Sugar Love

by Callie Bardot

  Effie’s eyes darted around her room, searching for something she could use as a weapon. Her mind galloped in a kaleidoscope of fragmented thoughts, none of which were particularly helpful. Stupid things like, Well, this will get the biggest media coverage yet, and Oh, God, I’m going to die, competed for air time.

  “I didn’t even know you existed, Trisha, I swear.” Nothing helpful appeared in her line of sight except a big, fat, hard-copy medical text on her desk, next to her phone, a few feet to her right. She took a step toward it.

  “Don’t move, bitch,” Trisha said, waving the gun.

  Effie froze. Cold sweat beaded on her face and neck. This is just like talking to my mom, but ten times worse. “And Zander and I aren’t a thing. In a couple of weeks, I’ll never see him again and I definitely won’t contact him.”

  Trisha’s expression softened. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. It says so in the contract I signed.”

  The soft expression disappeared, replaced by a look of utter, lip-curled contempt. Her grip tightened on the pistol. “A contract. Bah! He had me sign a contract, too. But, that didn’t keep me away, did it?”

  Effie’s eyebrows bunched together. “What kind of contract? Were you a sugar baby, too?”

  A cold laugh burst from Trisha’s mouth. “Honey, he could never afford me. You do know what I do for a living, right? I’m the top model in the world.”

  Effie’s limbs began to shake. What do I do when my mom starts talking insanity-speak? I keep her talking until she loses steam. “So, what kind of contract then?” She took another step toward the desk.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Trisha clutched the gun in a two-handed grip. She waved it back and forth.

  Effie’s breathing stuttered, shallow and frenetic. Remember what Zander taught me. Something about as long as you have another breath you can find a solution…or, something like that. She took a long, calming breath. “I need to sit down. You’re scaring me.”

  Trisha took a step forward. “You’re not very bright, are you? Don’t you think that’s the point of me showing up at your dorm wielding a gun?”

  Effie arched away. That fucking gun was way too close. “So, what kind of contract did you sign?” she said, trying to distract Zander’s lunatic ex. The trembling in her arms and legs increased. She forced air in and out of her lungs, getting her limbs to calm.

  “Didn’t he tell you? That boy’s obsessed with me. He can’t stay away. He had me sign a no-contact policy. But we both know it was a flimsy way for him to try to get over me.”

  “I thought you pushed him away. You didn’t want a cripple for a boyfriend.” Effie inched to the right.

  “Yeah. There’s that.” Trisha’s expression faltered, as if she forgot about his injury.

  Effie seized the book and swung it, hitting Trisha’s shoulder.

  The gun went off, clipping Effie’s wrist.

  She screamed and swung again, connecting with Trisha’s chest. Blood dripped along her hand.

  “You bitch!” Trisha yelled. She shot again, nicking the side of Effie’s head.

  Panic soared through Effie. She took another wild swing, and the book clocked Trisha in the head with a dull thud.

  Trisha shook her head and dropped the gun. She lunged for Effie, her hands like claws ready to seize Effie’s throat.

  Effie darted out of the way. She gripped the book with both hands and swung hard, slamming the textbook against Trisha’s face.

  Trisha fell backward. Her eyes closed. She didn’t move. Blood spurted from her nose.

  Effie’s door exploded open. A guy she didn’t recognize, another student, no doubt, burst into the room. “Hey! What’s going on? I heard a gunshot,” he said, glancing all around.

  “Call 911. Get someone over here.” Effie, wild with fear, threw the book across the room.

  He yanked his phone from his pants pocket and stabbed in the numbers. “Get to Elliot Hall at Pacific Institute of Medicine. There’s been a shooting. Yes, there are injuries. Two women. One’s unconscious.” He put his hand over the phone and said, “Is she breathing?”

  Effie nodded.

  “Yes, she’s alive. Breathing. Room forty-six. Third floor. Mike Peterson. My name’s Mike Peterson.” When he disconnected, he raced to Effie’s side.

  “What happened?”

