Evie Mitchell eBook Muffin Top (EBOOK)
Evie Mitchell eBook Muffin Top (EBOOK)
Evie Mitchell eBook Muffin Top (EBOOK)
Evie Mitchell eBook NSFW Cover Muffin Top (EBOOK)

Muffin Top (EBOOK)

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For years my momma's been at me to lose some extra pounds. To shape up, slim down and look like the pageant queen she'd always wished me to be. But everyone knows the best part of the muffin is the top—and baby, I'm delicious as I am.
I hadn't planned on running into my high school crush at a Halloween party while dressed as a cupcake. One glance and I was ready for my high school crush to take a bite.
Pity Sheriff Tristan Rodriguez avoided baked goods like the plague...

Returning to the small town I'd left behind hadn't exactly been in my life plan.
Also not on the plan? Becoming the town's most eligible bachelor. I now had more offers for baked goods and home cooked dinners than I'd ever need.I hadn't been tempted to taste even one until I ran into my high school crush, Honey Jameson. The curvy siren looked good enough to eat.
Now she's on my mind and all I can think about is how to get one little lick. But the thing is, after one taste? I want to devour her whole.

Warning: This marshmallow-y piece of cotton candy sexiness involves a good boy ready to go bad, a curvy woman loving her body, and a fulfilling of some high school wet dreams. Get thee a good guy (or a bad one), maybe a rich chocolate muffin or three and settle in—this second-chance story will literally burn your sheets.


Even I had to admit I looked delicious. I floated around the bar, hips swaying in time to the band, enjoying the festivities. 

Halloween was one of my favourite days of the year. But then, I had a bunch of favourites; Christmas, New Year, Valentine's Day, birthdays—any major event, really. If there was an excuse to celebrate, I celebrated. 

"Oh, Honey." 

I cringed, freezing at the sound of my mother's voice. Mentally girding my loins, I pasted a smile on my face as I turned around. There she was, my stick-thin mother, standing arm-in-arm with my handsome father. They were dressed as Cinderella and the Prince—post-rescue, of course. Her tiara matched her glittering dress, both of which were paired perfectly with Father's outfit. 

"Ah, my distinguished parents. Welcome!" I moved to kiss them, but my mother grabbed my arms, her fingers digging in to my flesh as she held me at arm's length. 

"Why didn't you wear the outfit I sent you?" Her sharp rebuke cut through the revelry around us. Heads turned as people glanced our way. 

Why am I not wearing the pumpkin outfit you sent me? Hmm, maybe because no one should cover up the deliciousness that is me? 

I forced a small laugh, tossing my long hair, sending a cloud of shimmering glitter flying. I went with the easy answer, "it didn't fit." 

Her mouth flattened into a thin, pinched line. 

"And this," she waved a hand to encompass my outfit. “Does?" 

I looked down at my gods damned adorable, not to mention sexy, self. 

Pink corset, fluffy multicoloured tutu and knee-high pastel striped socks were paired with white kitten heels. I looked like a delicious cupcake—if a cupcake could turn people on, which, depending on the level of icing, was entirely possible. 

"Yes," I replied, feeling my joy start to ebb. 

Shake it off, Honey. Don’t let her get to you. Shields up! 

My mother was what I liked to call an emotional vampire. She received sustenance by sucking the life and happiness out of the rest of us. My father was obviously a soulless zombie to have lived with her for so long. 

She sniffed, dropping my arms. "You should really cover up. No one wants to see your cellulite." 

It was kind of sad, but the comment didn't really hurt. Not after years of this kind of treatment. 

"Thanks for your advice," I told her, stepping away. "But I'm not wearing this for others. I'm wearing this for—" 

"Agatha!" my mother interrupted, waving briskly at someone behind me, attempting to flag her down. "How was your vacation?" 

And like a magical being from hell, she disappeared into the crowd, taking another little piece of my joy with her. 

My father trailed behind her like a baby duck, not even acknowledging my existence. 

No surprise there. 

There were three children in my family–the heir, the spare, and the I-don't-care. In that race, I sat dead last. I always had, always would. I’d accepted my place long ago. 

I didn’t like it, but I’d accepted it.  

The band started playing a cover of Taylor Swift's Shake It Off, my mood once again lifting. 

"Okay, music gods. I hear you." I shimmied my way back onto the dance floor, determined to ignore the couples around me making out. 

My friends shifted, making way for me to rejoin their circle. 

There were five of us—if you didn’t count my besties’ men, who were all hanging out at the bar watching us with amused expressions while they nursed a beer. 

“You okay?” Ella asked, yelling to be heard over the music. 

Ella reminded me of a Venus come to life with her long mahogany locks, overly abundant curves, and sensual, knowing smile. Tonight she was dressed as a pirate complete with a bustier that did amazing things for her breasts. I’d already seen her fiancé eyeing off her abundance of creamy skin like she was his last meal. 

