Sugar Read online

  “I’ll talk to you later, Avery. We’re not finished.”

  My eyes continued to blink as we stepped into the elevator and Micah keyed in the first floor. He didn’t say a word, but I knew his mind was full of thoughts and opinions.

  Noah unapologetically watched us as the doors slowly closed.

  “He’s just—”

  Micah’s hand tightened on mine. “No need, love. I see you’re upset. Let me take your mind off whatever that was and treat you to a pleasant evening.”

  Strangely, his nonjudgmental response relieved me. I knew it was a cop-out, and that I was running from some emotional baggage I didn’t feel like carrying, but that was the perk of being a sugar baby. I didn’t need to think beyond my own personal safety. All I needed to do was let my clients pamper me.

  I had the luxury of pretending to be someone else for the evening. Tonight, like most nights, that was exactly what I wanted to do.

  11

  Noah

  “Gin and tonic.” I put my back to the bar at the club, doing a quick scan of the room.

  Women in white tennis skirts and men in sports jackets crowded the well-appointed tables of the country club. It was all so monochromatically mundane and redundant. But the Florida weather offered a nice break from the Philadelphia fall, and I was glad for the distraction.

  After my last run in with Avery, I put all plans on hold. The things she said about going out with so many men really stuck in my brain and left an unsavory aftertaste. It was starting to make sense. She lived in an upscale apartment, wore Valentino and Oscar De La Renta, and went out with men who drove cars retailing over the hundred thousand dollar mark.

  Avery was a user. She used men to get what she wanted. She blatantly admitted that the one guy was paying her rent. Her rent was the same as mine, so that guy was either wealthy enough to throw money away or was getting a substantial trade-off in his deal with Avery.

  I couldn’t stomach the thought of her hooking up with that guy or any of the others. Yet, like clockwork, a new date showed up each night. So flying down to the Keys for Thanksgiving with my family seemed like a welcome reprieve and great change of scenery from my neighbor and her revolving door of bachelors.

  “Having fun?” Laurel slid onto the barstool, and the bartender slipped a cocktail napkin under her chardonnay before it hit the countertop.

  “A blast. Where’s Stanley?”

  Stanley was Laurel’s on again-off again date who often crashed Florida holidays but passed on the Pennsylvania ones. Lately, he seemed to enjoy the spoils that came from our family’s situation more than he enjoyed passing one on one time with my sister. And it was starting to piss me off.

  “He’s changing into his bathing suit. Said he wants to digest by the pool.”

  My sister had the complexion of a porcelain doll, so she rarely spent time poolside. “And what will you do?”

  She lifted her wineglass and clanked it to my tumbler. “Get drunk with my little brother.”

  “Sounds ambitious.”

  She shrugged and settled in beside me. “Any progress with your neighbor?”

  “No, and I’m over it. She’s … baggage.”

  “Married?”

  “No.”

  “Kids?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Gay?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “So what sort of baggage does she have?”

  I shrugged and sipped my cocktail. “It’s hard to explain. She’s busy.”

  “Ah, too busy to date?”

  Hardly. “Sort of.”

  “Maybe if you proved you were worth her time she’d find time to fit you in.”

  I leveled my sister with a look that said I wasn’t in the mood for her snark. The entire situation with Avery was riddled with complications. It threw the idea of a one-night-stand with her into the high maintenance category. I wanted to sleep with her, not marry her.

  “I changed my mind about her. That’s all.”

  Scanning the room again, I looked for someone to get my mind off … other things. No one appealed. They were all either too tall or too short or too fair or too dark. It pissed me off that Avery had become the measuring stick to all other women. It didn’t make sense. I needed to get off this Goldilocks sort of thinking.

  I finished my drink and shifted away from the bar. Maybe Stanley had it right. All the hot women were at the pool. God, why the hell was my sister still with him?

  “I’m going to change and go for a swim.”

  “I thought we were hanging out.”

  I hesitated for a second. If I hung with Laurel people would assume we were together and I needed to get my mind off Avery by taking a shot with someone else. “Sorry, sis. Not tonight.”

  “Thanks a lot, Noah.”

  I stilled at the hurt tone of her voice and turned back to the bar. Her wounded expression hardened as her eyes narrowed.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing. Go find some faceless woman to distract you—”

  “Hey. This isn’t you, Laurel. What’s with the attitude?”

  She shrugged. “I’m just sick of men. You all want something meaningless over something substantial.”

  I returned to the bar and lowered my voice. “I’m not trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong, but all men aren’t Stanley, Laurel. Maybe stop going out with a guy who clearly doesn’t want the same relationship you need.”

  Her gaze drifted to the bar. “It’s easier being with him than being alone.”

  “Is it? Because right now it doesn’t look like you’re having such an easy time.”

  Her lashes lowered. “I don’t know why I invited him. I’m not even sure what we are anymore. For all I know, he’s hitting on women and then coming back to my bed.”

  “Fuck him. Want me to send him home? He’s your guest, using our family’s club membership. Rescind your invitation, and he has no right to be here.”

  “I don’t need my little brother cleaning up my messes.”

