Stirred (Twisted Fox Book 1) Read online

  He jumps up and down and starts pointing at his cupcakes of choice for Sally—Funfetti, Oreo, and chocolate.

  Just as I’m about to order the cupcakes I’ve missed so much—my ass, not so much—my name is called. I jump at the familiar voice, and my hand flies to my chest at the same time as Seth walks toward us from the back room. He stops next to Sally, wearing a stunned expression on his face.

  It’s not that we ended on bad terms. The shock is from not seeing him in so long, and I wasn’t expecting it. I’m not rehearsed in the whole running into your ex thing since I haven’t had many exes.

  Sweat rings while running into your ex.

  Good times.

  I’ll be taking six of those cupcakes to eat away my embarrassment later.

  Noah peeks over at me with a raised brow. “How do you know him?”

  As my mind is scrambling for the best lie, Seth laughs.

  “I used to be Jamie’s boyfriend,” he answers for me.

  “Well, shit,” Georgia whispers, bumping her shoulder against mine. She lowers her voice. “You could’ve told me we were walking into your ex’s lair.”

  “Boyfriend?” Noah says, sticking out his tongue. “Yucky yuck.”

  I give Seth a look, and he holds up his hands in innocence.

  “What, babe? Just answering the kid’s question.”

  Seth’s face is unshaven, and his hair is shaggier. He looks good, mature, and the goofy smile on his face reminds me of why I was so attracted to him. We dated for almost two years, and this was where we met. I used to study here while eating my frustrations out on my homework. Sally had insisted on fixing me up with her son, but I’d declined. The next day, Seth had sat down at my table with my favorite cupcake in his hand and asked me out.

  He was a good boyfriend, yet the day he asked me to move in with him, I broke things off. I was too busy with med school, and he wanted more than I could give.

  He deserved more.

  Medical school and a love life don’t go hand in hand.

  “Cupcakes are on the house!” Sally squeals, packing up a box of cupcakes, adding plenty of dark chocolate, peanut butter ones.

  “In that case,” Georgia says, “can you add two more red velvets?”

  I elbow her side as Sally snatches another red velvet. “No, you don’t have to do that.” I grab my wallet from the bag and pull out my credit card.

  Georgia stops me. “I was totally kidding. I invited you on this sugar-binge trip. It’s only fair I pay for it. Plus, you ran into your ex. You can’t make a girl pay for sugar after that happens.”

  “It was good to see you, Jamie,” Seth says, winking at me before returning to the back room.

  Sally refuses to take either of our cards, and five minutes later, I reluctantly accept the free cupcakes.

  “You know, he’s still single and ready to mingle,” Sally adds, wiggling her brows.

  Georgia cracks up while I cover my face in embarrassment.

  Our next stop is the park.

  We sit at a picnic table, and Noah devours his cupcake in seconds. The frosting is smudged around his mouth when he asks Georgia for another. She shakes her head, and he frowns when she insists he let his stomach rest.

  “I’m going to go play then,” he says, grabbing his cupcake liner and crumpling it in his hand. “Johnny from school is over there.” He tosses the liner in the trash and takes off toward the playground.

  I swipe my finger through the frosting on my cupcake and glance at Georgia from across the table. “What did Cohen tell Noah? Who does he think I am?”

  She shoves a bite into her mouth and slowly chews it before answering, “A friend of mine.” There’s a hint of apology on her face before her expression turns serious as if something hit her. “And to be clear, you can be my friend—as long as you make sure your skank-ass sister stays away from Noah.”

  The protective aunt bear is coming at me, claws slightly drawn in warning.

  “Heather lives in Vegas,” I rush out, the need to assure her that’ll never happen powering through me. “She, uh … married the man she left Cohen for and has only been home a few times.”

  “Good. I hope she stays there forever.”

  I only nod.

  I have never been close with Heather, and our relationship turned sour after she left Noah. It put a strain on our family, nearly broke us, and she didn’t talk to my parents for a year. It was two for me until my parents begged me to reconcile with her.

