Authors: Nicole Reed
Cake
Copyright © 2013 by Nicole Reed
Published by Nicole Reed
Cover Design ©
Hang Le
Cover Photo © Gino Lista
Edited by
Erinn Giblin
Interior Design by
Jovana Shirley
, Unforeseen Editing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author/publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at
nicolereedbooks.com
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nicolereedauthor
To all my pink ladies who have had to fight, for the loved ones that never gave up, and to the angels who live on in our hearts.
Shirley Henry 1936 – 2013
Bourbon, Boys, And Breast Cancer
Scoot Down Doctor And DNA Test
These songs were on constant rotation while writing Cake. In fact, the entire album, I Love You by The Neighbourhood, was such a creative inspiration that I will forever love this band.
Sweater Weather
by The Neighbourhood
Wicked Games
by The Weeknd
Bad
by Wale
Kisses Down Low
by Kelly Rowland
Wanted You More
by Lady Antebellum
Gone
by Olivia Broadfield
Mine Would Be You
by Blake Shelton
Promiscuous
by Nelly Furtado & Timbaland
Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye
by Luke Bryan
Made to Love
by John Legend
Pictures
by Terry McDermott
Tapou
t by Rich Gang
Blowin’ Smoke
by Kacey Musgraves
Don’t Think They Know
by Chris Brown
Crysta
l by Stevie Nicks
Save Yourself
by Sense Field
Nothing Left To Say
by Imagine Dragons
Hot Boyz
by Missy Elliott
Madison has been rapping for the last hour.
Her country twang spits out every rhyme perfectly in sync with her boy-toy’s new rap songs which pump through the state-of-the-art sound system in her blue Mini Cooper. My eardrums are mortally wounded by the bass that reverberates through the tiny car, initiating a rhythmic pounding in my head. As much as I would like to duct tape her tone-deaf mouth shut, I can’t help but to roll my eyes and smile.
“Oh yeah, bend it over. Let me see that ass drop...,” she raps, bouncing in her seat while driving.
“You are killing me, you know,” I say, laughing at her gyrations that really mimic a small seizure of some sort.
Stopping mid-song, she turns and grins back at me, “C’mon, Kylie. His voice makes me want to take my panties off and beg for mercy.” Looking over at me, she wiggles her dark eyebrows and cheekily continues, “With Lil Rip, of course. You’re not my type. You have to admit, his voice gets you wetter than a cucumber in a women’s prison.”
My snort of laughter is so un-lady like that
it takes a minute to realize it is coming from me. “God you are awful,” I say, popping her arm playfully. “Uh, I don’t think so. My opinion though,” I comment, holding my hands up. “I’m still blushing about the song before this one. I even had to mentally bleep out certain parts. That boy gets to talking nasty.”
“Kylie, quit being a pussy prude. You need to start letting the beaver out to play more. If not, it’s going to dam your shit up. Then what?”
“Madison Reid! Do you kiss my momma with that mouth?” I act offended, but the truth is, it’s a long standing joke between us. She is much closer with my mother than her own.
“Yes, and she probably likes the taste of Lil Rip as much as I do,” she says, blowing me a kiss with the hand that is not on the steering wheel. “You know what you need, Kylie?”
“I’m afraid to know.”
Not listening to my reply, she carries on, “You need a good ole freaky sexing. Someone who doesn’t care to bend you over, lick it wet, and whisper dirty nothings in your ear.”
“Yeah…. because like the songs says, I’m sure having someone call me
their bitch
and then describe how they are going to
do me
doggy style, would turn me on.” Shaking my head back and forth, I continue, “Uh, I don’t think so.”
“Your loss. I could introduce you to some of Rip’s friends?”
“Mmmm, didn’t we try this already?” I question, sarcastically acting as though I would actually consider it. “I like my guys to be able to carry a conversation without referring to me as their ‘ho’ and then threatening to ‘fuck them bitches up’ for talking to me.”
“Look, my bad for that choice of a blind date.” She looks intently at the road, as if driving takes all of her concentration now.
“Mads, they were nuns,” I say, shaking my head at her.
“They terrorized him as a child. He tried to explain this to you,” she states with a straight face. “Well, all I can say is that you don’t know what you’re missing.” This time, she sends a sly wink while nodding her head at me and then, thankfully, returns her attention back to the road. I turn my gaze out the window to look out at the beautiful Georgia scenery passing me by as Madison speedily winds her way around some twisty roads. The fierce July sun beats down through the open sunroof, scorching the top of my nose.
“Dammit,” I say, reaching in my bag for my sunscreen. We are heading to a summer cookout at a mutual friend’s house. Rubbing the lotion across the slight sunburn, I take another peek over at Mads who is still jammin’ to her music. God, I love this girl, but I worry about her constantly.
Mads is probably one of the most intelligent women I know. We met freshman year in college as roommates. Two people couldn’t have been more poles apart, but you know what they say about opposites. Physically, we both have dark shoulder-length hair, but hers is solid black while mine is more of a rich brown. We both have eerily similar pale-green eyes. Her skin is this light brown hue that always has a natural glow, a fine trait of her mixed black/white heritage. I, on the other hand, have to tan my pasty white ass to keep from looking like the walking dead. I tower over her five-foot five-inch frame, by an additional six inches, and I’m way more curvaceous, to my utter dismay.
In college, I was the studious one that struggled constantly with my grades while Mads was the boy-crazed party girl. I don’t remember her ever opening up a textbook, but she always had a perfect grade point average. She comes from music royalty; her dad, Brian Reid, is an R&B legend and, now, a super successful music producer. She, however, doesn’t have a musical bone in her tight little body. Instead, she’s a brainiac who graduated with honors, followed through with graduate school, and currently works as a Bio-Medical Engineer at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta.
