Sugar Read online

  My date, an obnoxious prick I only saw on occasion, rattled on about himself and all the ways he saved the day at work this week. I knew his sort well, type-A personality, little dick, terrible in bed because they couldn’t stop blowing themselves long enough to take care of the girl. My fake smile cemented on my face for a solid three hours before my cheeks went numb.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You know what, Richard, I suddenly don’t feel so good. I’m so sorry to do this to you, but do you think you might be able to drive me home?”

  An easy excuse, being that germaphobia trumped the reasons why Richard remained single. He arched back as far as his stool would allow.

  “Is it your stomach or chest? Maybe you should take a cab?”

  Was he fucking kidding? “It’s just a headache.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Oh. Sure. I’ll have the valet grab my car.”

  The ride home passed in a tribute to himself and by the time I stepped out of the car, I considered the night worth every penny I’d earned, regardless of cutting it short. When the elevator opened to my floor, bass pounded through the walls, and muffled voices carried. My steps slowed as I eyed Noah’s door, open a crack.

  No. I should just go to bed.

  Sliding my key into the lock, I pressed into my dark, silent apartment and looked back over my shoulder at my neighbor’s apartment longingly.

  It was a losing battle and my curiosity—the same curiosity that killed the stupid cat—won. “Damn it.”

  I adjusted my dress and drew back my shoulders before crossing the hall. My fingers tapped lightly on the door, and it eased open.

  Couples gathered in every corner and perched on every free surface of furniture. This was just a few friends from work? Wow, his job certainly looked different than mine.

  Cheerful conversations and laughter emphasized the easy mood of the living room. Noah was nowhere in sight. I scanned the crowd and made eye contact with a few men dressed in high-end suits and wearing an edge of class. No one wore jeans, and the appetizers Noah mentioned consisted of an omelet station in his den and a gourmet crepe station by the dining room. What kind of party was this?

  “Hi. I’m Steve. Are you a friend of Noah’s?” Steve looked to be in his late twenties, not wealthy enough to afford me and too handsome and personable to require my services.

  “I’m his neighbor.”

  “Oh. Can I get you a drink? I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s—”

  “Avery. Johansson.” Noah’s voice stole my attention and a few others’ as he spoke my name as if tasting each syllable. “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s bad manners to arrive late to a party and not let the host know?”

  My mother taught me how to shoplift and fix a shoe with duct tape. She also taught me what drunk looked like, which I was pretty sure Noah was.

  He sauntered clumsily across the room and pressed an empty glass into Steve’s chest, then draped a heavy arm over my shoulder, depositing enough of his weight to make my legs stiffen.

  “You’re late, Ms. Johansson.” His breath, warm and alcohol scented, fanned over my cheek. An inappropriate chill raced down my spine.

  I carefully extricated my body out from under his arm. “Sorry. I had an appointment.”

  His eyes narrowed, one more than the other as if trying to see through a monocle lens that wasn’t there. “An appointment? Or a date?”

  Wouldn’t you like to know?

  I took his glass from Steve and sniffed it. “Mmm. A honey bourbon man. Steve, I’ll take that drink now. Why don’t you show me where the bar is?”

  Noah frowned as I walked away with his friend.

  Steve seemed like a nice guy. Interesting and full of trivial knowledge. We fell into a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill with a few other guests while I finished my brown derby cocktail. Several women drank mint juleps, and there seemed a sort of Connecticut class underplayed in the room.

  I prided myself in adapting quickly to the setting. Being a sugar baby meant possessing an apt skill to reading a room and sometimes acting as a chameleon, switching roles at a moment’s notice. I fit in fine with Noah’s friends, and that seemed to confuse Noah all the more, which I loved.

  By the time I reached the bottom of my glass, I’d seen enough. Three martinis with Richard and one brown derby put me over my limit. Plus, my feet were killing me in these heels.

  I excused myself to find the kitchen and deposited my glass in the sink. Noah’s apartment appeared a mirror image of mine, so it didn’t take long. However, his kitchen was prettier, and that pissed me off.

  Distracted by the cathedral moldings and glazed cabinetry, I didn’t hear him come in behind me.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  Slowing my breathing, I drew back my shoulders and turned. “Your kitchen’s nicer than mine.”

  “Your bedroom’s bigger.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He chuckled. “I checked yours out before you signed the lease. If it was nicer, I’d have switched.”

  Well, he certainly had an unapologetic thing going for him. I didn’t know how to process that comment as it somehow dropped my incredible home down a notch. I reminded myself that I had the bigger bedroom, which made sense since I likely had more clothing.

  “I’d love to see what you’ve done with it.” The look in his eyes held full-on challenge.

  My chest lifted as I held his stare. “I bet you would. But I think your prior appraisal’s going to have to last.” There was no way he was getting an invite.

  “Don’t be sour.”

  “I’m not. I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen, so these amenities would be wasted on me.” Damn, was that a wine fridge?

  He edged closer. “Turns out I love to cook as much as I love to fuck, but I’ve yet to master some culinary arts so I figured I’d keep the apartment with the best space to improve my less honed … skills.”

  “Charming.” Every guy thought they had the map to the G-spot, but most were more likely to find the Holy Grail first.

