Sugar Rush (2 page)

“So far, so good,” Neve murmured, seeing her reply had
resulted in over a dozen likes…

And one comment that instantly caused her heart to sink deep
to her stomach.

Good for you, Neve. Sugar Rush is YOUR shop, and nobody
has the right to tell you how to run it or whom to serve. So proud of you.

Neve stared a long moment at the tiny photo of Gianna
Diamont, a lovely brunette with soft brown eyes that could turn a hardened man
to liquid. One might not detect her incredible beauty in a photo the size of a
pinky fingernail, but Neve knew everything up close. She wondered how many of
the thousand or so fans of this Facebook page realized Gianna’s connection to her.

A number of people had clicked the “like” function under
Gianna’s response, too. It seemed to warrant some kind of acknowledgment from
the store, but Neve couldn’t bring herself to open up dialogue.

She had loved Gianna once upon a time, and had expected to
come home every day until she died to find the vivacious tax accountant waiting
for her with a glass of wine and news of her job and life.
Apparently not
,
she thought sadly, and fought not to think about what Gianna was doing now or
to click on her profile.

As she stared at the page, a reply underneath Gianna’s
popped into view. Neve gasped upon seeing the miniature Sugar Rush logo.
Thanks,
Gianna! We appreciate your support.
The sentence ended with a smiley icon.

“What?” she cried, and checked her chat list. Damn it,
Corky! Neve slouched in her chair. She couldn’t blame the girl. Corky
maintained that quick responses to social posts assured customers that they
took all feedback seriously. The girl, however, wasn’t privy to information
about Neve’s past relationship with Gianna, and with people possibly reading
this page now, Neve knew she couldn’t delete it and pretend it never happened.

Worry caught in her throat. What if Gianna interpreted this
as Neve personally replying to her? What if she came to the shop? Neve took a
deep breath. No, Gianna knew better than that, given their acrimonious split.
It wasn’t as if “Sugar Rush” addressed her with a term of endearment, anyway.
Hopefully Gianna went with the possibility that an SEO firm handled the Facebook
page, and disappeared back into cyberspace.

“Okay, enough of this.” She moved her mouse to log off when
a small chat window popped up on the corner of her screen. It wasn’t one of her
friends. Somebody must have searched for her personal profile—she listed
herself as the bakery’s owner there—and sent a private chat message. Neve
didn’t recognize anybody by the name of Judy Goldsmith.

Nice post on the Sugar Rush page
, it read,
but I
have to ask—where’s the love for cats?

Neve didn’t typically laugh out loud at anything on the
internet, but this Judy definitely surprised her. The message did well enough
to take her mind off Gianna. She moved her cursor toward the reply box,
deciding the jest proved worthy of a reward.

Next time you’re at the shop, I’ll see what I can do.

No sooner had she sent the message than Neve saw a
notification that Judy was typing another reply.

I’ll do that, and bring friends.

“Good. Bring
lots
of friends.” Now Neve had really
had enough of social media for one night and logged off. She spent the rest of
her evening unwinding in front of the TV, though the thought that business
might tank in the wake of this viral activity never left her. She fell asleep
in her recliner, fighting nightmares of an out-of-business sale. And a
confrontation with her unfaithful ex.

She couldn’t decide which frightened her more.

Her phone cradled in her left palm, Judy chuckled as Neve’s
reply to her cat query popped up on the tiny screen. “I’ll do that,” she said
as she typed with her thumbs, “and bring friends.” One touch sent the short
note, and Judy scrolled the rest of her news feed for anything interesting
before logging off for the night.

How nice to know a local business vocally supported the gay
community. Working in retail herself, Judy didn’t give a damn who her customers
dated or married, and it never crossed her mind to berate anybody for their
beliefs.

If only others would follow the example of Sugar Rush, she
mused, recalling with bitterness the treatment she and her best friend,
Rachael, had received from other bakeries when they inquired about getting a
birthday cake.

We don’t do fag cakes
, sneered one particularly
odious man with flour-dusted hands. His accented baying still rang in Judy’s
ears days later. After the third refusal, Rachael had thrown up her hands and
said, “Fuck this. Call everybody and cancel.”