I nodded at my friend. “Not gonna let her pull me into her drama.” 

“She’s such a bitch,” Blue yelled, shaking her head. “You need to cut her off.”

Bluebelle had been named for her white grand aunt, a woman whose name might put you in mind of a pale milking maid frolicking through the hills while singing show tunes. But the moment you met Blue, you realised how wrong your perception was. 

Her yards of thick curls had been painstakingly tamed into a long smooth waterfall of hair that she’d sprayed a reddish colour. With her body encased in a Jessica Rabbit blood-red shimmer dress, her curves were on display as her two men—Drake and Dane—who watched her appreciatively from the bar. 

“It’s fine.” I flicked a hand dismissively. “I’m done with her.” 

“Good,” yelled Anika as she slung an arm around my shoulders and swayed slightly into me. “Tonight is for fun! It’s the first Halloween Ella, and I have had off since we opened this place. Let’s party!” 

Hilariously dry and irreverent, Anika had zero filters, and I adored her for it. Tonight her long black hair had been interwoven with gold, while gold dust had been brushed over every inch of her visible skin.

She’d explained that she’d decided to come as Anck-su-namun from The Mummy while her fiancé Mac was dressed as Brendan Fraser’s character. Apparently, she wanted him to lean into messing up her gold paint later that night. 

Each to their own fantasy. 

An arm wrapped gently around my waist, and I turned to find Collins watching me with a calm, considering gaze. 

The last of our group, Collins, had always been more reserved than the rest of us. She worked as a yoga instructor and physical therapist in my clinic, helping me to transform the lives of our clients. 

I adored her, grateful beyond measure that she’d chosen to stay in town when she could be doing bigger and better things. 

“You sure?” She asked quietly as the song ended and the band began to transition to the next number. 

“I’m good. Promise.” 

Dressed as the first female Doctor Who, Collins studied me with an expression that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the show, her green gaze serious. 

“Alright,” she said finally, letting me go. “Let’s dance.” 

I threw myself into the music, concentrating on my body. I loved how I moved and relished the way the sound flowed through me. I gave in to the sensation to shuffle, move, sway, dip and jive.

Music had always been a large part of my life, and nights like this reminded me of how free I felt when I was free to connect with sound through movement.

One song flowed into another, then another, and before I knew it, the band was wrapping up for the night, the bar calling for last drinks. 

"Damn." I wiped sweat from my brow, beaming at Collins. "That was a killer evening." 

“We didn't get men, but we definitely won the dance competition for tonight.” 

“Amen, sister.” Laughing, I slapped palms with her. 

Linking arms, Collins and I followed our friends as their partners ushered them out and into the carpark. 

“I’m gonna let you fuck me so hard you’ll be tasting gold for weeks,” Anika told Mac, her voice overly loud in the quiet night. 

Sniggering, I exchanged a waggle of eyebrows with Collins. 

“Let’s get you home, Ani,” Mac told her, pressing a kiss to her head. “We’ll see if you last the ride home before making any plans.”

His sweet care in the face of her drunkenness hit me right in that deepest empty hallow, setting off an ache I hoped to find someone to fill. 

I wanted what my friends had. Amazing partners who adored them. Who lifted them up. Who made them better, not different. 

One day I'll find a man worthy of my level of awesome. 

My skin prickled in the cool autumn air as I dug my car key out of the pocket I'd sewn into the underside of the tutu. 

“You need a lift?” I asked Collins. 

“Nah, the Double Ds promised me a lift home.” She tilted her head towards the throuple currently making out across the car park. “If they can pull themselves away.” 

I chuckled, opening the door of my car. “See you at work on Monday.”

“Failing aliens, I’ll be there.” 

I'd originally planned this as a big night out with my girlfriends. We'd agreed to start the night at the Bronze Horseman and try to find a hook up for Collins and I. We’d then retreat to the beach for a bonfire, all of us dancing under the full moon. 

Instead, here I was driving my sorry and sober ass home. 



I sighed heavily. 

At least music never lets me down. 

I hit play on my mix, cranking the sound right up, needing to feel the bass thump the loneliness away. 

A few miles from home, I rolled to a stop at an intersection, waiting for an oncoming truck to pass.  Shimmying along to Lizzo I was wholey unprepared for a car to hit me from behind. 

Thrown forward, my stomach crushed into the steering wheel as my car spun into the intersection—the lights of the oncoming truck a blinding, terrifying white. 

Is this how I die? Squashed under a truck while dressed as a delicious baked good?

Winded, crushed and unable to draw breath, I scrunched my eyes shut and braced for impact. 

What a way to go. I hope Ani writes my eulogy. 

My car jerked again as the truck grazed my bumper, somehow managing to avoid a full collision. Jerked this way and that, my car spun around and around like a ride at a theme park until finally, it jerked to a stop. 

Heaving in a breath, I stared out from the middle of the intersection, my hands death gripping the steering wheel as my heart pounded out of my chest. 