  “This woman…” Effie pointed at Trisha. The shaking started all over again. “She tried to kill me.”

  It took what seemed to be a lifetime for the cops to arrive. But, then, the next hour or so proceeded in a blur.

  Two burly, blue-clad police officers lumbered into her room. They eyed Trisha’s unconscious form, secured the gun, then, radioed and told the medics it was safe to enter.

  The medics strode into the room, medical bags in hand. One of them tended to Trisha, as she emerged from unconsciousness.

  The other, a young male with warm brown eyes reminding her of Zander, checked Effie from her head to her toes.

  Meanwhile, the cops asked Effie all sorts of questions about what happened.

  The ambulance drivers arrived next, pushing a gurney.

  Trisha was checked for vital signs, lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled from the room.

  The brown-eyed medic caring for Effie insisted she head to the hospital, saying, “Just a precaution. Your wounds look superficial, but we’d like to you to get checked out by a medical professional.”

  Reluctantly, she made her way outside.

  A crowd of onlookers watched as she was led to the ambulance. Phones were trained on her and flashes went off like tiny fireworks.

  Oh, great. More media attention. What will they say about me this time?

  She clambered into the back of the ambulance, eager to get out of the spotlight, and submitted to more blood pressure tests, pulse oximeter readings, eye scans and more, from her perch on the gurney.

  Along the way her mother called. “We’re almost there. Should we park at your dorm?” her mom said.

  “No. Meet me at…” She held the phone away from her ear and asked the medic, “Which hospital are you taking me to?”

  “Seattle General,” the brown-eyed medic said.

  “The hospital?” her mom shrieked. “What’s going on? What happened?”

  “I got involved in an incident. I’m okay,” Effie said.

  “Are you sure? What kind of incident?” Mom sounded a step away from hysteria.

  “It’s not that bad. I’ll tell you when you get to the hospital. Seattle General. It’s on…” Again, she removed the phone from her ear. “Address?” she asked the medic.

  “1220 Columbia St, Seattle,” he said.

  Effie conveyed the info. In the back of her mind, she thought, call Zander. But, he was probably swamped in his meeting and she honestly didn’t know what to say to him. Should I start with you fucked your girlfriend’s mother? Really? Or, lead with, your crazy ex tried to kill me. No. Those conversations would have to wait. Too much had happened in a short time.

  Once at the hospital, she became swallowed up in waiting, being tested, and finally being released.

  Her mom and dad waited anxiously in the waiting room when she got checked out. She had a bandage on her wrist, another on her head, but, at this point, she felt numb. She shuffled toward them.

  “Effie!” her mom cried, lunging to her feet. “Are you okay?”

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” her father echoed, slowly rising.

  “Yes, mom, yes, dad, I’m fine.”

  Her mom threw her arm around Effie’s shoulders and ushered her toward the exit.

  “Thank you for driving all this way to pick me up,” Effie said.

  “Are you kidding? Your father called in sick to work. I told him you’d been kicked out of school. Of course we were going to come get you.”

  Effie stopped. “Wait. I forgot my phone. I’ve got to go get it.” She started to say, “Zander might be calling,” but bit her tongue. Her mother wouldn’t want to e
ar anything related to the guy in this week’s scandal—the guy who paid her for sex.

  “No,” Mom said, with a brisk shake of her head. “We’re canceling that account.”

  “But, mom, that’s where people know where to find me,” Effie cried.

  “I’m sorry, dear. It’s our account and we’re closing it. Back me up, here, George.”

  Her dad cleared his throat as he pushed open the exit and held it for Effie. “Your mother and I discussed it on the way over here. You’ve, um…you’ve been a bit irresponsible.”

  “So, now you’re taking away my phone? Do you plan on grounding me, too? I’m twenty-two for Christ’s sake.”

  “Dear, watch your language. This isn’t up for discussion. We’re taking you home, where you’ll be safe.” Her mom’s mouth pursed in a prim rosebud.

  They urged her toward their beat-up green sedan.