Well, Sugar Rush would soon benefit from Judy’s sweet tooth.
And maybe Rachael would reconsider her birthday—

A bleeping noise broke into her thoughts, alerting Judy to a
text. She opened the proper app to see the photo Rachael sent her. Following
the snapshot of the elfish young woman with multicolored hair, awash in body
glitter and sparkling bracelets, came a short rebuke.
See what you’re
missing?

Judy snorted. The photo showed Rachael in a green strapless
club dress, narrow chest puffed out to make her breasts look larger, sandwiched
between two baby butches. One sported a leather jacket and a Fonzie-style cut—Judy
tried to recall if Little Dude’s was hosting a theme party tonight. Not likely,
she decided. Regulars enjoyed dressing up for the hell of it.

They’re not my type. You know that
, she texted back.
Judy sighed and cursed herself. She should have waited until morning to reply,
she realized. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but now that Rachael knew she
hadn’t gone to bed yet, she’d text all night.

“You should be at the club, you need to meet so-and-so,”
Judy groused in Rachael’s voice as she padded to the kitchen for something to
drink. “You don’t
have
a type, Judy, and you’ll hurt my feelings if you
don’t go along with the blind date I’m about to set up for you. Ugh! Get out of
my head, Rach!”

Judy fetched a bottle of juice and took a deep pull as she headed
toward the bathroom. She realized she’d toted the phone with her and left it on
the toilet seat while she showered. The next message from Rachael pinged just
after she’d dressed for bed and slipped under her satin comforter.

Not quite what she’d predicted, but Rach came close.
FFS,
what is your type? Pick something and I’ll find it. Just get your ass down here
and get some prime pussy.

“Later.”
More like never.
Judy powered off her phone
and snuggled down to sleep, but a few minutes later she gave up and had the
screen active again to her Facebook account.

She checked a notification alert and saw more Sugar Rush
fans had chimed in their support for the store. Neve Rush, assuming she and not
some social media intern had administrative control of the page, hadn’t come
back to say anything more. The earlier statement on being people-friendly
sounded too sincere to have come from a PR machine, and Judy imagined the
business was too small to hire out their social media work.

Now, the chat message to Neve’s personal profile she’d dared
earlier,
that
answer couldn’t have come from anybody else. Judy hadn’t
expected Neve to respond, and she felt giddy at the casual invitation to check
Sugar Rush for cat treats. If only other business owners used the same acumen to
attract customers. Judy admired the woman’s willingness to make herself
available.

And if only she owned a cat… That remark had come totally
out of the blue.

She hoped Neve didn’t think her a creeper, contacting her
privately instead of on the shop’s page. Then again, she could have ignored the
message or deleted it entirely.

Judy clicked back to Neve’s personal account, reminding
herself why she’d bypassed the public arena. A page-wide graphic of pastel
cupcakes and round, fondant-enrobed pops with sprinkles bordered the top. Neve
smiled from a small avatar box underneath. Damn, she looked good. Judy stared
for a full minute at those deep-brown eyes and that bright smile. Neve wore a
knit cap in the photo, like a baker in a shop would don to keep her hair swept
out of sight. Judy had been to Sugar Rush a few times but had never taken a
moment to notice the women working there—apparently that was a mistake.

She studied the profile, what information Neve made public,
and wondered about her hair color and length, and how soft it might feel
wrapped around her fingers.

Judy’s free hand touched her t-shirt just underneath her
breast and ghosted upward, stopping where her erect nipple dented the fabric.

Neve’s information page offered no clues on her relationship
status or sexual preference. When it came to fine-tuning gaydar, Judy managed
to get it wrong more often than not, but she did know through a friend that at
least one lesbian worked there. As for Neve… Well, Judy hadn’t mastered picking
out lesbians online, but a girl could hope in this case.

Judy circled a fingertip around her nipple before pinching
the hard flesh. She sucked in a breath, enjoying the brief yet sharp sensation
warming her skin. Neve’s gorgeous smile encouraged her to touch more, and Judy closed
her eyes to conjure an active image of the lovely baker. She had just slipped
her hand underneath her t-shirt to play with her distended nipple when an
obnoxious honking sound—signaling Rachael wanting attention—interrupted her.