  I did it for them, not her.

  Making up is my tolerating her the few times she comes around—those visits typically when she needs money because her piece-of-shit husband can’t hold a job.

  “It was a big deal to him, you know,” Georgia adds, “Cohen letting you see Noah. For years, he’s called you the sworn enemy.”

  I lick frosting off my finger. “I never did anything to him.”

  “Directly, no, but your family did.”

  “We were in a tough spot. Heather swore they were putting Noah up for adoption. It terrified my parents.”

  “Cohen assured them plenty of times that wouldn’t happen.”

  “We had Heather in our other ear, swearing he’d change his mind after Noah was born because he wouldn’t want to do it alone.”

  She scowls. “You should know my brother’s character better than that.”

  “I know.” I release a heavy sigh. “It was chaotic for us, and all we had was Heather’s side. Cohen would be a single father, and he was always in bars—”

  “Whoa. I’m going to stop you right there. Cohen isn’t always in bars like he’s out partying. He works in one.”

  “I know that—”

  “And now, he owns one,” she adds, talking over me.

  I pause, biting into my cheek. “Really?”

  She nods.

  I wait for her to tell me which one, but she doesn’t. Not surprising. They’re only giving me a glimpse into their lives, but I’ll take it.

  Is that desperate?

  Maybe.

  But this is what my family has wanted forever.

  Noah has been the topic of countless conversations.

  Now, I know what a great kid he is … and I want to know him more.

  “How late does Cohen work?” I ask Georgia.

  We’re back at his house, high on sugar, and Noah and I just finished a Lego house.

  A badass Lego house if I do say so myself.

  “It depends.” She checks her watch while sitting cross-legged on the couch. “My guess is, he’ll be home around nine. Archer, his partner, is working the late shift tonight. I work there too, and if I’m not working, I’m hanging out with Noah or in class.” She smiles in pride. “We have a group-effort thing.”

  I return the smile. “I’m glad Noah has a good support system.”

  Noah loudly yawns. “I’m sleepy.”

  “Sugar crash,” Georgia says around a laugh. Her phone beeps, and she glances at the screen before looking at me. “Cohen is on his way home.”

  I push myself to my feet. “That’s my cue to leave.”

  She scrunches up her nose. “Why?”

  “I want to dodge any awkward convos the best I can.”

  “You’re leaving?” Noah asks, peering up at me with a furrowed brow. “Will you come over again?”

  My heart hurts at the sad look on his face, and I run my hand through his hair. “Of course I will.”

  “Can we get cupcakes again too?” He jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over the Lego house. “Your old boyfriend can give us some!”

  “We can definitely get cupcakes,” I answer with a chuckle.

  “I think you’ve won his heart,” Georgia comments.

  “When will you come back?” Noah questions, the words quickly falling from his lips. “Tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know about tomorrow because I have to work,” I answer. “Let me check with your dad. Does that sound good?”

  His eyes are alert, the sleepiness vani
shing. “My dad will say yes! He said you’re a nice doctor! I asked if you were his girlfriend, but he said no. I’ll tell him he can’t be your boyfriend now because you like boys who give you cupcakes. Dad doesn’t make cupcakes.” He stops and takes a quick breath before going on, “Maybe he can learn because I think you’d be a good girlfriend. I’ll ask him!”

  My eyes grow wider, the more he rambles.

  “If you haven’t noticed,” Georgia says when he finishes, “Noah is bold and idealistic.”

  I’d say so.

  I give him a hug, promise to see him again, and say good-bye to Georgia. When I get in my car, I pull out my phone and grin at the selfie we took at the park.

  Later that night, my grin returns when Cohen sends me a text, saying Noah wants to hang out again.

  6

  Cohen

  “Drunk dude, Mohawk, at the pool table,” Georgia calls into my office, barging in. “He’s asked at least three women to suck his dick, he spit in a guy’s face, and … I’m not even going to describe what he’s doing now.”