  Effie’s panicked thoughts clattered about in her head. I’ve got to reach Zander. I’ve got to make sure he knows I’m okay. He’s going to read about this. But, then, the terms of the contract loomed in her head. No contact. I suppose it may as well start now.

  Chapter 44

  Zander

  “You know there’s a climbing competition up in Bellingham, today,” Mia told Zander from the door to his office.

  “Excuse me?” he said looking up from his melancholy brooding, staring at nothing. He twirled the glass of water on his desk. Thanks to a heaping dose of therapy, and a supportive men’s group, he’d given up excessive drinking. He never drank at work anymore and only enjoyed a glass or two of alcohol on occasion at dinner. Often, days could go by without him drinking anything but water or juice, just like when he used to compete.

  “Climbing competition,” Mia repeated. “Up in Bellingham. I know you’ve been training at Rock Nirvana again. I’ve been keeping my ears open for climbing competitions for you. I thought you might like to check out the competition.” She leaned against the door jam. Her apricot silk dress swept along her curves.

  “I don’t know. Why would I want to see others compete? I’m not ever going to do that again. I just like to work out on the wall.” He glanced out the window at the clear, winter sky.

  Sunlight danced like diamonds across the water far below.

  “Uh huh. Well…it would be good for you to step out of the office. All you do is work.” Mia flashed him a slight smile. “When you’re not testifying against Ms. Banks.”

  She sidled through the door, standing near the sofa.

  “That was such a smart move to hide the gun. That’s been a key piece of evidence in clearing your name. What made you do that? Hide the gun, I mean?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I’m just glad I did.” He glanced up at her, appreciating her svelte figure and well-dressed appearance—but, like a brother, and nothing more. He liked the way she dressed. But, Mia could wear a bag and look great. “You can come closer, you know. I stopped biting people months ago.” He forced his lips into a sort of smile.

  “I know I can. I’m keeping an ear tuned to my desk in case the phone rings. I’m waiting for a call from our North Carolina harness company.”

  “I see,” Zander said.

  “It’s too bad about Kent,” Mia said, folding her arms. “I had no idea he wanted to take over the company.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Neither did I.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I thought he was a friend. I never thought he’d betray me like that. Motherfucker broke my heart. But, not as bad as Effie did. She followed the contract to the letter. She even wrote me a check for most of the money, with a note saying she’ll pay the rest back someday. And, she sent back every article of clothing and jewelry I purchased for her. Ouch.” He scoffed.

  “You should never have worded the contract that way,” Mia scolded. “Love can come from anywhere. How do you know she doesn’t miss you, too?”

  “I know nothing,” Zander said. “And it does me no good to speculate. I tried to find where she went. She just disappeared. I’m only glad that Trisha’s going down and she can’t go after Effie again. The bitch managed to get herself parked in house arrest until the verdict and sentencing, but, that’s what the rich do, isn’t it? They bribe, and they manipulate.” He hefted the glass and took a gulp of water. “With any luck, she’ll end up in Lovelock Correctional Center, following in the footsteps of OJ Simpson.”

  “You’re not like that, at least,” Mia said. “You’re one of the good guys.”

  “Want to bet? I tried my hardest to get Marta to turn on Kent, but she’s as fucked up as her daughter. It’s all about image, image, image with those two.” He drained the water from his glass. “Anyway…thanks for the info but I think I’ll pass.”

  “Come on, Zander. What could it hurt? It’s a gorgeous late winter day, the skies are clear…and you deserve a break.”

  He thought for a minute, cocking his head to the side. He had been working a lot, when he wasn’t working out. He rarely socialized. What would be the harm of driving up to Bellingham? It might improve his mood.

  “You know what? I changed my mind. I’ll go.”

  Mia blew out a sigh. “Good. I’ll shoot you the details. It starts soon but you should catch the good stuff. Maybe you’ll meet someone.” She winked and twirled to dash away.

  Fat chance of that. His heart had been shredded by losing Effie. And Mia was right. Maybe he’d meet someone. Only thing is, that person would always compete with Effie.

