Sugarbaby

by Crystal Green

  The same held true when I came upon a box brimming with Little Golden Books that I recalled reading as a small child, when I would come visit Uncle Joseph with my parents and sit on his lap to recite Little Mommy from memory because I’d heard it from him so many times. That’d been before I realized the book was rather sexist, but it was sweet and innocent, too. Just like I used to be.

  “Your parents raised you well, little girl,” he’d say to me. “They’re real proud of how you’re turning out.”

  Would they still feel that way? I liked to think so, even if I’d misstepped a time or two. But I’d avoided making a mistake with the wrong guy again last night, hadn’t I? I’d exercised some willpower, refusing to be led around like a puppet on string yet again by a man who didn’t actually care all that much about me in the end.

  Wasn’t I just the champion?

  My phone, which I’d set on the concrete next to me, buzzed with a text that nearly jarred my bones. And when I picked it up and saw the number and message, I only gaped.

  555-8465:

  You missed a good party.

  Simmons? Why in the world would he want to contact me after I’d zoomed out of the Club?

  I set the phone down for a moment, almost as if it’d needled me. Simmons had no reason to carry on this conversation—not unless he was offended that’d I’d shafted his boy after Noah had gone through such effort for me at the Club. Or if Noah had told him to still pursue me. Some guys—especially worldly businessmen, I imagined—didn’t take well to losing, especially to someone who wasn’t in their class.

  Talk about not taking “no” for an answer. But burn me once, shame on you, burn me twice . . . Well, I’d been there, and I wasn’t going for a third time.

  Still, I highly doubted Simmons would go away if I just ignored him.

  Jadyn:

  Did your boss tell you to check up on me?

  555-8465:

  LOL. You’re talking to the boss.

  I didn’t know whether to keep hold of the phone or shove it into a box where I’d never see it again.

  Noah?

  His next text flashed over the screen.

  555-8465:

  I snatched Simmons’s phone when he wasn’t looking.

  I almost asked if Simmons was keeping my number away from Noah for some reason. Why else wouldn’t Noah just get my number from his friend and call me on his own?

  Maybe he didn’t want me to have his real number, I thought. Maybe this phone would be thrown away just as soon as the games were over with me.

  Jadyn:

  Maybe you should mind your valet and stay off the phone, especially when it isn’t even yours.

  555-8465:

  Just as lively as last night. Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty fun?

  Me, fun? Oddly enough, he seemed fun right now, too, as if he’d shaken off his moodiness from before.

  Jadyn:

  I wasn’t ever going for “fun,” Reeves.

  Psychology 101—last names put people at a distance. I’d learned that from my friend Evie during the summer. She was full of helpful tips like that. And Lord knew I needed all the distance I could get from . . . Reeves.

  555-8465:

  Why’d you leave the Club so fast?

  Okay, clearly the only way I was going to get through to a hardheaded tycoon—jeez, a tycoon—was to lay everything out there and give it to him straight, like a memo or a report. Something he’d understand.

  Jadyn:

  Listen, I’m not trying to play hard to get. I’m simply not interested.

  Was he laughing uproariously yet? How many waitresses had turned him down lately?

  555-8465:

  Interested in what . . . ?

  Cute. It was the dot, dot, dot that told me he was stringing me along, wanting me to admit to what we were really talking about here. Attraction. But the doubts crept up on me, anyway: What if I was reading too much into him? What if he was just looking for a temporary chat buddy right now or . . .

  Right—that’s why he’d set up that VIP room at Hellfire: to chat. But I still couldn’t believe he’d be into me, Random Miss Sexter.

  Jadyn:

  If you don’t know what you’re interested in, that’s not my problem. I’d see a therapist about it, STAT.

  555-8465:

  See, you’re VERY fun.

  Jadyn:

  And you’re the sort of guy I try to avoid.

  555-8465:

  What kind is that? The kind who’s fun, too? Come on, Jadyn, you *know* I’m fun. Everyone needs some of that in life.

  Jadyn:

  I’ve had my fill.

  555-8465:

  You certainly seem to want more of it right now.

  Dang it, he had me there. If I didn’t need some of what he was bringing, why couldn’t I keep myself from answering these texts? And why couldn’t I stop breaking off into la-la land via the Noah Reeves scenic route every five minutes? I couldn’t get him out of my head.

  It probably would’ve taken superpowers to stay away from him, but I drew upon the only power I had—the truth.

  Jadyn:

  I don’t know why I’m still chatting. You remind me of an ex—or two—and let’s just say they didn’t leave a good impression.

  555-8465:

  How do I remind you of them?

  Jadyn:

  Too much charm, not enough sincerity. We’re gonna leave it at that.

  So far, I hadn’t experienced any text-pauses with Noah, not like I had before when Simmons had been messaging. Was it because we’d face-to-faced and Noah wasn’t just a bunch of words on a screen like Simmons had been?

  I wished he wasn’t so easy to talk to, so easy to like.

  His answer buzzed me.

  555-8465:

  You’re one hell of a guarded woman.

  Ah, so he was finally getting it. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or bummed about that. From the way something in my chest sank, I knew whatever I was feeling wasn’t happy.

