Sweet Emotion: East Coast Sugar Daddies: Book 1

by Bates, Austin

  “It’s still early out, so it shouldn’t be too hot, yet. Enjoy yourself out there, Mr. Carr. For both of us.”

  “Thank you, Juliet.”

  I wheeled past her and took the elevator again, down to the parking garage. The air was musty and dry, with a faint smell of damp that seemed to be a constant presence in underground areas. Warm orange lights lined the ceiling over the road, casting the narrow shadows of vehicles up the wall at drastic angles. I followed the walkway to my van, parked down at the far end in a secluded area where no other cars were allowed to be. That was partly because I was the boss, but also because my adapted van required enough space to drop a ramp.

  I brought my keys out from my pocket and unlocked the van, the headlight flashed like lightning, illuminating every inch of my parking area. Shadows fizzled out, then leaped back into existence. All that was missing was the roar of thunder, although I supposed a rumbling engine would have to suffice for that.

  The door of the van rolled open along its side, as per usual. There was a ramp along the length of the floor, light but strong. I flipped it over and let it hit the ground, then pushed myself up and inside. There was plenty of room to maneuver inside and I had no trouble pulling the ramp back in. I shut the door and then moved myself into the driver’s spot, flipping a few latches to lock the chair into place.

  The process took less than a minute from start to finish. Someday, I hoped vehicles like this would be more widely available, and even more adaptable. The entire front row of the van was wheelchair-accessible, meaning there was no passenger seat; anyone else had to sit in the back. It wasn’t trouble for me, since I never had any passengers, but I also knew my needs did not equal the needs everyone else had.

  Why didn’t more people understand that?

  Why did we have to create these boxes, these labeled sectors that everyone had to fit into? When had things become so black and white?

  I shook my head, trying to get rid of those moody thoughts. Handicapped individuals had searched for the answers to those questions for centuries. There was not ever going to be a satisfying conclusion. We had to do what we could to live in this world that allotted so little room for us.

  What I could do right now was make a difference. Not in the minds of my board members, no, but in the minds of others who might not have such a clear perspective as I did.

  Using my hand controls, I drove out of the garage and through the city until I reached the rec center where I spent much of my free time. It could be difficult to have wheelchair-bound kids see exercise as something positive, when most of what they were daily exposed to consisted of grueling stretches and physical therapy activities. I organized sports tournaments year-round here, using the specialized gym Limitless Foundation had funded a few years back. It got the kids moving, laughing, and taught them social skills they might not otherwise develop while sitting in their hospital rooms -or while oppressed under the well-meaning protection of their parents. It let them play.

  It let them be kids.

  I rolled through the center, exchanging greetings with everyone I passed, whether I knew them or not. Nearly everyone responded in kind, from the shy-looking girl waiting for her piano lesson, to the group of old women gossiping about knitting trends. The atmosphere was companionable and light, motivational quotes covering the walls, with scatterings of photographs of groups and awards they had won. A trophy case by the back hallway demonstrated prideful wins, effortful third place medals, and a large array of participation awards showing appreciation for various attributes. It was a museum of attempts, some successful, some not. I liked to show newer, shyer kids that trophy case. It let them know that all effort was rewarded here.

  Looking a bit crowded, I thought, looking at the case as I went by. I should donate another one.

  I wasn’t directly affiliated with the center. In fact, no one here even knew who I was. Everything I had donated either came directly from the foundation, or was anonymous.

  I liked it that way. Here, I wasn’t Mr. Carr. I wasn’t the boss, the CEO. I was…

  “Harry!”

  I turned into the locker room where a small group of boys were changing into jerseys and swapping into sports wheelchairs with the help of their parents. One of them wheeled over to me, shouting my name. He braked too late and knocked his front wheel against mine.

  “Timothy!” his mother scolded, racing after him and grabbing his hand. “Slow down!”

