Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All, #1)

by Alexis Hall

“Gallivanting around a stately home showing off your buns?” asked Lauren.

Oh God. Oh help. He was doing kindness at her. Rosaline couldn’t cope with people doing kindness at her. It made her feel like she’d shoplifted a lipstick. Except the lipstick was made of time and emotional energy.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been brainwashed by the patriarchy.”

“I’m not a man of science”—Florian took a sip of his rosé—“but experience suggests that splashback is a bitch.”

“I’m a big fan of keeping in touch with your exes. They’re like friends with the added bonus that you know what they look like naked.”

it’s important that Rosaline and I be able to talk about what a juicy studbucket Harry is.”

“That’s your I’ve-received-a-flirty-text look,” observed Lauren over her second glass of wine. “I know because it’s the look you used to get when I sneak-messaged you in maths.” “Excuse me, I got an A* in maths.” “Yes, and you also got a lot of pussy.” “Not in maths. And mostly just yours.” Lauren grinned. “Mine’s more than enough for anybody, darling.”

comparative pussiology. “He wants to show me his garden.”

Do they have, like, an orgasm museum or something?”

I’m moulding a pair of fondant whammers.”

I’ll sue you so hard your grandkids will be selling blow jobs to pay your legal fees.”

because sixty percent of the competitors had spent their morning being chewed out by the producer for holding an imaginary goat orgy.

Can you try it again in a way that doesn’t suggest you’re sexually attracted to the eliminated contestant?”

Was she the only person who didn’t keep a score sheet on her clitoris?

“Err, Liv,” said Rosaline, feeling at once too drunk and too sober. “I think you should probably get dressed.” “Just when we’re getting to know each other?”

‘sesquipedalian’

They Whoppered up, courtesy of a stoned teenager,

there’s always someone worse off than you, but you’re not helping ’em by ignoring your own problems.”

It’s not selfish to work on your problems. It’s selfish not to. Even if hearing you’ve got a problem makes you yell at a nice girl what’s trying to help you.”

it tasted like sand and old people.

masturbate over a picture of his mother

obstreperous.”

Because she’d finally worked out that life wasn’t the blind bake. The aim wasn’t to follow someone else’s vague instructions in the hope you’d produce something they’d approve of to a set of standards they hadn’t told you. It was your ex-girlfriend coming through for you when nobody else did. It was yelling at your kid’s teacher for being casually biphobic. It was having the same goddamn argument about brushing your teeth every night for four years. It was maybe meeting someone who was like nothing you thought you were looking for. It was winning a TV baking competition. Or not winning it. Or getting chased by a goat you thought was a bull. It didn’t matter what it was. It just mattered that it was yours.

“Well. I’m not drunk today. And the arsehole, like most arseholes, is behind me.”