Sugar & Ice
A Rose & Thorns Novel
Brooklyn Wallace
Copyright © 2018 by Brooklyn Wallace
Editor: James Loke Hale
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The person depicted on the cover is a model used for illustrative purposes only.
All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any capacity without written permission of the author except in the case of reviews which may quote brief passages.
Contents
About Sugar & Ice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
About Sugar & Ice
One ice queen, one sweetheart, one last chance at happily ever after.
Gwendolyn Crawford is Superwoman personified. She runs her ex’s senatorial campaign while battling gossip rags, sleazy opponents, and her self-righteous former father-in-law. She does the job well, and as far as she’s concerned, that’s all she needs. Besides, there’s no time for romance. Not even when a pair of bright eyes catch hers at the highly exclusive Rose club.
Jacklyn Dunn is stuck in a rut. After a devastating stress fracture ended her WNBA career, she’s mostly been dodging her agent and binging TV. Then she meets Gwen and starts to wonder if there’s more to life than wishes and regrets.
There’s no denying the sparks between them. Jackie thrills in melting Gwen’s ice queen heart, and Gwen is instantly hooked on Jackie’s sweetness. But romance isn’t easy for two women in the spotlight. Stress, tabloids, and their own fears threaten to shake the foundation of their budding relationship. After years of building up walls, the two must open themselves up to love—and to getting hurt—to find what truly makes them happy.
One
Gwen
Vultures, all of them.
The windows of the town car were dark enough for me to honestly weigh sticking my tongue out at the group of journalists snapping photos—if I were five instead of forty. Or if I had another mimosa in hand.
“Watch that frown,” Jeffrey warned playfully from his spot next to me. The car pulled away from the curb, and only then did I allow myself to flip them the bird. “They’ll plaster that resting bitch face across every cover from the Herald to The Huffington Post come morning.”
I grabbed my phone and braced myself as I entered my inbox.
"Oh please, it’s part of my charm."
My less-than-sunny disposition might as well have been my trademark, after all. When you were the former black Democrat congresswoman wife of a white, Republican-turned-Democrat senator, “mean” was about all you could afford be. As far as I was concerned, if that was the brush they were going to paint me with, I might as well work that color.
"I’m surprised you managed to keep that smile almost through the whole fundraiser. That ice queen act charms the mayor's pants off, but his wife finds you . . . What was it she said?"
"So cold she's surprised your dick hadn’t frozen off from years of having sex with me?"
"Ah, yes. That."
“Don’t worry, I was the picture-perfect campaign manager.” I showed him the Very Charming Senator's Wife smile, an old but trusted relic from fundraiser galas past, which I had kept plastered over my face the entire time.
"See?” I said faux-brightly. “You can’t even tell I want to jam a fork through my own eye socket."
"Just great. If you can keep that up for the next four hours, we're golden."
“No promises.” I took a sip from my glass. “I saw you chatting with the mayor. I trust he'll be making a generous donation to your reelection campaign?"
He sighed and shook his head. "I've got to kiss a few more asses to make that happen."
I gave him a sympathetic smile and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Jeffrey was more qualified and dedicated than half the big wigs in the House. Not that that meant much in politics. "You're the incumbent, which counts for something."
"I know, I know." He huffed, but smiled gratefully. "Thanks for coming with me on what was supposed to be your day off. If I had known—”
“Congressman Marsh’s secretary couldn’t organize a children’s tea party,” I grumbled without looking up from my phone. “Is it any surprise this thing was thrown together? If we can’t put term limits on congressmen, can we at least give their secretaries IQ tests first?”
“I see we’ve officially reached the Gwendolyn Crawford Niceness Limit.”
I finally glanced up from my phone and managed a sheepish grin. "Is it that obvious?"
He laughed and waved me off. "Go do your lesbian thing. Be free. I’ve got to meet my dad right now anyway.”
My nose wrinkled at the very mention of Dick Crawford. Jeffrey gave me a look, and I mimed zipping my lips.
Another six emails popped up in place of the three I had just replied to, and I sighed. Yes, that was definitely a headache started to pulse behind my eyes. “I’ve got to unwind. It is still my day off, technically.”
“And how are you going to do that?” he asked with just a hint of amusement in his voice.
I tapped the driver on the shoulder and gave him a familiar address. I stuffed my phone in my purse and grabbed my pink lipstick, then reapplied it in the tilt of the rearview mirror with a smile.
“Oh, I’ll think of something.”
The Rose was a swanky affair in the better part of West Hollywood. For all the lesbian bars I’d visited since I divorced Jeffrey and came out five years ago, The Rose was the most exclusive—and most expensive—of them all. It was only by chance and a well-placed business card from an old friend that I had even heard about it in the first place.
Walking inside was like stepping into a time capsule. The decor dripped old Hollywood glamour with plush, high-backed chairs, mahogany accents, and thick glass walls overlooking the more scenic parts of the gayborhood.