  He shoved that thought away and prepared to head north.

  A couple of hours later, he stood at the Rock Logick climbing gym, scoping out the climbers.

  He eyed a pretty blonde woman warming up on the side-wall.

  The blonde’s score wasn’t that good—an eighty-two had flashed on the reader board when the next round of competitors had been announced. The final event—the timed climb—would send her higher to place or drop her into the bye-bye zone.

  Her movements weren’t as precise as Effie’s. She didn’t possess the same grace. But, if she wanted to bang him, he’d be down with it. He may as well get out there again, playing the field, doing something besides spanking his own dick every night, lost in fantasies of Effie.

  Standing in the front of the crowd of onlookers, clinging to the railing on the viewing platform, he glanced back at the blonde, who now waited in place for the speed climb.

  Her competitor was a lithe, sable-haired woman, wearing a determined expression.

  Ropes were affixed to their harnesses, the bell rang, and then they were off.

  Sable-hair scrambled ahead.

  The blonde slipped and lost any chance of placing in the competition. A disgusted, lip-curled look marred her features as she let herself be lowered to the padded floor. She looked up at the crowd and her gaze caught Zander’s. She maintained eye contact for a few seconds.

  A surge of excitement sparked in Zander. Is she interested? She looks interested. Maybe she’s interested.

  As she exited the climbing area, she slowed, letting her slim hips roll seductively.

  Zander knew he had a fish on the line. He studied her and licked his lips. But, in truth, nothing about her appealed. Her edges seemed sharper than Effie’s. Her severely made-up eyebrows looked like battle symbols. And, hell, she simply wasn’t Effie. He turned his attention back to the competition, doing his version of a catch and release maneuver.

  His heart began to jackhammer when the next contestant came into view.

  Effie.

  Desire flamed through his veins like a fire-tornado, scorching away the last six months.

  As the announcer yammered on about the contestants, she pushed through the crowd with a puppy dog of a guy at her heels. They were laughing, and the puppy dog dick-head patted her on the back, over and over, like a submissive mutt licking its master.

  Jealousy made a sudden, sickening surge through his belly. Effie’s moved on? I’m the idiot hanging on, and she’s already found someone? And, I’ve been r
eplaced by that guy? The room began to spin. His fingers clutched the railing.

  Puppy-boy patted her some more on the back, said something that seemed encouraging, and backed away.

  Effie’s competitor—an apple-cheeked woman with brown-sugar colored hair—stepped into position. She nodded at Effie, and then let the Rock Logick team affix the rope to her harness.

  Once they both stood before the wall, secured to ropes, the bell rang. They began their climb.

  Zander got lost in watching Effie.

  Her grace on the wall had only increased. She scrambled up the holds, neck-and-neck with Brown Sugar.

  Brown Sugar inched ahead, tapping the bell at the top milliseconds before Effie.

  Their scores flashed on the reader-board, along with the other contestants.

  Brown Sugar had a ninety-seven and placed first. Another gal placed second. And his Effie— his ex, Effie—had placed third.

  Zander couldn’t help but feel proud.

  Both women were lowered to the ground.

  Puppy-boy raced toward Effie and resumed his stupid patting.

  Zander’s vision turned red. He whirled and shoved his way through the crowd, needing to get some air. He scrambled down the stairs, hitting the landing and rounding the corner when he nearly collided with the blonde.

  He pulled up short. “Pardon me.”

  “No problem,” she said, a coy smile on her face. She twirled a lock of her long hair around her finger, eyelashes fluttering, pulse racing through the vein in her neck. “I’m Stephanie.” She released her hair and stuck out her hand.

  Without hesitating at revealing his disfigurement—one of the gifts Effie had given him—he stuck out his high-tech hand. “Zander King.”

  She glanced between his face and his hand, then met his eyes.

  He smiled at her.

  She gripped his bio-hand and shook it. “That Zander King? The God of the Wall?”

  A sliver of satisfaction thrummed through his veins. “Also, hashtag Scandal Master, if you read the Tweets from a few months back.”