Write Your Own Song

Chapter 19

Angel stared at the paper plate in front of him and tried to gather the strength needed to pick up the plastic fork. He couldn't believe it had come to this. Hell, he didn't even know such a thing was possible. But the truth was staring him right in the face and he couldn't deny it.

He was tired of cake.

Abso-fucking-lutely tired of cake. He couldn't bring himself to take another bite. He just couldn't. How Sofi could take bite after bite, cleaning off each plate that was placed in front of her, was beyond him.

This was not what he had envisioned when he told Sofi he'd go with her to the bakery today. Well, more like he grumbled "okay" and she yanked him up by the arm and pushed him out the door. He thought it would be cool, free cake. But no, someone managed to find a way to fuck that up.

How many possible combinations could there be? Why do women have to make everything so goddamned complicated? Chocolate cake, chocolate icing. Done. Simple. No need for rose scented vanilla buttercream laced with essence of whatever the fuck that lady had said it was laced with. Just give him a beer and Ding Dong and he was a happy man.

Sofi, of course, was enjoying every second of it. This wedding crap was like her nirvana or something. She had finally found a way to channel all her energy. In a way it was good, because it threw all the yelling and nagging off him and onto the bakers, and florists, and whoever else you hand all your money over to when you don't get your way and elope.

He'd been involved in missions that weren't as complicated as this damn wedding. Shit, he knew a Marine or two who would have their balls handed to them by Sofi if they fucked this up; he had no clue how the bakery owner could sit there with her plastic smile and blank expression and not be scared out of her fucking wits.

This whole thing was moving so damn fast and he had no idea how giving Sofi a ring had led to tasting fifty varieties of cake and getting fitted for tuxes and picking out venues and dj's and all that shit in such a short amount of time. He glanced over at her, she was scraping the paper plate with her fork, gathering up the last bit of crumbs and icing. She made a moaning sound that was a little too close for comfort to the sounds she made in the bedroom and her tongue darted out, licking a crumb from the corner of her mouth. Angel shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable as hell.

Sofi glanced over at him and narrowed her eyes. "Baby," she said, "you haven't touched your cake. Don't you like it?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. Pick whichever one you want."

Her shoulders grew stiff – he could sense the change in her immediately and he sat up, slowly uncrossing his legs, bracing for a quick escape. "But, sweetheart, the idea is that you help chose the cake. That you are a part of this." She smiled as she spoke, but her eyes were growing cold and were starting to get that weird glint to them that he swore was some sort of estrogen fueled lie detector. He knew the wrong answer would fuck up the rest of the day, but he couldn't even guess what the right answer would be at that point.

He glanced at the bakery owner, but she might as well have been invisible for all the help she was offering. She was giving him a look that mirrored Sofi's, like he'd just announced he liked to kick puppies for fun and set churches on fire. He really couldn't see what the big deal was.

"Look, baby, I know this means a lot to you," he started carefully and Sofi kept staring at him, unblinking. "I just don't get what the big rush is." He immediately wished he could take back the words the second he spoke them. He didn't even know where they had come from; he sure as hell hadn't planned on painting such a huge target on his forehead.

Sofi's mouth dropped open. "I'll, uh, be right back," the other woman said quickly, gathering up some papers and hastily leaving the table. "I have a phone call I have to make," she explained lamely as she made her way to the back room.