The Rose was beautiful, yes, but more importantly it was discreet. It had to be given the clientele. All well-off women, most with faces at home on billboards and spread over puff pieces in glossy magazines. Being a political put me on the lower rung of the club’s social ladder, but that hadn’t dampened my ability to mingle with the best of them. And oh, did I mingle. I was both proud and slightly ashamed to say that after two years of frequenting this particular high-class watering hole, I could hardly drop by the bar without running into someone I’d fucked.
Which made the new face trying to blend into the vintage wallpaper stand out all the more.
Even with her sitting, I could tell she was tall. Wide shoulders that were taut up under the charcoal fabric of her suit jacket. Dark dreads pulled away from her face made her look younger, leaner—a baby-faced butch. I was sure I’d never seen her here before, but she looked familiar, though I couldn’t place how. Long fingers fiddled with a glass of fizzy soda in front of her nervously. Her fish-out-of-water aura reminded me of myself when I first stepped foot into the club, and sympathy panged in my chest.
So I put on my best welcome smile and walked right over.
“Hello,” I said as I walked up to the table. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. First time?”
She grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of her neck. “Ah, is it obvious?”
“Very. Mind if I sit?”
She shrugged and gestured to the empty seat across from her. I sat down and folded my arms folded across the table so that I was leaning into her space as much as possible with the table between us. She still looked nervous, but now also intrigued. I flashed her my paparazzi smile, the one that signaled I was friendly and approachable.
"I'm Gwendolyn, but you can call me Gwen.”
She held out her hand. "Jacklyn. Everybody calls me Jackie."
I raised my eyebrow at the gesture, so out of place for where we were, but took the offered hand with a firm shake. Jackie's fingers were long and slender, and her grip strong. Oh, not bad at all. I let my hand linger before letting go.
"You look familiar," I said. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
She snorted. "Is that a pickup line?"
“It sure could be. But really, have I seen you before?"
She shifted in her seat and briefly dropped her gaze to her drink before answering. "I . . . played some ball. Professionally."
"WNBA?"
"Mm-hmm."
Suddenly everything clicked.
"San Francisco Sonics, right? 2014 finals champions?”
Her mouth twisted in a quick, bittersweet smile. "Yep, that's me."
Judging by the way she hunched her shoulders even further, it wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss. That was fine with me. I had my own secrets I preferred be left well enough alone.
Time to change the subject. I gave a put-upon sigh and tilted my head. “I have to say, I'm a little sad you don't recognize me. I guess it's true that nobody gives a damn about politics."
That didn’t surprise me; very few people followed California state politics outside of a presidential election year. Even fewer people cared about a former congresswoman, and even fewer still a current congressman's ex-wife.
Jackie studied my face before giving up with a shrug, her smile sheepish and unsure. "I'm sorry, uh. I don’t . . . ”
"Would it help if I said my last name is Crawford?" I smirked, knowing it wouldn't.
She laughed helplessly. "I can't say that it would."
I leaned back in my chair and traced my fingers around the rim of my glass. "Do you know Congressman Crawford? The Democrat senator for the thirty-fifth district? That’s my ex-husband. I’m managing his campaign."
As expected, Jackie's jaw dropped into a startled O. I could see the gears beginning to turn in that too cute—too young—ponytailed head. As much as I liked to pretend that I was an immovable object combined with an unstoppable force, a familiar nervousness settled over me as I waited for her reaction.
Really, I always preferred to get things out in the open as quickly as possible in situations like these. To just rip off the bandage and deal with what was bleeding beneath. Often, though, it didn’t turn out in my favor. Too many women focused on the ex-husband part. So many times I’d thought of leaving it out completely, but it made me feel dishonest. Cowardly, almost. Not to mention with everything about everyone being only a couple of keystrokes away on the internet, I’d rather not be accused of catching people by surprise even if they weren't owed knowing that part of my life.
“Does he . . . ” She licked her lips nervously, darting her eyes this way and that before settling back on me. “Does he know you’re here?”
“Yes. Not that it’s any of his business, however.”
“Does he—”
I held up a hand to stop her.
“I would like to repeat: ex-husband. He’s like my best friend. We have an understanding. Politics is . . . complicated, even on the relatively smaller stakes we flirt with here in L.A. As progressive as the world has gotten this past decade, they’re not progressive enough for the right-wing electorate to forgive a senator for ‘letting’ his lesbian wife turn him into a dirty Democrat.”
There was more to the story, but I kept my lips sealed. At least until I could figure out what kind of person Jackie was. Being blunt was one thing; being stupid was another.
As if reading my mind, Jackie tilted her head with a smile. “Oh, I’d love to hear the story behind that.”
I smirked. One Wiki summary of my tenure, coming right up.