  555-8465:

  Guarded and unhappy is no way to live. Believe me.

  Now I was the one who hesitated. He seemed to be saying a lot more about himself than what was on the surface, and damn me, but I wanted to know what he was truly getting at. I wanted to rest my hand on his, just as I would with anyone who needed a good listen, but with Noah . . .

  I was one-hundred percent certain it wouldn’t end there. He was surely the type who took, and I’d always been the kind to give—at least before I’d learned the hard way.

  555-8465:

  Do me a favor?

  Jadyn:

  Depends.

  555-8465:

  Just look out your window.

  Dear God. What now?

  I glanced down at myself. I had on a dust-covered T-shirt, jeans with holes in the knees, old kicks. My hair wasn’t any neater in the haphazard ponytail I’d put it in, and a jolt of panic sent me to my feet. If Noah had done something impulsive like search out my address and come to my house, I was gonna die.

  With my heart in my throat, I dragged over a stepstool, climbed on it, and peered out one of the dirty rectangular windows of the garage.

  Shit.

  Even though I’d just thought it, not said it, I still covered my mouth and ducked. But in a millisecond I was right back to looking outside.

  That slick red sports car I’d seen in the Angel’s Seat parking lot was waiting at the curb, and Simmons was standing by the passenger side door, all boy-bandy and casual.

  I madly texted Noah.

  Jadyn:

  No.

  555-8465:

  No what?

  Jadyn:

  No to whatever Simmons is here for.

  Hear
t blipping, heart singing, I didn’t know whether to laugh or run. I only glanced out the window again, where Simmons seemed to be getting more impatient by the moment.

  555-8465:

  Jadyn, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you probably don’t trust me. But if you did, I wouldn’t take advantage of it. Can you believe that, just for a couple of hours?

  Wow—was this the guy who’d almost gotten in a brawl last night? I didn’t know if he was coming or going because, at the moment, he sounded rascally, not haunted.

  My instincts shook their emotional heads, telling me to block his number and stay here in the garage until Simmons left, because he’d have to go about his business someday.

  But, as I said, he had my number—and not just on a phone.

  555-8465:

  Just one safe afternoon, Jadyn, that’s all I’m asking. Then I won’t bother you anymore.

  Unreal, this chase, his determination. And I wanted to go wherever that car might take me—yes, I did. Because in forty-five years, when I looked back at all my pictures in the boxes I’d have in my own garage, would I regret saying no today?

  Just one safe afternoon. That was all he was asking.

  So, in spite of all the common sense I had left, I sent a text.

  ***

  Jadyn:

  Simmons is now driving me out to Miller Dock Lake. Still won’t tell me what’s going on. Just keeps saying it’s a surprise and then sighing like he’s seen a lot of Noah’s surprises before.

  I put the phone in my lap. Back in the garage, I’d sent Carley a text, and then another after I’d called to Simmons from the porch about how I needed to get dressed before we went anywhere—and getting dressed had entailed a quick shower, because I was not going to step foot in that hot car all work-dusty.

  I’d sent yet another message after we got on our way, keeping Carley abreast of everything, being a smart girl just in case Noah was . . .

  What? A killer in disguise?

  Uh-huh.

  Simmons had been silent this whole time, even while I’d been worshipfully running my hands over the car’s leather, inspecting the space-aged dashboard, and generally shooting questions at him like he was a cutout in a cowboy-themed gallery with pop-up targets that dinged when you hit them. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still trying.

  “Can’t you give me even a hint as to what Reeves is up to?” I asked.

  He gave me a strange look at how I’d used Noah’s last name. “You know what I’m going to say.”

  “That this is all a secret and he just wants to have fun with the non-coy accidental texter before he leaves town.”

  He nodded, steering us onto the dirt road by the lake. A message from Carley came through, and I gladly accessed it.

  Carley:

  I still can’t believe this! Take pictures, k? Tell me if he’s a good kisser, too!

  Jadyn:

  Kissing=verboten.

  Carley:

  Really? You’re going to make me look that up?

  Simmons was driving the car—I’d found out it was a Ferrari—toward the water. The expanse of the lake, the sun-sparkle of a fall day with Halloween-tinted leaves on the trees, and the stately pines and the dock where kids partied during the summer clutched at me. There’d been good times and bad times here, but I’d grown up swimming in these waters. I even remembered coming with my parents once, so this could never truly be a place I’d avoid.

  Not even with Noah waiting on the shore next to a tent with violet material flowing in the slight wind, a table and chairs set up inside.

  “No way,” I said.

  I slid a glance to Simmons, who merely pulled close to the tent and then cut the engine. He got out of the car and came around to my side, opening the door for me.

  I got out. “Thank you.”

  He made a sound that could’ve meant “you’re welcome” or “whatever,” then walked away. That left me to turn toward Noah, who had strolled up the shore with a smile that was definitely more devil than angel.

  Had he deliberately dressed like he was ready for the Hamptons? His broad shoulders pulled at his white cable-knit sweater, and his pants and tennis shoes were also white and crisp. His light hair, cuffed by the breeze, even gave the impression of a golden boy who’d gotten a little tarnished somewhere along the line. The scar on his neck only added to that impression.

