Sweet Spot

Chapter 1 | Satan Is Back

"Motherfu—"

I drop the box containing all my things and grab my stubbed toe, hopping around my new apartment like a damn acrobat. You know, if acrobats had absolutely no sense of coordination or balance. That's probably why I lose footing and go down a moment later, joining my box on the floor when I fall face-first. My groan is muffled against the cool tiles. "Ow."

Cue the freeze frame, record scratch, and pointing. That's me. Sierra. You're probably wondering how I got here.

Dumped by a boyfriend? Kicked out of my old apartment? Disowned by my family?

Try just accomplished opening my own bakery and moving into a place that's twice as big as my old one, bitches. You're not getting a sad story out of me. Except maybe my balance and lack of coordination. Those are obviously catastrophic. But also completely irrelevant.

I jump back up and dust myself off, my hands sliding against the satin of my pencil skirt. I push my shoulders back and casually go about unpacking because I'm cool like that. And because I have far too much experience with spontaneous disasters and near-death run-ins. Maybe that's why I'm so good at baking—it doesn't require a lot of moving around.

I love my parents but they have a glaringly non-existent ability to perform the simple act of walking and so I blame my chaotic nature on them. The rest they did a fairly decent job on. I don't expect that many parents would support their daughters dropping out of medical school to pursue a life-long baking dream but mine did and for that I'm grateful. They never stopped me from doing what I love, even when I was an overweight child who ate most of her hobby. They probably should have stopped me then but I like to think my fat days gave me character. A personality.

People who are born naturally pretty have rarely experienced what it's like to have life humble them. Me? I've lived and learned. I may be a catch now, curvy and blonde with super cute dimples, but I also don't let it get to my head because I've been to the dark side. The side where boys tease you and girls whisper behind your back and the whole class laughs at you when your notebook drops and opens to the page where "Sierra + Matthew" is written a thousand and one times. Talk about life giving you thick skin.

That's why I'm not too impressed when the moving guy walks in carrying a rather large box and deposits it on the floor, straightening up and grabbing the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat of his forehead. He totally did that on purpose. And based on the way his eyes clash with mine, a smile tipping up the corners of his lips, he knows exactly what he's doing and he also knows I'm well aware of it. Oh, the simple mind of a man. It makes me believe in evolution because men? Total animals. So I take bait and bat my lashes back, using a clear opportunity that just presented itself to me. Because women? Smart as shit.

"You must work out a lot," I slowly walk towards him, arms crossing to push my impressive girls up. Mover Guy's eyes fall down faster than gravity should allow. Okay, that I find impressive. "That box didn't even give you a little trouble."