“Got elected to the twenty-ninth district on the Democratic ticket back in 2010. I was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed back then. Really thought I could make a difference, you know? Grassroots stuff.” I chuckled like I always did remembering my own naïveté. “Made a few headlines, since he was a Republican at the timet. They really ran the whole Romeo and Juliet shtick into the ground at the time. That’s the twenty-four-hour news cycle for you.”
“When did you tell your ex you were a lesbian?” she asked, bushy brows knitted as she frowned. Cute.
“When I came to terms with it back in 2012. He wasn’t surprised, at least. We both agreed that it was too big a bombshell to drop publicly, especially when I was considering running again. When I dropped that in favor of becoming his campaign manager, keeping it a secret was moot. Everything’s out in the open now, for the most part.”
Jackie nodded slowly, obviously still trying to understand the nuance of it all. The lost, slightly confused wrinkle in her forehead was almost cute. The woman couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five; there was a certain greenness to her, highlighted by her wide, uncertain stare.
Eventually she looked me in the eye and gave a short, definitive nod. “Okay. I figure it’s none of my business anyway, if you’re not hurting anyone. ”
“Ah, but it wouldn’t be your business if I was hurting anyone, either,” I couldn’t help but point out with a coy wink. “But I appreciate the sentiment. That said . . . ”
I leaned in and folded my arms on the table, wine glass placed next to the glass of Sprite Jackie had been nursing on the table. She mirrored me and leaned in curiously, her head tilted to the side. This close, I could smell the slightest hint of a surprisingly sweet perfume.
I pitched my voice low. "This club has an understanding of the delicacy we all need to be handled with. I trust you understand that?"
“Of course,” Jackie said, surprise and defensiveness in her voice. “I mean, we all have secrets, don’t we?”
Satisfied, I grabbed my glass and leaned back in my chair. “And what would those secrets be?”
This time it was Jackie’s turn to act coy. “Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”
I raised an eyebrow as my lips twitched. Ah, so the kitten had claws after all. I could work with that. I could definitely work with that.
“Come on, I’m over here giving you a TED Talk all about Gwendolyn Crawford. Doesn’t that at least warrant a… CliffsNotes version of Jacklyn Dunn?”
The more we talked, the more hidden depths were slowly revealed as we peeled back Jackie’s shy surface. She had been a point guard by ability, a center by necessity, and a secret lover of golf. She had been single for a while and, like me, had heard of The Rose through a friend and former member who gave her a card when she moved from California to Kansas.
She shrugged and grabbed her can. “To be honest with you, I wasn’t even sure I was going to come here until my best friend all but pushed me out of the house today.”
“If you like expensive shit and free-flowing drinks, you’ll love it here.” I lifted my own glass for emphasis.
She scanned the room and shifted in her seat. “Not so much so much on those, no.”
“It’s not just the bar. We’ve got screening rooms, massage stations, and that pool in the back is worth more than my house.”
One of Jackie’s thick eyebrows raised to her hairline. “What’s with this pool? When I came in, the hostess and the bartender and some wasted chick I’m pretty sure I saw in a movie once told me to check it out before I leave.”
I bit back a grin. “Well, it certainly comes highly recommended.”
She ran a long finger throug
h the condensation on her can. I tracked the movement with a silent intensity.
“You know, they serve alcohol here, right? Got a license and everything,” I said with a tilt of my chin toward her soda. “I didn’t even think we had soft drinks.”
She looked sheepish. “When I was playing ball, we weren’t allowed to have soda. I’m making up for lost time. “
Amused, I raised my glass. “Well, treat yourself, then.”
Her eyes were bright as she raked them up my frame. I felt that telltale tingle up my spine and straightened up a bit.
“You know what?” she said. “I just might.”
As we chatted over our respective vices the conversation seamlessly took on a more flirtatious tone. The more we talked, the more Jackie appeared to come out of her shell. She was funny, more than a little snarky, and hid her laughter behind long, slender fingers.
“Well, if you think being a congresswoman is so boring, I challenge you to answer angry calls from constituents who don’t know why they’re angry. One time a woman accused me of being the reason California Pizza Kitchen has so few seating options.”
She barked a laugh. “Okay, I’ll give you that, that sounds insane. The craziest thing a fan’s ever done to me was steal my basketball shorts out of my locker.”
My eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
“God, I wish I was. Imagine the look on my face when I went to hit the showers during halftime and came face-to-face with a shitfaced sorority girl trying to stuff my shorts in her handbag. I think she was pledging or something, I don’t know. All I know is that day I learned just how quickly you can run, drunk, in stilettos, through a crowd of stunned basketball players.”
An actual belly laugh welled up in me. Jackie beamed and laughed too, eyes bright.
My phone vibrating momentarily distracted me from tracing the curve of Jackie’s grin with my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to change it to silent, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I did have a job to do even though it was my day off. All it took was hitting the snooze button for another fire to start.
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