  He rounded the granite island and glanced into the sink, arching a brow at the empty glass. “Leaving so soon?”

  “It’s late. I appreciate the invite but—”

  “Why were you late?”

  “I… I told you. I had an appointment.”

  “You could’ve gotten out of it.”

  I frowned at his arrogant assumption. “How would you know?”

  “Because I don’t think it was business.” He glanced down at my dress. “I think it was personal.”

  Ahh. “You know, I think I hear my phone ringing.”

  I turned, and he caught my arm, tugging me back with enough force that my hands braced against his chest, my head tipping back to look into his eyes.

  “Have dinner with me, Avery Johansson.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re neighbors and we both like living here and I don’t want it to get weird.”

  “Maybe it’ll get good weird.”

  “It won’t.”

  He leaned his long body into the counter, his thumb sliding slowly over my bare arm where he held me as we faced off. My breath hitched, and I held it so not to give any clue of the effect he had on me.

  “Come on. One dinner. I’ll treat.”

  I laughed. “I know you would, but my answer’s still no.”

  “Afraid you’ll actually enjoy yourself?” His gentle grip glided to my wrist, reminding me that my hands still rested on his chest.

  My frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I see you going out on dates, a different guy every other night. None of them are right for you. Why would you date someone so much older? You’re young, beautiful, and I bet you’re incredible in bed.”

  I yanked my hands away from him but kept my position, his body pinning mine between the sink and his. “Wouldn’t you like to know what earns them my time? It’s a shame you never w
ill.”

  “A thousand bucks says you’re wrong.”

  I gave a humorless laugh. “Only a thousand?” That was no small bet.

  He brazenly caught a piece of my hair between two fingers and gently tugged. “You’d like it. I’d make sure of that. First, it would be gentle, and then it would get frantic. I’d make you wait, for your own good, letting the torture build into an intense burn until you begged, Please, Noah, please…” His voice took on a falsetto tone as he did an impression of a woman who sounded nothing like me.

  I rolled my eyes. If anyone begged it’d be him.

  He leaned closer as if imparting a dark secret. “By the time I’m inside of you, you’d be gasping out my name, and when I hold your arms behind your back and dig my teeth into your shoulder, pounding every hard inch of my cock into your hot little pussy, you’ll be wondering why you ever considered dating those losers when everything you wanted, waited right across the hall.”

  My jaw literally unhinged. What. A. Douchebag.

  That wasn’t how it would go down—which it wouldn’t—but if it did, it would be Noah pleading. Eyeing him from head to toe, I eased closer, letting my assets brush against his front as I moved my mouth only a kiss away from his.

  “Do you know what I like to do with men like you, Noah Wolfe?”

  His lashes lowered as he stared at my mouth. “What?”

  “I like to strip them down, unburden them, remove every touch of ego, and leave them utterly bare. The things I could do to you… You wouldn’t be able to handle it. So let’s pretend you didn’t just share all those fantasies and it won’t be weird the next time I sense you watching me in the hall. Because no matter how much you wish you could fuck me, that’s not how I operate.”

  I glanced around his hundred-thousand-dollar kitchen, still pissed it was nicer than mine. “This little game of cat and mouse we’ve been playing… I think you’ve got the roles mixed up. Poor, little Noah. You’re not the cat. I am. I eat men like you for breakfast.” Rising on my toes, I slowly dragged my tongue over the stubble of his jaw and bit his earlobe until he let out a guttural moan. “And I know you stole my fucking magazine.”

  With a smile cocky enough to rival any arrogant, penis-toting prick at the party, I lifted my chin and sauntered out of the kitchen. And, yes, he watched me go.

  7

  Noah

  I gripped the granite lip of the cabinet as she sauntered out of the kitchen, my cock fully engorged and pressing noticeably against the zipper of my pants. Jesus Fucking Christ, she was a thousand times better than I’d imagined.

  So. Many. Fantasies.

  After her clumsy little fall in the hall, I’d entertained some nice damsel in distress scenarios where I’d come to her rescue, and she’d act shy and skittish in my presence, but this outranked all those fantasies. She had a fierceness about her I’d never come across before, a fucking killer queen bee, a perfect blend of adventure and hauteur. Getting close to her meant I’d likely get stung, but I didn’t care.

  My mother had friends in Rhode Island, women my father referred to as WASPs, white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. They were the well-bred New England women with a lineage dating back to British Ancestry and money old enough to be linked to household patents. Maybe Avery hailed from upstate New York.

  She had class, a sweet ass, and her sexy little mouth just got a serious upgrade when she called me out for stealing her fucking magazine. I scratched shy off the list.

  That woman had grit, and spice, not at all sweet and zero interest in playing nice. Assertive as hell, I needed to know what motivated her, what made her tick, and what she sounded like when she came—preferably on my dick.

  “There you are.”

  Lucy entered the kitchen, and the sexual tension evaporated. Lacking the height of the bombshell that just left, my assistant stared across the island at me.

  “Why are you in here all alone?”

  Her round eyeglasses swallowed her face, reminding me of a cartoon owl. With a small, pointed nose and those thick, dark bangs and big eyes.

