I hold up the small box I set aside for him. It contains two cupcakes. They’re themed for tonight’s bachelorette party. Although I decorated these especially for Ronan, as I always do.

“Oh, right.”

He rushes over and tries to grab the box from my hands, but I maintain my protective hold on it, smiling serenely. “Don’t you want to know what kind they are?”

“I’m sure I’ll love them.”

“Me, too, but you should sample one, don’t you think?” I bat my lashes and smile wider. “These ladies have yet to try the cupcakes. I’m sure they want your seal of approval, don’t you?”

A chorus of “Yes!” comes from the table, followed by some additional hoots, hollers, and taunts. You’d think we were at a strip club, not a freaking cupcake cocktail café.

Ronan narrows his eyes.

“You heard them. You don’t want to disappoint the bride-to-be.” I flip the lid open and his eyes flare and meet mine.

For the first time, Ronan is less than 100 percent composed. In fact, his cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink. “You gotta be shitting me.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“They look real, don’t they?”

“Ooooh! What are they? Can we see?” Stephanie claps her hands together excitedly. I should probably hydrate this group before I send them next door.

“Why don’t you show them, Ronan?” I hold my smile.

“No way.”

I go for the cupcake on the left.

“Hell no.” Ronan smacks the back of my hand and his eyes dart to the women. “I’m not eating that in front of them.”

That little smack seems to reverberate through my entire body, pinging around like a marble in places that haven’t had attention in a long time. Ironic considering the design on the cupcake I’m about to make him eat in front of these women. “So this one, then?” I lift it from the box and turn it so it’s facing the right way for him.

“I’m going to get you back for this.” His tone is low and dark: equal parts threat and promise.

“Totally worth it.” I nod to the cake perched in my open palm.

He grudgingly takes it.

The women have abandoned the table and their cookies to gather around the spectacle that Ronan has become. Because he’s holding a vagina cupcake. The other option is, of course, the male anatomy. Both are convincing in their authenticity.

“Eat it, Ronan!” Stephanie shouts. The rest of the bachelorette party join in and chant his name.

His ears are red, his glare tells me he’s so freaking pissed off, but he’s also aware that these ladies are going to come over to his bar and drop stupid amounts of money on shots and girlie drinks as soon as they’re done here. Customers are worth more than his pride in this moment. Also, Ronan has proven that he isn’t the kind of man who backs down from a challenge, and for some reason I hate him a tiny bit less because of it. For now.

I covertly slip my hand in my pocket, searching for my phone as he peels the Bride-to-Be wrapper from the cake. Thankfully, Ronan is sufficiently distracted by Stephanie, who’s snaked her arm around his waist and is screaming his name like she’s the one about to get eaten.

I manage to pull up the camera app, switch it to video mode, and hit Record before he fully unwraps the cake. He holds my gaze as he brings it to his mouth, opening wide. I lift the phone, making sure I catch him when he takes a robust, rather sensual bite.

And all the while his eyes tell me he wants to mash the cupcake in my face. But he doesn’t. Instead he puts on a show. I’m hashtagging this cupcake porn. Because that’s 100 percent what it is, literally and figuratively. Even the bite placement is purposeful, and so is his groan when the flavors hit his tongue. The sweetness of vanilla cake, the hint of cocoa in the thin layer of icing before the light buttercream registers and then there’s the vanilla custard center, because come on, I’m nothing if not detail oriented.

He obviously doesn’t expect the filling, which of course is the point. Custard dribbles down his chin, but he’s so busy glaring at me while I record this epic moment that he doesn’t notice.

I can’t resist the opportunity. I bite my lip, fighting my own smile. “Oh! You’re making a mess, Ronan. Here, let me help.” I make sure the video is still rolling and I catch the dribble before it drips off his chin.

Before I can pull my hand away, he wraps his fingers around my wrist. There have been very few instances in which Ronan has made intentional, prolonged physical contact with me. The most body-to-body contact we’ve had to date was when he picked me up and removed me from behind his bar. After the fact, I can admit that he was right in that situation and I was not. Did he really need to fireman-carry me out from behind the bar? Probably not. Have I thought about all that physical contact countless times since then? Not at all. Okay, maybe a few. Hundred times.

So when he yanks me forward by my wrist I stumble and my hips meet the counter. I have to remember to keep the phone trained on his face when he bites my finger at the first knuckle. And I have to swallow down the gasp when his tongue swirls around my finger, cleaning off the custard.

He releases my finger with a wet suctioned pop, drops my wrist and jams the rest of the cupcake in his mouth. The whole thing. I cut the video because he’s killed the sexy, but I know I can edit it into something useable.

He chews quickly and swallows, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Post that and you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll regret it or you will? That was cupcake porn gold, wasn’t it, ladies?”

The women cheer and he jerks back, like he’s suddenly aware there are other people here besides us.

He nabs the box, halfway to crushing it. “Just remember you pulled the pin, Alice.” And with that he spins around, excuses himself, and leaves the café.

“Okay.” The bride-to-be raises both of her hands like she’s trying to stop traffic. “Please tell me you’re sleeping with him. You have to be sleeping with him. I’m pretty sure I just came vicariously through you.”

“I’m sorry.” I splutter and smooth out my apron—totally a nervous move. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s my rival, not my…boyfriend.”

Stephanie grabs my arm, eyes wide and alarmed. “Fuck buddy? Please tell me you’re boning him.”