  I laughed, and all my stress melted away in an instant. I slipped into my element like a seal gliding into the ocean, my heartbeat slowing and my good mood returning. I lifted my head and smiled at Timothy’s mother. “He’s fine. Just excited. We all are, aren’t we?”

  Everyone in the room agreed, quiet and withdrawn children suddenly bursting into happy shouts of assent. The newer parents looked startled at this drastic change, and I saw quite a few sidelong glances exchanged as the realization struck them that this was one of the best things they could ever do for their kids.

  I quickly changed into my own jersey and chair, and then joined the kids as we all headed out into the gym. If you couldn’t or shouldn’t walk, but could catch a ball, you could sign up and rent a sports chair to participate in the game regardless of any other factors. If you were 10 or a teen, it didn’t matter. If you were an adult, it didn’t matter. If you came in to watch from the bleachers, but decided you wanted to participate, it didn’t matter. Teams could be adjusted, the tournament roster switched accordingly. The only thing that couldn’t be mended was disappointment.

  The other team rolled in and we all met in the middle and exchanged greetings and teasing taunts. Then, the referee came over, and everyone put on their game faces.

  Except for me.

  I was too busy looking at the ref. He was a young man, very fit and slender. The striped referee shirt, pulled from the storage room, was a little on the small side, pulling flat against his body with every powerful stride, outlining the curves of his muscles. Heat stirred in my stomach, a rare feeling for me, and I found that I couldn’t look away from him. My hands no longer felt like they belonged to me, limp in my lap.

  He had the most intriguing pair of amber eyes I had ever seen, shining bright underneath inquisitive, arched eyebrows. His jawline was soft, yet defined, marked with a scattering of thin, scruffy beard hairs.

  Waving his hand, tendons standing out against his wrist, the handsome referee gestured for us to get into position. Our two teams separated and took our places on either side of the center. I ended up in the middle, as always, facing down a gangly teen with bright eyes and a mischievous grin.

  The ref held up the ball and prepared for the toss.

  I watched the way his referee shirt lifted, revealing a glimpse of soft skin over hard abs, and felt that same stirring of warmth in my stomach again. My mouth went dry.

  A round orange blur blazed past my head, the teenager taking advantage of my distraction. His teammates swooped in, taking control of the ball, weaving deftly across the court towards our basket.

  I wrenched my gaze away from the ref and hurried to follow, arriving just in time to get a good view as the opposing team scored a basket.

  One of the teens on my own team drifted up beside me, laughing. “Were you asleep?”

  I snorted and waved my hand at him. “I’m letting them get a bit of an early lead. Wouldn’t be a challenge otherwise.”

  The teen laughed and ducked back into the game. I followed, throwing myself into the action as our two formidable armies battled for control of the court. With so much open space around us, our movements unrestricted, we were all far more dexterous than the average person. The ball glided between us, intercepted from one team and then back again. Finally, I grabbed a pass out of the air and took it back across the court. Two defenders closed in. I passed the ball and moved into a better position. I held up my hands and the ball smacked satisfyingly against my palms. The defenders switched direction, came barreling back towards me.

>   Very aware of the ref, wanting so desperately to impress him for a reason I couldn’t understand, I took a deep breath and lined up the shot. Time slowed down. An arm swung in my way. I readjusted my aim and threw. The ball arched up into the air, over our heads, and struck the rim of the basket. It bounced up, knocked the backboard, and fell through the basket with a distinctive swish.

  Three-pointer.

  The kids on my team shouted out happily and crowded around me. I accepted a number of high fives, including several from the opponents. The teen who had teased me before came up and gave me an affectionate tap on the shoulder with his fist. “Nice!” he crowed.

  I grinned. “I still got it.”

  The teen moved on and I was about to follow when, through a gap in the swarm of kids, I saw the ref watching me. He gave me a thumbs-up and smiled.

  Heat rose to my cheeks. I turned away and dove back into the game, hoping the flush of exertion would disguise my blush.