“Damn you,” she muttered. Judy felt the jolt of frustration
shock straight to her pussy, which throbbed for attention. She’d end up using
her toy tonight for blessed relief, she knew. Why didn’t she set the phone on
silent?

She called up the video chat and greeted the close-up of her
friend’s smiling, albeit intoxicated expression. “What?” Judy demanded. “I’m in
bed, I’m not coming.”
Not yet, anyway.

“Duuuuude, I’m having a three-way. Right. Now.” Rachael’s
words ran together in a slurred mess, but Judy easily discerned the message.
The camera’s point of view dipped lower to capture Fonzierella’s profile, her
lips pursed around one of Rachael’s pink nipples.

“Oh God.” Much as the bragging and visual aids disgusted
her, the way Judy’s body betrayed her stung even more. Her pussy ached harder
with the realization Rachael was getting some tonight while she slept alone.
Yes, she chose not to go clubbing, but Rachael—while cute in a
comic-book-geek-girl kind of way—barely turned heads. Or so Judy had believed.
Perhaps in this case, confidence and personality trumped va-va-voom beauty,
ergo the second butch, also in range of the little camera as she knelt between
the V of Rachael’s legs.

“Where are you?” Judy demanded. She watched the scene streak
upward to show more of Rachael’s naked body, and she glared hard when her
friend’s sleepy expression filled the screen. Even in the bad light, Judy
noticed bloodshot eyes.

“Looks like you scored more than sex,” Judy murmured. She
added loudly, “Well, happy early birthday to you. I don’t know any kind of
present that will top this.”

To confirm Judy’s suspicions about her friend partaking of
weed, Rachael coughed out a puff of smoke. “We moved the party to Jimmie’s,”
she said, referring to a mutual friend whose sexual prowess far surpassed that
of Rachael and anybody attached to her at the moment. She didn’t need Rachael
to pan the apartment to know some kind of raucous orgy was in progress. Judy
preferred to keep Jimmie, the only female contractor in town, literally at
arm’s length.

“And don’t worry about my birthday,” Rachael continued. “I
told you, we’ll just get something for dinner.”

“But I was just looking at—”

“Are you really trying to argue with me while I’m getting my
pussy licked?
Get in here with me, girl!
”

Judy sighed and rolled her eyes.

“God, you are a stick in the mud, Judy. You could get laid
just by walking through the door if you came here now.
Against
the
fucking door.” Rachael winced and her lips puckered into a tight rosette that
squeaked in air. “Fuck, that tongue is working some kind of shit on me…”

“I should leave you alone. Night.” No way in hell did she
want to watch her friend climax. She cut off the call before God knew what else
might come into view. Jimmie’s knowledge of construction and tools guaranteed
at the very least a St. Andrew’s cross in her living room, perfect for
restraining femme subs with luscious bottoms for spanking.

Judy powered down her phone and placed it on the nightstand,
and after a second slipped it in the drawer.
Out of sight, out of mind…yeah,
right.
No amount of eye bleach existed to erase those images.

Banishing her one link to the outside world helped her cool
down, and in the process her body stilled and all tingling faded. Judy thought
of Neve again, curious about her life and work. She admired the woman’s
determination to run her business as she saw fit, without bowing to public
opinion. Judy hoped to instill the same work ethic when she amassed the
resources and capital to start her own enterprise. She enjoyed working for Main
Street Hobbies, but the store lacked the focus she desired in a business. She
looked forward to the day she cut the ribbon on her own knitting shop.

Judy snuggled under the sheets and folded her hands over her
chest. Had Rachael not called, she’d probably have rubbed her clit to an
explosive orgasm, holding an image of Neve in her mind. It could wait now. Toys
and self-gratification sufficed once in a while, but she longed for
companionship and closeness, somebody with whom to share her dreams.

Tonight, she’d rest and fantasize about that.

Tomorrow, she’d settle for a cupcake. And maybe, if she
could convince Rachael to go through with a party, something bigger.