Sugarlips (Beefcakes Book 2)

ballerina and dropping elegantly back onto the sofa, donut plate in hand. She stabbed another bite and shoved it between her lips, chewing a moment before the tension between her brows melted and her head fell back against the armrest. “God, why do they have to be such good bakers?”
“I know,” I moaned into my own bite. “It’s, like, not even fair that the universe gave them looks and talent. One or the other, universe! On the bright side, though… you may lose weight now that you’re not dating Neil anymore.”
Elaina snorted. “I swear, after the day I had yesterday, I needed this. I needed it at like midnight last night in my hotel room, but nothing was open.”
I laughed, licking the frosting off the pads of my fingers. “There should be a junk food delivery service for when you’ve been dumped. Like you call a number and a slew of donuts and cupcakes and cookies arrive at your house. A food truck for people who’ve been dumped.”
Elaina laughed, but even her laugh was sort of sad. “That might be your most brilliant idea yet. I’ve never seen the appeal of a food truck until now.”
I licked my lips as a spark ignited in my chest. “A food truck… with baked goods catered to people who’ve been dumped. A Dump Truck.” Elaina laughed, but I was dead serious. “I could market the shit out of that.”
Elaina raised her brows. “Speaking of marketing, are you looking for a job now that…” she faded off, and the words that went unsaid sliced into my soul.
“Now that I don’t have a wedding to plan?” Elaina had told me not to listen to Dan. She, along with my mom and dad had all warned me not to quit my job just because Dan could support us. But all my girlfriends urged me on. It was the ‘dream’ they said. And at the time, I let them convince me that was true.
I gulped, wishing I had another donut. But I ate four last night. And two cupcakes. Maybe I needed to slow down. The truth was, my dream was to work in marketing and events planning. I loved marketing, but I hadn’t loved my job when I met Dan. I had a crappy job marketing for a retirement community a few towns over. Healthcare marketing? Ugh. Definitely not the dream.
“I called around today and I have a couple interviews later this week.”
“That’s great!” Elaina said. “Anything interesting?”
I shrugged. It was hard to know if they were interesting before speaking with them. “I interview with an app start-up in Meredith on Thursday. And a real estate company out in Concord on Friday.”
Elaina’s face twisted. “That’s a bit of a commute.”
“Most of the local businesses here in town can’t afford a salaried marketing team. I think I need to come to terms with the fact that I’ll have at least a thirty-minute commute for any decent paying job. I wish I could just start my own marketing consulting business here. Work with local companies as needed.”
“Why don’t you?” Elaina asked. “Then you could choose who you work with rather than being stuck with companies and projects you find boring.”
I shrugged. “I’m Chloe Dyker… Elaina’s little sister. Most of the business owners in town have known me since I was snot-nosed brat. Who’s going to come to me and trust me as an expert in branding and business marketing?”
“They trust me… and I was way more of a snot than you in high school.”
“That’s true,” I nodded. “You were a total brat, Loca Lainey.” I laughed, using her nickname from high school.
“Shut up, Tasmanian Chloe!” She threw a pillow at my face, but I could see her grin as I peeked over top.
Yep, we were quite the pair. Loca Lainey and Tasmanian Chloe.
I was going to like having my big sister staying here with me.

6 Liam
The week passed in a dull blur. Neil was grumpier than I’d seen him in weeks, and the breakup donuts I offered him weren’t quite the hit Chloe thought they’d be.
He stood at the register, head down, counting the till, while I lifted the chairs up on the tables and swept below them. We’d almost entirely sold out of our inventory. Almost. The donuts did not. Nor did my cheesecake and homemade Pop-Tart.
The front door swung open, slamming against the wall behind it, and both Neil and I jumped as Chloe Dyker, Tasmanian Chloe, came rushing inside in a whirl of dust and drama.
“I need a cupcake!” she cried, then grabbed one of the chairs I’d just placed on top of the table, moved it to the floor and plopped down, dropping her forehead to the table dramatically.
Neil and I caught glances from across the room, and his brows shot up as if to say: Is this your doing? “I thought you locked the door,” Neil grumbled.
“I thought you had.”
Without lifting her head, Chloe lifted her arm in the air. Pinched between her fingers was a one-dollar bill. “Did you not hear me? Cupcake, please!”
“We sold out,” Neil said.
“Want a donut or a Pop-Tart?” I offered instead.
She lifted her head, eyes bright. “Yes. And yes.”
I hopped over the counter and placed a donut and Pop-Tart on a napkin as Neil narrowed his gaze at me. “Those cost more than a dollar, Chloe.”
She crossed her arms and pushed her lips into a pout. “Don’t you just throw out the day-olds, anyway?”
Neil seemed completely unbothered by her questions. “Not if there’s a paying customer who barges in after we’ve closed.”
“Come on, Neil,” I coaxed. “We were just going to hand them out to friends anyway.” We usually give them away to the first person we see outside the door or bring them to the retirement home.
Neil snorted. “Is that what Chloe Dyker is? Your friend?”
Chloe was on her feet, launching herself at me in a hug. “Best friends, actually. Did you not tell him who helped you make the