  “I know you don’t, but I will. Believe me, I don’t mind.”

  It was more than a hunch that Stanley was hitting on other women. I’d seen him getting too close a few times and finally said something to him, but the guy excused his behavior by claiming he and my sister had a sort of understanding, which seemed true, but not at all what Laurel wanted.

  Laurel gave a sad smile. “You’re a good brother, Noah.”

  “You’re a good sister.”

  As much as I wanted to get my mind off Avery by getting inside another woman, those plans would need to be postponed. Laurel needed a friend, and since Shane had screwed me over with Margaux, my sister had stepped in as my best friend, always there whenever I needed a distraction. Tonight I needed to be hers.

  Waving a hand at the bartender, I said, “Another chardonnay for the lady, and I’ll take a refill as well.”

  “You’re staying?”

  I sat on the stool beside her. “Maybe that whole getting drunk thing is exactly what we both need.”

  “Cheers to that.”

  12

  Avery

  It had been nine quiet days without a peep from my mother or my neighbor. I took a few nights off of work to focus on school. I needed to get my Lit grade up to a B, and my professor wasn’t making that easy. I also needed to reassess some things that were keeping me up at night.

  Thanksgiving was a quiet day in the building and a much-needed chance to think. The halls remained silent through the weekend. It was as if everyone disappeared, which was probably what normal people did—home to visit families that actually enjoyed each other.

  Noah claimed our conversation wasn’t over, yet he hadn’t tried to contact me in any way. I knew his schedule, but nothing about his occupation. He left around seven-thirty each morning in a suit, and I could smell his soap in the hall every day when I returned from the gym.

  Then, I could sense his presence when he returned from wo
rk around six each night. I wasn’t sure if he had a commute or worked in the city, but I wanted to know these things, and that had to make me the stupidest girl on the planet.

  Finished with my final English paper, I packed up my books. The close of the semester left me wanting to celebrate, but I had no one to share in my personal accomplishment, no one that really cared.

  Wandering around my apartment, I debated if I should call a client—maybe Micah. He’d celebrate with me in his own Micah way. I had nothing better to do, but the idea of making a date didn’t sit right.

  I nosed around in the fridge for a few minutes and snagged a bottle of wine off the shelf. I wasn’t a big drinker, so I’d been saving this for a special occasion. Cocktails were nice, but I only indulged when someone else was making them or paying. This bottle of wine had been in my fridge for over three months, and I wasn’t sure if there was some sort of expiration date I was missing.

  Rummaging through my drawers, I searched for a corkscrew, unsure if I owned one. About to give up my search, I stilled when I heard a door close. My gaze drifted to the front of my apartment and then down the front of my body for an inspection of my appearance.

  I wore sweats, slippers, and my hair twisted into a messy bun. There was nothing sexy about my outfit, so maybe this was the best time to see what had caught my neighbor’s tongue. Grabbing the wine bottle and my apartment key, I crossed the hall and knocked.

  His footsteps shuffled, and the door opened. His eyes did a double take of my outfit, and then he grinned. “Do I know you?”

  Funny guy. I held up the wine. “I need a screw.”

  He laughed and gave the door a nudge, so it opened wide. “You guessed my magic password. Come on in.”

  I followed him inside, immediately noting how different his apartment appeared when not full of fifty drunken guests and gourmet food stations. We headed into the kitchen where an open box of pizza sat on the island, one slice removed and sitting on a plate.

  “Did you eat?”

  The scent of garlic and basil filled the air, and my stomach stirred at the opportunity. “Not since lunch.”

  He brought down another plate from his nicer-than-mine cabinets. “One slice or two.”

  “One.”

  He pursed his lips. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Appearing unimpressed, he dropped a slice on the plate and went to a drawer. Holding up a corkscrew, he took the bottle of wine from me, pausing to frown at the label. “What is this?”

  I slid onto a wooden stool and pulled the pizza slice closer. “I don’t know. I bought it when I moved in.”

  “And you never opened it?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “Yet you like bourbon.”

  Surprised he remembered what I drank, I smiled. “Honey bourbon. It’s whiskey with training wheels.”

  He scoffed. “Whiskey’s whiskey. You drink. You just don’t know how to open bottles.”

  I pulled the cheese off my slice as he twisted the cork free.

  “What the hell are you doing? You’re ruining the pizza.”

  “I don’t eat cheese.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is that some girly bullshit to do with your body?”

  “No. I have a dairy allergy. Cheese doesn’t do nice things to me.”

  “I could order something else.” He filled two glasses and slid one to me.

  “It’s fine. This is how I’ve always eaten pizza.”

  “Okay.” He took a sip and grimaced. “This is terrible wine.”

  “You don’t have one of those little voices in your head that tells you not to vocalize every single thought that crosses your mind, do you?”

  “Like a Jiminy Cricket? No. I’m a real boy.”

  I laughed. He certainly was.

  We settled in and quietly ate. Noah finished off three slices before calling it quits. He nudged the box toward me. “Have another one.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  I hesitated. “Because I’m still a girl and I still follow some rules. I had a big lunch.”