“Am… am I alive?” 

Distantly I heard screaming, slamming doors, and screeching tires. 

In a daze, I sat sucking in deep gulping breaths until a woman smacked her hand frantically against the glass of my driver’s window, startling me half to death. 

“Hey! Hey you!” She screamed, slapping her palm against the glass. “Open up!”

“Jesus!” I choked out, a hand pressing against my poor, pounding chest. “What the fuck?” 

I rolled my window down, grimacing as the muscles in my back protested. 

"Can I help you?" I asked, dimly registering that I was likely skipping my way toward shock. 

"Oh, my gawd,” she breathed, her eyes bugging out. "You nearly died. And they just…. They took off!"

"Cops are on their way!" A man yelled at me from the passenger door. He yanked my door open and climbed in to my passenger seat. "Don't worry, we'll get you out." 

I blinked, looking down at my body. I wasn't pinned. My car didn't even seem damaged—though I hadn't seen the outside yet. 

"I'm okay," I told them. "Everything is fine. I'm not even sore." 

At least, not much. 

Flashing lights alerted me to the arrival of our local police. 

"Over here! She's in shock!" the woman hollered as the officers climbed out. 

I sighed, unsnapping my seat belt. 

First my parents, now this? Bad things come in threes. So, what's next? A house fire? An STI? A stalker?

Wait. How hot is the stalker? 

I staggered getting out of my car, not because I was hurt, but because the overly helpful stranger decided I needed her to death grip my arm and haul me against her. 

"Look!” she squealed, waving frantically at the cops. "The officers are here to help you." 

I tugged at my arm, trying to free myself from her tentacles. 

"Miss, are you oka—wait. Honey?

My spine went ramrod straight, my head twisting toward the familiar voice. 

Hot damn. That is a mountain of a man. 

Tall and broad, the officer filled out his uniform in a way I couldn't help but like. He had acres of tanned skin and dark, messy hair. His hands were big, his thick thighs deliciously climbable and bulky. But it was his face that captured my attention—his very gorgeous, very familiar face. 

"Tristan?" his name fell from my lips, tasting of bittersweet memories and unrequited love. 

"Honey, shit." He reached my side and easily disentangled me from the octo-samaritan to lead me away a few paces. His partner assessed the situation, moving to distract the overly-excited woman with a line of questions. 

He held my hand, assessing me with his warm, dark eyes. 

"Are you okay?" 

I blinked, unable to find the words to express just how okay I was now that he held my hand.

Tristan had grown since our last encounter at our high school graduation. We'd been wearing robes that had flattered no one and smiles a mile wide. I'd been valedictorian, he'd been class president. We'd been friends. Study buddies. Mutual acquaintances who circled each other but never quite matched up. I'd wanted to confess my love to him before he left for college. Instead, I'd signed his yearbook with a suitably generic 'stay in touch,' followed by my cell number. 

He'd never called. 

Despite the time between now and then, he hadn't changed that much. Sure, he stood taller and broader, with a five o'clock shadow that didn't quit and a look in his eyes that hadn't been there all those years ago. But overall, he was still the same devilishly handsome man I'd known back then. 


"Honey? You okay? What hurts?”  

I snapped out of my daze. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Great. Peachy." I beamed at him, immensely conscious of the hella-sexy outfit I wore. 

Take that, Mother. 

His badge glinted in the dim light, drawing my eyes to it. 

"You're the new sheriff?" 

He looked down at the metal badge pinned to his chest. "Yeah, officially started last month.”

"Oh.” I hadn't realized. Why hadn’t I realized? 

You’ve had other things on your mind. 

"Congratulations.” I blinked up at him, trying to shake this strange fog away. "And welcome back, I guess." 

His lips twitched as if he were fighting a smile. "What are you meant to be? Your costume?" 

"A sexy cupcake." 

He arched an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a notepad. He flicked it open, writing the date and my name. He paused, glancing down at me. 

"Are you still a Jameson?" 

I chuckled, my cheeks flushing. “If that's your way of asking if I'm single, Sheriff, then the answer is yes. Still single and ready to mingle." 

He smiled, and I checked out his ring finger while he finished writing my name. 

Not married—wait. Are cops allowed to wear rings while on duty? Mental note: google that later. 

"You been drinking tonight?" 

“No, sir.” I grimaced as the muscles in my shoulders and neck began to protest. 

Great, whiplash, just what I need. 

"Where's home?" he asked, watching me begin to stretch. 

"Wherever you are." I froze mid-twist, my gaze glued to his face. 

Did I really just say….?!? 

Tristan blinked twice fumbling with the notepad in his hands and nearly dropping it. 

Oh gods. Oh no. Oh gods. Did I…? I did. I… Oh no. Ohhh no. Nononnonononononononononononononononono no! 

This was a nightmare. Could the world just open up and swallow me whole? Which god did I need to petition to have that happen right now? 

See? Bad things always happen in threes.

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