  “Jadyn,” he said in his velvet voice. And it didn’t help when he leisurely traveled a look over me.

  I’d put on a flowery and filmy dress that went to just above my knees, topping it with an oversized sweater that buttoned up the front. Very proper, I’d thought, but now, with his heated interest, I felt like I was showing too much skin.

  Or not enough at all.

  He visually combed up and over my legs, and it almost seemed as if he was lifting my skirt, coasting below it to see everything. My skin was brushed with sensation, as if he was painting over my thighs, higher, dipping into places he had no business being.

  I pressed my palms over my skirt, intercepting his long gaze. His smile grew, flashing that lone dimple, and I crossed my arms over my chest. His eyes held mine for a moment more, and before I could pop with the tiny explosion that was threatening in my belly, I glanced away, toward the tent.

  It looked like there was another bucket of champagne on the table, flowers, candles, plus strawberries, pastries, chocolate.

  He spoke. “You didn’t get to sample the offerings last night, so I brought a new batch to you today.”

  “Why?” Why, why, why?

  From behind us, Simmons cleared his throat. I glanced back to find him sitting on a large rock, absently thumbing over the screen of his phone.

  Noah got my attention again. “I didn’t want to be That Guy. You know, the one you said I was last night.”

  At first I didn’t recall what I’d said—I’d tossed around a lot of barbed wire—but then I got it.

  “When I asked if you’d used Simmons to lure me so you could have your way with me?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That.” Then the smile returned, confident, a little arrogant. No, a lot arrogant. “I don’t need Simmons to reel in anyone.”

  I wasn’t about to let him know he was right. It could very well be that Noah wasn’t used to having to pursue the ladies, and I kind of liked being the only girl who’d ever made him go through the maze of chasing me.

  But hadn’t I also thought I’d been the only one who could change Rex’s wandering eye? I’d spent so much time worrying that he was still keeping that eye on Shelby that I’d done my part in ruining that relationship.

  Noah stood aside, and I supposed that meant I should start walking toward the tent. But before I did, I snapped a picture for Carley and, as I sent it to her, I wrote:

  Jadyn:

  ???

  Simmons’ voice carried to us. “No pictures.”

  Noah took up stride beside me. “Simmons, always looking after me.”

  “He doesn’t want any pictures of you to go viral, right?”

  “It’s a necessary evil to worry about. As you know, I’ve been avoiding the press.”

  “But I wouldn’t—”

  “I believe you wouldn’t sell any photos of me to blogs or the paparazzi.” We came to the tent. “But can you make me a promise for the next couple of hours? No more camera?”

  There was an undertow to his request, a ripple of pain beneath the surface, like something swimming under the lake.

  I nodded, stowing my phone in my sweater pocket, even as it buzzed with a message, probably from Carley. Then he lifted his hand, palm up to me.

  Wow—was he escorting me into the tent? Like a prince or something?

  Holding my breath, I slipped my hand into his, telling myself it was no big deal to touch him again, but when a shock
zinged from his skin to mine, I held back a tiny sound. The electricity ricocheted around my chest, diving between my legs where it shivered and settled into another ache.

  Just a couple of hours and he’ll be on to another pursuit, I thought, walking into the shade of the tent, where the aroma of baked goodies and chocolate coddled me. Meanwhile, enjoy yourself. Remember how to do that?

  He pulled out my chair, and I sat, watching him closely as he went to the other side of the table and took the champagne out of the ice bucket.

  “I’m actually not old enough to drink,” I said. “Not for about six more months.” So much for the enjoyment part.

  He paused, and I noticed that his fingers were long as he gripped the bottle. Long, sexy, just made for tracing down a neck, a collarbone, a . . .

  I got my mind back in gear as he loosened his grasp on the champagne.

  “I thought you were older,” he said.

  “I’m almost twenty-one.” I raised my chin. “It’s pretty ridiculous that someone under that age can go off and fight a war but they can’t have a drink. That’s what my great-uncle used to say, anyway. He used to let me have a glass of wine with him at dinner, said it was good for my constitution.”

  “Wise man, but if you don’t want to drink, I won’t hold it against you.”

  He had a sparkle in his gaze, daring me. I wondered where the sadness and anger I’d seen before had gone, but I didn’t miss them.

  I lifted my glass for the booze because, hey, I did take a nip from Joseph’s liquor cabinet every so often these days, just because I could. But I never overdid it—not like I had that night I’d lost all judgment with Micah Wyatt.

  I’d have only a glass now because I was sure this would be some amazing rich-guy champagne. Why not try it?

  When I looked into Noah’s eyes, I thought I saw a reflection—a flame burning bright. He popped the cork, champagne burbling out, and as I laughed, he poured. He filled his own glass and raised it to me.

  “To a woman who keeps me guessing,” he said.

  Right back at you, I thought as I clinked glasses with him, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. “Me? How do I keep you guessing? I’ve been direct.”

  He sipped, keeping eye contact with me until I had to look away, sipping my own champagne. Bubbles rustled through me, making me giddier than I already was. There was something about the quiet intensity of him that scared me a little, invigorated me.