  I stand from the chair behind my desk and stalk over to the camera monitors across the room. Spotting the culprit doesn’t take long. A lanky guy sporting a Mohawk with a face tattoo is dry-humping a pool stick between his legs and twirling his arm in the air as if he were riding a horse.

  Jesus, fuck.

  Owning a bar is all fun and games until shit like this happens.

  Goofy drunks? I can handle.

  Sad drunks? I pat them on the back and pour them another beer on me.

  Drunks who repeat stories? I nod and pretend I’ve never heard it before.

  What I fail to have patience for are idiots humping pool sticks.

  “Shit,” I hiss, storming out of my office with Georgia behind me.

  I cut through customers and head straight to Mohawk, who’s still sliding the stick against his junk while grinding against it.

  Yeah, that thing is going right in the dumpster.

  “You,” I yell when I reach him, gesturing toward the door with my thumb, “Stick Humper. Time for you to go.”

  He snorts and ignores me, but thankfully, he removes the stick from his legs.

  At least we’re getting somewhere.

  “Out,” I demand.

  Like the douchebag he’s proven to be, he doesn’t listen. Instead, he snatches a beer from a pub table and chugs it, a smirk playing at his lips when he finishes.

  “Come on, man,” I say. “Don’t make this complicated. You’re drunk. Have one of your buddies drive you home, so you can sleep off the booze. You can’t stay here and harass my customers.”

  Years of working in the bar industry have taught me the best approach to these situations is keeping my cool and suggesting a plan for them to get the fuck out.

  Finn, my friend/bouncer/part-time bartender, appears at my side. “I got this, Co.”

  I swing out my arm, stopping him, and shake my head. “Nah, I think he’ll listen.”

  “I don’t,” Finn states, straightening his broad shoulders and clenching his fists.

  Mohawk slams the empty beer bottle onto the table, shattering it, and the people around him jump back. Finn shoots forward before I can stop him and captures the back of Mohawk’s shirt, causing the stick to drop from his hand. Mohawk grunts when Finn jerks him away from the table.

  “Time to go, asshole,” Finn snaps.

  The crowd breaks, and all attention is on Finn as he drags Mohawk toward the exit.

  A few chicks in the corner clap their hands, and another guy yells, “About damn time!”

  Their cheering is interrupted by Polly, my newly hired bartender, scrambling in my direction and yelling my name.

  “Cohen!” she shrieks, her attention bouncing between Finn and me. “That’s my boyfriend! Tell Finn to let him go!”

  “Your boyfriend is out of here,” Finn yells over his shoulder, her demand not stopping his mission.

  Polly throws her purple hair over her shoulder and kicks out her hip. “If he’s out of here, I’m out of here.”

  I scrub my hand over my face while groaning.

  I don’t need this high school bullshit today.

  “What’ll it be?” Polly asks. “Kick him out or lose a bartender?”

  “I’ll mail your last paycheck,” I reply with no hesitation.

  No way am I allowing a twit dating a Post Malone wannabe to give me ultimatums. I should’ve known it wasn’t a good idea to hire Polly when she said she drank Fireball for breakfast.

  “Are … are you serious?” Polly’s eyes widen at the response she didn’t expect.

  She picked the wrong bar to work in if she thinks her boyfriend can pull that shit.

  I cross my arms. “Dead serious.”

  “Fine.” She stomps her foot. “Good luck handling this crowd with one bartender.”

  My head throbs at the reminder.

  It’s a game day, and we’re busy as fuck. Polly and Archer were my only available bartenders tonight. Finn is working the door, and I was finishing paperwork before leaving for the night. Noah’s babysitter, Sylvia, is scheduled to leave in an hour, and I hate running late.

  “Good luck with your scumbag boyfriend,” Georgia retorts.

  “Fuck you,” Polly screams before shooting her glare to me. “And fuck you too, Cohen.” She whips around and chases after her loser boyfriend.

  I run my hands through my hair and suck in an irritated breath.

