the heart-shaped curve of her ass in those ridiculously sexy yoga pants. Seriously, why couldn’t she have at least put on a bra?

  “Oh!” Chloe squealed from the kitchen. “You brought a unicorn cupcake!”

  I had set one aside just for her when Elaina called because I knew they were her favorite. And they always sell out. “I’ll take a toasted coconut,” I said.

  A couple moments later, she came back into the living room holding a plate with two cupcakes and a knife. A very large knife. The kind that you slice a watermelon with.

  My eyes went wide. “Uh… Chloe, what are you doing?”

  “Hold this.” It wasn’t exactly a question as she shoved the plate of cupcakes into my chest and licked some pink frosting off of her thumb. Then, she raised the knife over her head and brought it down into the leather recliner chair, stabbing and pulling it until strips of leather and foam stuffing surrounded her feet.

  Just as casually as the Ethan Allen massacre began, she set the knife down on a side table and took her place beside me once more, grabbing one of the cupcakes. “It was Dan’s favorite chair.”

  It was the only explanation she gave. And truthfully, it was the only one needed.

  “Unpause the movie,” she said, tapping my arm and pointing at the TV screen.

  Holy shit. Note to self: Never piss off Chloe Dyker.

  10:34 p.m.

  “Seriously?” Chloe was on her feet once more, pacing the living room, throwing her arms wildly in the air. In one hand, she gripped the bottle of tequila. Things had escalated anew and she was now drinking straight from the bottle. “How can you hate that movie? It’s classic.”

  I shrugged but laughed. How could one person be so passionate about a stupid movie? “You think that’s a classic? Sit back down. I’m going to
show you a real classic.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t go all macho on me and make me watch Star Wars or Indiana Jones… I’ve seen them. Yes, they’re great movies, but this is a great movie, too.”

  I shook my head, grinning. “Trust me… you’re going to like my choice.” I already had the remote in hand, searching Netflix for what I considered to be rom-com royalty.”

  “Chasing Amy,” she read the screen as she sat down next to me. Somehow, even closer than before and handed me the bottle. I grabbed it, took a small sip, then placed on the table beside me, hopefully out of reach for her.

  “Ever seen it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I think this is a more realistic look at what can happen if you blur the lines of friendship with sex.”

  “Okay, Evans. Let’s do this.”

  I hit play as she ate another cupcake and moaned, her head lolling back against the couch in pleasure. I couldn’t help but wonder… was that what she looked like in more private moments of pleasure?

  I immediately berated myself for the thought.

  “You are so good at this,” she said, holding up the cupcake.

  I shrugged. “I should be. Neil and I have been baking with my mom since we were old enough to hold a spatula.”

  She paused, and a bit of mint green frosting clung to the edges of her lips. “You don’t love baking? But… you went to culinary school.”

  I shrugged. “I do love baking… I just had other plans for my life.” Those plans did not involve working at my mom’s bakery to keep it afloat after she was diagnosed with cancer, where Neil was the face and brand, and I was the one doing most of the other grunt work.