  His eyes studied me for a long minute. Reaching into the box, he plucked the cheese off a slice and dropped it onto the wax paper, then plopped the piece on my plate. “Eat.”

  “I’m full.”

  “Liar. Eat.”

  I had no intention of eating that slice. “Where do you work?”

  “I own a company that does media marketing for extreme sports.”

  “Like cliff diving?”

  “That, and skateboarding, wakeboarding, mountain biking. You name it I’ve probably videoed it.”

  “How did you get into that?”

  “I’m a guy. I love anything dangerous.”

  “Do you do those things?”

  “I’ll try anything once.”

  “Have you ever jumped out of a plane?”

  “Twice. I’m going again in a few months when the weather breaks.”

  “So you’re insane.” I took a bite of pizza.

  “I like the rush. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”

  “No, thank you. I prefer to stay on the ground and leave the flying to the birds.”

  “Chicken.”

  I waved a finger. “Yes, a perfect example of a flightless bird. Like me.”

  “You don’t fly at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why? Don’t you like to travel?”

  I shrugged. “I never gave it much thought.”

  His brow tightened as he sipped his wine. “Have you ever been out of the country?”

  “Nope.” Truly full now, I picked at the crust of my half-eaten slice.

  “Those guys that take you out, I’ve seen the cars they drive. Any of them ever offer to fly you anywhere?”

  I’d wondered if we were going to talk about that. “Some, but travel requires overnight accommodations, and that’s not included in my services.”

  “Your services… What exactly do your services include?”

  “Are you looking to hire me?” That would never happen.

  “Let’s presume you’re not selling sex and I don’t need to buy it. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I pushed the plate away. “I let them take me out, buy me delicious food from fancy restaurants, pretend I’m whoever they need me to be for a few hours, so they feel good about themselves. I listen to them when they need to vent—sort of like a therapist, but totally underqualified. But we share a sort of confidentiality, so there’s no drama. They take me to concerts, operas, museums, art showings, private galas, weddings, all sorts of things.”

  “And they … they pay you for this?”

  I blushed, not used to openly discussing my services with anyone other than my clients. “Yes, they pay me. It’s all legit. I started with a service, but now I book my own clients. It’s not a secret. I’m not doing anything illegal.”

  “So … you signed up for a service, men contact you, you agree to see them, they take you on extravagant dates, and then they pay you at the end of the night, but you never fuck them?”

  I didn’t flinch at his question. It was blunt and to the point which I appreciated. I’d rather cut out all the bullshit from the start to avoid any future confusion. Because the truth was, I thought about Noah way more than I should, but I still couldn’t cross certain lines with him. Maybe we could form a sort of understanding and truce and somehow form a friendship.

  “They buy me clothes and jewelry, too. But no, I never touch them.”

  “I saw one guy kiss you.”

  I laughed nervously. “You’re quite the stalker. I have two clients who are permitted to give me pecks on the cheek, but that’s only because I fully trust both of them not to get carried away.”

  “The guy from the other night, the one who picked you up when we were talking…?”

  “Which, the comb-over or the tall, dark, and—”

  “Not the pig.”

  Micah. “He was my fi
rst.”

  “Your first…?”

  “Daddy.”

  A slight V formed between his brows. “Please tell me you mean sugar Daddy.”

  I laughed. “Yes. It’s nothing perverted. They enjoy taking care of me, and I enjoy being taken care of.”

  “How did you start? Did he come up to you and just offer you money for a date?”

  “Pretty much. I was studying at a café, and he sent over a cup of coffee. I was new to the city and short on friends, so I approached him to say thank you. We ended up talking, and then we ran into each other again a week later, and he asked me out. I didn’t feel any attraction, so I turned him down.”

  “Then he named a price.”

  I gave him an unimpressed look. “If you’re trying to offend me, you won’t. I’m not cheap.”

  “How much did he offer?”

  I smiled. “Two thousand dollars.”

  “For a date?”

  I laughed at his shock. “Yep. And it wasn’t a crappy date.”

  “No way,” he laughed. “Where’d he take you?”

  “To a private concert with Elton John and only about twenty other couples.”

  “Get the hell out of here! And he never tried anything?”

  “Nope. He was an absolute gentleman.”

  “So unfair.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re a guy. No one looks at you and says, hmm, I wonder how much it would take to buy that. Women have always been pared down to buyable commodities. I’m not a prostitute, but… Never mind.” I looked at my half-eaten slice and felt sick. Maybe it was the shitty wine.

  Noah’s hand closed over mine and squeezed. My gaze jumped to his as he offered what I hoped was a friendly grin.

  “You’re nothing like a prostitute. I have a friend who paid her way through college by selling her eggs. Another friend of mine got college loans to pay for a boob job, never taking a single course. She’s up to her tits in debt, but she got what she wanted. People do all sorts of things to reach their goals. I think it’s sort of fascinating that you go on all those interesting dates and make money. They should pay you. I bet you’re a ton of fun when you’re not playing the bitchy neighbor. Sort of like now, your guard’s down, and we haven’t bickered once.”