  Georgia sighs, patting my arm. “Don’t stress, big bro. I’ll cover the bar.”

  I shake my head. “You’re waiting tables, and you have class in the morning.”

  “And?” She flashes me an amused grin. “It won’t be the first time I’ve pulled an all-nighter and then gone to class. I like to think that I’m a professional at it actually.”

  “I’ll act like I didn’t hear that,” I say with a pointed look, and she follows me to the bar. “Not to mention, you and Archer will kill each other if I let you work with him. I can’t be down two more bartenders.”

  “I got this, Co!” Archer shouts from behind the bar while two men argue over a game call in front of him. The way his eyes cut to Georgia in irritation confirms he overheard our conversation. “She’s not working with me.”

  Georgia flips him off. “You’re a dick.”

  Archer shrugs, pours a beer, and then slides it down the bar to a regular.

  “Let me call Sylvia,” I say, fishing my phone from my pocket and heading toward my office.

  Five minutes later, I’m walking out of the office, my shoulders slumped.

  “Is Sylvia staying?” Georgia asks.

  I shake my head and scrub a hand over my face.

  She pauses for a moment before saying, “What about Jamie?”

  I move my hand to stare at her. “What?”

  “Ask if she can watch him.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Oh, come on,” she groans, tilting her head back. “She’s been hanging out with him for weeks now.”

  “Not alone.”

  “It won’t be that long, she’s a doctor, and everything will be okay. Heather is still in Vegas.”

  I flinch. Not once since Jamie came into our lives have I asked about Heather. Just her name puts a bad taste in my mouth.

  It’s not that I doubt Archer can handle the crowd alone, but customers will bitch if it takes too long for their drinks. Bars aren’t known for patient customers, and we can’t afford to lose the business, especially on game nights. They bring in a shit-ton of money.

  Archer shakes his head when I join him behind the bar. “Go home. I’ll call Silas.”

  “Silas is at some convention,” I reply, referring to our friend. Silas bartends, does all of Twisted Fox’s marketing, and fills us in on the latest alcohol trends.

  “Or I can do it since I’m already here,” Georgia comments before cracking an arrogant smile Archer’s way. “I promise to stay on my side of the bar, and I won’t trip you thi
s time—even though you deserved it last week … and will probably deserve another tripping … or a swift kick in the nuts.”

  There’s no way the two of them can work together.

  “Give me a minute.”

  I scroll through the Contacts in my phone and hit Jamie’s name.

  Here goes.

  7

  Jamie

  It’s six in the evening.

  I’m living a very exciting social life by chilling in bed and watching Netflix.

  Alone.

  No Thin Mints this time.

  They’re all gone, and I’m all out of Girl Scout sources to get more.

  Might have to search the black market later.

  I’m licking Cheetos cheese off my fingers when my phone rings, and I nearly drop it when Cohen’s name flashes across the screen.

  He never calls.

  We’ve texted a few times, but since I’ve started hanging out with Georgia and Noah, I communicate through her.

  I’m unsure why I drag in a calming breath before answering, “Hello?”

  “Jamie.” My name sounds stressed, leaving his mouth. “Are you busy?”

  “Nope.” Cleaning cheddar fingers doesn’t count as busy, right? “What’s up?”

  “An employee just walked out, leaving me stuck at the bar, and Noah’s babysitter can’t stay any later. Is there any way you can hang out at my house until I can get there? If not, I completely understand. Georgia suggested you might be—”

  “That’s no problem,” I interrupt before he talks himself out of the idea.

  “I wouldn’t ask, but I’m in a bind.”

  “I can be there in about ten minutes.” I jump out of bed and scramble for clothes that don’t make me look homeless.

  “Thank you. I’ll let the babysitter know you’re coming. If you need anything, call me. If I don’t answer, call Georgia.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll be there.”

  A gorgeous, college-aged blonde answers Cohen’s door.

  No wonder Noah says he wants his babysitter to be his girlfriend.