  I hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Fluttery, the eponymous butterflies stirring in my stomach. Each time the ref looked at me, I felt the touch of his eyes like a caress on the back of my neck. The sensation was strange, maddeningly nice, almost like foreplay.

  As if he would ever be interested in someone like me.

  2

  Kade

  Wheels of Hope was one of the most unofficial tournaments I’d ever officiated for, and it was also one of the most fun. Everyone on the court was clearly having a blast, throwing their everything into the game like there was no tomorrow. I, and one other referee, my friend Sterling, kept watch over the process and called out fouls and who went out-of-bounds. Unlike other games, no one argued or pouted or threw a fit at any of the calls we made.

  There was just… fun.

  I looked over at Sterling as he blew his whistle and called a foul, letting the wheelchair-bound alpha get in two free-throws, both of which he scored effortlessly. It was thanks to Sterling I was here at all, at my very first wheelchair game. He’d invited me, saying there was an opening and he’d be lonely without someone else out there with him. I had accepted because I was curious.

  I’d do this again, without a doubt.

  I had never experienced anything like this before. Utter joy showed on every player’s face, the overhead lights shining on their wide, happy eyes. They moved in ways I had never thought possible for seated players, so nimble and swift it was difficult to think of them as being handicapped. Especially that alpha. Looking at him made me feel a little bad, to know such a prime, handsome example of a man had to use a special device to get around, but he didn’t look as if he felt bad. He didn’t even look as if he was using anything special at all. His movements were as natural as walking, his muscles flexing with every skillful shot he took. He owned the court, made every single basket, intercepted the ball every time it came his way.

  But it was also clear that his display of mobility wasn’t even close to the limit of what he could do. He was visibly hanging back. Throwing himself into the thick of things, absolutely, but often passing the ball to the kids to let them take a shot he could have easily made himself. He clearly wanted them to have fun without feeling overpowered by an adult; at the same time, the kids went out of their way to include him. There seemed to be two games going on at once. One between the teams, and one between the alpha and the kids.

  Whoever he was, he was intriguing as hell. Not bad on the eyes, either.

  I wish I’d gotten a better look at him when he was right in front of me earlier.

  The game broke up for half-time. The players mingled briefly on the court before going to their separate sides for a quick, healthy snack and a drink. I needed a break too, to catch my breath after all that whistle-blowing.

  I grabbed my water bottle from my bag on the bleachers and twisted the cap off. Tilting my head back, I splashed some on my face and gasped in delight at the cool moisture. I rubbed my face on the towel I also kept in my bag. Being a kid, you never noticed how musty and humid a gym could feel, covering your face and exposed limbs in a thin layer of grimy sweat. Yuck.

  I took a drink from the bottle, the gym warped by plastic and water, smears of bright color and drifting shapes. I swallowed until I couldn’t breathe and then surfaced, gasping.

  “It’s a workout, isn’t it?”

  I dropped the water bottle, my fingers going limp and weak from surprise. The handsome older alpha I’d been paying special attention to had rolled up beside me while I drank.

  Quicker than I could believe, yet as casually as if he was reaching for a TV remote, the alpha caught my plummeting bottle. The sudden stop made the water slosh, droplets propelling up over the rim. He raised an eyebrow, looking at me.

  A wave of nerves plowed into me, like a fist slamming into my stomach. My thoughts finally caught up with what had happened and I closed my fingers around empty air, trying way too late to grab onto the bottle I’d dropped. Heat raced up the back of my neck. I pushed my hand up through my hair, trying to make it look natural even though I was so incredibly aware that I had made a fool of myself.

  The alpha offered my bottle. “I think you dropped this.” His eyes glittered with amusement. The irises were deep blue with a hint of green, the color intense. He might have been looking right through me in that moment, able to see every part of me. Every scattered thought, every embarrassed twitch.

