Page 23 of The Fullback
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aiden
I hummedunder my breath as I scooped cold cookie dough onto the first of the prepared baking sheets, the silence and temporary coolness of the early morning making it easier to focus on work.
My hands moved quickly, working to get the cookies into the oven before the dough got too warm. If that happened, they’d spread badly and be unusable. I mean, I could eat them. Or send them to Jonny. Or give them to my neighbours.
But I’d still have to make the whole batch again to fulfil my orders.
Working in a kitchen during a hot British summer was always hellish but I found it worse when the weather was unpredictable. I felt like such a fucking old man checking my weather app every morning and tutting, even if I liked what it said.
I couldn’t really complain, though. Starting a home delivery cookie business had been my choice, and I loved every second of it. Baking had always been my escape when I’d felt like shit, sowhen I’d been trying to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life, going back to it had felt like coming home.
I’d worked in various bakeries, takeaways, and restaurants over the years—always in kitchens so I didn’t have to deal with people—but I’d never been a fan of having someone boss me around. Even when my managers had been cool, there’d still been an itch under my skin to get out from under their control.
So when the last restaurant I’d worked at had closed down unexpectedly, I’d taken it as a sign to get my shit together and finally put my attitude where my mouth was.
The kitchen space I was currently renting wasn’t big or fancy, but it was mine and there was something unbelievably cool about seeing the little plastic sign with my business name on listed on the plaque by the building door. I currently occupied one of five ground floor units in an old factory building on the edge of Leicester, alongside another local bakery—they had a couple of shops across and around the city—a couple of e-commerce businesses, and a custom fetish attire company whose owners I’d sort of made friends with and who were always happy to take spare or leftover cookies.
I didn’t really know what was in the rest of the building, but I had a vague feeling it had been converted to offices. Although I couldn’t say for certain because I’d never been upstairs, and I didn’t even think my access fob would let me into anything beyond reception.
“Okay, forty-eight triple chocolate chunk,” I muttered to myself as I put the last of the cookies on the sheet before looking over at the racks with empty trays waiting to be filled. “Then we’ll do thirty-six salted caramel crunch, thirty-six red velvet, and another thirty-six of the white chocolate sprinkle. Plus twenty-four white chocolate, lemon, and blueberry, twenty-four cherry and coconut, and twenty-four cherry bakewell. Mightthrow a few cranberry and orange ones in too. That should be enough.”
My business wasn’t big enough to do hundreds of orders every day but it was growing steadily at a manageable pace, and I did a few extra things like local markets and supplying a couple of small coffee shops to supplement my income. One of the places I supplied was a tiny Pride shop and cafe, and it still hadn’t stopped being cool as fuck to see my cookies in the display. Every time they tagged me on Instagram, my heart melted slightly.
It was the same feeling I got when anyone tagged me.
Unless they were talking shit about me for no reason. Then they could get fucked with a cactus.
I took the tray over to the oven and slid it in with the others I’d already prepped, setting the timer so I wouldn’t forget them. Then I grabbed another batch of dough to start working on. By this point I’d streamlined the whole process down to a fucking art, because the business was currently only me and I’d be screwed if things went wrong.
My phone buzzed on the counter and I sighed, wondering what sort of customer-based nonsense I was about to encounter. It was too fucking early for that shit, but it was also my job and now I’d heard it buzz, I knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
Getting a business phone was still on my to-do list and every day it moved higher up. One day I’d actually fucking get around to doing it.
Tapping the screen with the back of my knuckle, I frowned when I realised it was a message from Hunter. That was… odd. He and Bailey were still in Ibiza, so why the hell was he messaging me?
I mean, I knew my dick was good but I hadn’t realised it wasthatgood.
A smirk curled the corner of my mouth as I opened the screen, curious to see what the taller of my gorgeous rugby men wanted.
He’d added Bailey and me to a group chat and dropped two pictures in. There was one of each of them sitting on loungers by a sparkling turquoise pool—the sort that looked too filtered to be real—both bathed in bright sunlight and wearing the tiniest swimwear I’d ever seen.
Shit, I could practically see Hunter’s dick through them.
When I zoomed in, I could definitely see Bailey’s.
Hunter
Hey from Ibiza =)
I snorted. It was the most generic message a man could send, and it was so awful it was almost endearing. He might as well have texted me asking if I was up. Or sent a dick pic.
Although I’d have preferred to see his hole.
Bailey
Hope you don’t mind us ambushing you with a group text
