Shortcake

by Lucy Watson

“Hey, Shortcake,” he calls out, his deep voice sliding across the sensitive skin of my lower back. I look over my shoulder, and what I see makes my knees weak and my legs wobbly. “Thanks for the cake,” he says with a sweet smile so breathtaking, that my hand falls open and I watch my helium heart disappear into the sky. Of course, he knows I bought him the cake. Note to self: if you want to tell a convincing lie, make sure not to pawn off the purchase of a weird cake on the cheapest human on the planet.