  “Th-thanks,” I stammered. I grabbed for the bottle, my fingers skimming over his. His hands were rough and large, lined with age and hard work. I moved my fingers into the gaps between his, my breath hitching in my throat. He was so warm, practically burning, the slight contact between us enough to make me feel suddenly overheated. Warmth kindled deep in the pit of my stomach, spreading out through my veins like a wildfire tearing across a forest. My heart pounded.

  I moved my eyes up slowly, dragging my gaze up from his strong hands to his powerful wrists, marked with traceries of protruding blue veins. His arms were muscular and well-defined, bared all the way up to his broad shoulders, which the jersey did very little to conceal. His chest was slick, glistening with sweat, an indicator of how much of himself he had really put into the game. His hair, wild and dark gray, haloed the top of his head like rays of moonlight from behind an eclipse.

  I let my gaze wander back down, examining every detail of his face, not even caring anymore that he was looking back at me and completely aware of my examination. His nose was aquiline, his jawline strong and his chin powerful, covered in a layer of stubble. I wouldn’t have been surprised to know he was someone of importance, a company manager or maybe a financial advisor. He had that look about him, a sort of refined air which remained despite exercise having rendered him slightly disheveled.

  “Like what you see?” he asked. A small smile curved on his lips, laugh-lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

  I ducked my head down and pulled my water bottle out of his hand; he seemed reluctant to let go, or maybe he was reluctant to let me go. “You’re amazing out there. How long have you been playing basketball?”

  His smile grew wider, and the warmth inside me turned hotter. I could hardly believe how attracted I was to this stranger. At the same time, I knew exactly why that was. He was almost twice as old as me, but age had served to accentuate his best features. I would be hard-pressed to find any alpha my own age so clearly at ease in his own skin. His confidence was attractive as hell

  “I can’t say I got into it much before my chair,” he said. “Not tall enough. That doesn’t matter now, though.”

  I nodded in understanding. My heart went out to him again, sympathy melding uneasily with my attraction. He clearly didn’t need anyone feeling bad for him. He was more than impressive enough as he was. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you’re short.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t care. I have other attributes to make up for it.”

  My heartbeat quickened again. I leaned forward a little, my mouth dry, my ears ringing. I knew exactly wh
at he meant. And he knew I knew, although I could hardly believe it. He must have a husband. No one would be dumb enough to pass on a chance with him. Why was he over here flirting with me?

  I didn’t want him to stop, though. All my life, I was given opportunities. I took chances when they came and had never said no to anything. I wasn’t about to start now, especially when the “anything” was a hot guy looking up and down my body like I was a buffet. He must have liked what he saw too. We were close enough for me to hear his breathing deepen, the slight excited tremor in each exhale.

  I opened my mouth, to say something about his “attributes,” to ask him if he wanted to meet me in the shower room later for some fun, anything at all to get more time with him.

  “Hey, Kade!”

  I snapped my mouth closed and moved back from the alpha a little faster than I meant to, almost lunging away from him. He smiled and mouthed, “See you around,” and turned with an expert press on his wheels. Before I had a chance to say anything at all, he was back over on his side of the court with his teammates swarming around him. He accepted a soda and popped the tab, tossed his head back and drank deeply. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each long swallow.

  “Kade!”

  Sterling waved at me from the back of the gym, gesturing for me to come over. Frustration mounting inside me, I jogged over to him. The clock overhead counted down the precious few minutes remaining during the break.

  “What?” I demanded.

  Sterling grinned at me from underneath a mop of messy brown curls. He had splashed his face too, droplets of water clinging to his hair and chin. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, smirking. “It looked like you two were getting pretty cozy over there.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and shuffled my feet. “He started it.”

  “Hey, I’m not blaming you. He’s pretty hot. And he’s so good with the kids.” Sterling shook his head, his cheeks turning pink. In the few years since I’d known him, I had never seen him blush before. “He’s always here organizing these games. I’ve never had the chance to go up and talk to him myself, though.”