  I rested my forearms on the countertop, waiting for my semi to go down. “I … lost my drink. I needed to get a new glass.”

  She smiled as if I’d said something clever. “I can make you a new cocktail.”

  She opened the cabinet with perfect familiarity. Of course, she knew the location of items. She’d been the one to purchase my dishes and supervise the deliveries of everything down to my throw pillows. When I couldn’t find something, I called Lucy, and she knew exactly where to find whatever it was I needed.

  As she leaned up to reach for a tumbler, my gaze drifted to her skirt. Pleated wool hid what appeared to be a flat ass, and her shoes were adult T-strap Mary Janes. I paid her well enough to afford a decent wardrobe, but her style remained that of a frumpy librarian. Sort of nerdy hot, but not my type.

  “While I have you here alone,” I said, thinking this the perfect time to thank her for putting this party together, even if Avery only stopped by for thirty minutes. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re getting a raise.”

  Surprise skittered across her face as it angled up at me. “I am?”

  She remained a puzzle, so capable yet sometimes seeming so unsure, a total contradiction within herself.

  “You’ve earned it. I’d be lost without you, Luce.”

  Her smile beamed, and she tugged on her mauve cardigan, which had pulls and pilling at the seams. “Wow, Noah. Thank you.”

  I stilled as her hand rested on my arm, still draped on the counter. We both stared at it for a split second, and when my gaze returned to hers, her smile fell. The touch disappeared.

  “I’ll get you that drink.”

  She hustled out of the kitchen in a cloud of mauve wool and bad shoes.

  Returning to the party, I played the happy host slash cool boss. The party improved when the guests discovered the karaoke streaming setting on the television.

  As the alcohol poured and inhibitions faded, the music grew louder, and the talent took a serious hit. Through it all, my gaze kept returning to the front door, my thoughts wondering what my neighbor was doing.

  A silent laugh churned through my chest. Was that ego talk a challenge, because if so, I was game.

  We’d see who couldn’t handle it. I caught her nipples hardening in the kitchen. God, she was so fucking mouth watering.

  You wish you could fuck me…

  It was more than a wish. It was a goal. And I had every intention of succeeding.

  Tracing where she’d scraped her tongue, I smiled. Challenge accepted.

  The next time I saw Avery Johansson’s nipples, I intended to sink my teeth into them.

  8

  Avery

  The following few weeks passed in a whirlwind of projects, dates, and cramming for upcoming finals. Although I heard Noah in the hall at times, I made sure to avoid crossing his path, and he seemed to do the same.

  Late November, my mother called crying. It had finally happened. She’d lost her job at the mill and wasn’t sure she’d qualify for the subsidies her neighbors were receiving, because I’d been sending her additional income.

  “Why does Sheryl Pinkerton know I’m sending you anything, Momma? It’s nobody’s business.”

  “She saw the check stubs and said the IRS would see it as income and it’ll mess up my welfare.”

  Although educated about a lot of things, income tax and subsidized programs were outside of my knowledge. “Sheryl isn’t an accountant. And why are you leaving your banking around for the neighbors to see?”

  “Don’t you get it, Avery Dean? The checks are drawing suspicions. You’re gonna have to get me cash.”

  “How am I going to do that? No one mails cash.”

  “You could come home.”

  “No.”

  Momma scoffed. “Ain’t you ever comin’ back? You know Bobby Pritcher’s been askin’ about you.”

  I frowned. Bobby Pritcher wasn’t going anywhere in l
ife, and I doubted he had rotting teeth left in his sneering, perverted mouth. When he spoke, never saying nice things, it looked like a slithery snake tongue slipping past his lips.

  “That’s not the way to get me home.” All the things that made home a tolerable place weren’t there anymore.

  “Then what will it take? You’ve been gone three years. It’s enough already.”

  “I thought you wanted me to make something of myself. That’s what I’m doin’.”

  “By hooking? That ain’t what I meant, Avery Dean. I don’t know what’s become of you. You ain’t even a Mudd anymore. Got yourself a fancy name for all those fancy Johns.”

  My jaw locked, but that didn’t stop the sharp prickle of tears burning my eyes. “That’s not what I do, Momma. I have to go.”

  “Don’t you blow me off, young lady. I raised you better.”

  She’d always been the one person capable of cutting me down. No matter how much I said her opinions didn’t matter to me, they still stung. And now, with her out of work, she’d become more dependent on me for help, more entwined in my life, more toxicity eating away at my goals to be normal.

  Unable to draw in enough air, my lungs burned as if I were drowning. “Goodbye, Momma.”

  After I got off the phone, my mood and focus were shot. In no state of mind to study, I cleaned my apartment.

  Within an hour, I had an enormous pile of designer clothes on my bed mixed with shoes, purses, and jewelry that were hardly worn. One by one, I took pictures of each item and uploaded them onto an online auction site. Once I made it halfway through the pile, my tears had gotten the better of me, and I needed to find a tissue.

  I was not a hooker. I’d never have sex with someone for money, and certainly not with any of my clients. Though there were a few I enjoyed spending time with, like Micah and Josh, there wasn’t any real attraction there.