Sweet Emotion: East Coast Sugar Daddies: Book 1

by Bates, Austin

  I picked up the glass and took a sip, letting the chilled alcohol sit on my tongue for a moment to savor the strong flavor. The heat burst in my stomach, a backwards volcanic eruption, thanks to the vodka in the mix. My eyes closed, the pleasure almost painful. Some of the tension relaxed from my tight shoulders.

  I could do this, get through this. I’d gotten through a whole hell of a lot worse.

  I’ll relax here until I see my date, or until he sees me. By the time he gets here, I will be able to act like myself. Calm. Professional. I wouldn’t want him to think Aaron duped him.

  I worked at my martini steadily over the next ten minutes, sipping, relaxing, keeping an eye on the crowd. Now that I was calmer, people were starting to look a lot more like people and less like jagged-faced ghouls. Most of them were even smiling, enjoying themselves, although they were still much too loud for comfort.

  I had to wonder if this was what it meant to be influential, losing touch of what went on underneath me. How had I gone from being crippled in a hospital bed, to standing taller than many men even without the use of my legs? Had the journey gone as I expected, or were there things I would change if I could?

  Questions too difficult to answer right now. Maybe ever.

  I finished off my martini. My thoughts buzzed softly in my head, a little too light and fast for my liking. Double martini might not have been the best idea after all. I looked around for a waiter to ask for a glass of water, and that was when I caught a glimpse of my date.

  Tousled brown hair, frosted with lavender at the tips from the lighting. His eyes were cast in shadows, his skin smooth and pale, like moonlight. He turned abruptly and I was left looking at his back, watching the subtle sway of his hips as he hurried to the bar and plopped down on a stool. Maybe it was the alcohol in my stomach, or maybe it was the overwhelmed expression I’d seen on his face before he moved away; either way, a sudden urge of protectiveness ignited inside me.

  I should let him know I was here. No doubt he was feeling as nervous about this whole thing as I was.

  A hand touched my shoulder, catching my attention. “Would you like another martini?” A server, a different one from before, gestured to my glass, empty but for the three olives at the bottom.

  “No, thank you. A glass of water would be good. And, do you see that omega over there? The one in the fourth seat from the left?”

  “Yes, I see him.”

  “I want to buy him a drink. He can know it’s from me.”

  The server smiled, her gaze knowing. “What would you like to send him?”

  “What do young men usually like? I haven’t been a young man in years.”

  She laughed. “I’ve never been a young man. I will say we make a mean electric margarita. I’ve never heard of anyone turning their nose up at that before, if you want to play it safe.”

  “Let’s do that, then,” I decided. Safe seemed like a good decision. I had tons of time to make an impression later.

  “I’ll get it to him!”

  I picked up one of my olives and popped it in my mouth while watching the bar. Nothing of note happened for a few minutes and then I caught a glimpse of bright blue in the bartender’s hand. My breath caught in my throat and I leaned over the table to see what happened when my date realized I was already here. Early. Waiting for him, too excited to meet him to stay away.

  A crowd of people passed between us, blocking my view. I tilted to the side and tried to see around them. No luck. I didn’t want to leave the table in case my date came over, so all I could do was sit and wait. By the time the new group found seats, my date was sipping his margarita and nothing else was happening.

  Well, that was disappointing. Does he want me to make more of a move?

  I ate another olive, my stomach suddenly feeling sour from all the alcohol. I hadn’t gotten my water yet. And I should eat something…

  As if my thoughts summoned her, the server from before reappeared with a glass of water in one hand and a plate of something in the other. She set the water down, and then the plate. A circlet of tortilla chips surrounded a pile of seasoned chicken, garnished with wedges of lime.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “It’s from the omega at the bar,” she answered. “Jerk wings.”

  Oh.

  6

  Kade

  I smirked about my little joke, sipping my free margarita. I felt better, lighter, more in the mood for social interaction, so I couldn’t decide whether I wanted the “gentleman at table six” to come back for more or not.

  A hand touched my elbow, startling me. I gripped my drink before I could drop it and turned to see who it was. Sterling, or the gentleman?

  I found myself looking right into the handsome, dignified face of the alpha who had ruled the basketball court so thoroughly and generously. I gasped, the sound smothered by the loud background music. He looked ethereal and otherworldly in this lighting, a princely creature from another realm with silvering hair and gemstone eyes. Desire stirred low in my stomach, tingling arcs of electricity racing through my veins. I couldn’t believe my luck. All this time I was looking for him and he had been the one to find me. The connection I’d felt, the flying sparks at our first encounter, hadn’t been a fluke, nor had I screwed it up.

  “I suppose I deserved that,” the alpha said. “Very funny. I was hoping you would come over to talk with me. I was told you’re quite the conversationalist.”

  Confusion threw a bucket of ice water on the flames of my desire, not quite extinguishing them but certainly doing a lot to quell the blaze. His smile had an unamused quality, like he wasn’t sure if he’d enjoyed my joke or was offended by it.

  “Who told you that?” I asked.

  Very good opening line. Very sharp. Definitely proving him right.

  He pursed his lips. “You did.”

  He had to have seriously low standards if he thought that me bumbling my way through flirting was an indicator of a good conversationalist; although, maybe I should be thankful for that.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” I admitted. “Did you send me this drink?”

  The alpha touched the bridge of his nose, a gesture laden with impatience and exasperation. I couldn’t blame him, since he obviously thought I should know what he was talking about, but I also couldn’t blame myself. I had accepted an invitation from the Limitless Foundation to attend this gala under the understanding I could have a good time. I wasn’t here for anything else that he seemed to expect me to know about.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “No, no. Please.” The alpha lifted his head again. “It’s my fault. I should have made a more direct approach instead of sending you a drink like an anonymous jerk.” He smiled a little and something very tense inside me relaxed to know he recognized what I’d done was a joke. “I apologize for that.”

  He placed his hands on his wheelchair and backed up, turned around, and moved away. I watched, confused, as he made a full circuit of the bar, weaving as neatly between tables as he did through swarms of basketball players, until he was coming around in my direction again. Slowing to a stop in front of me, he held out his hand. “Hello. I’m Harrison. I’d like to buy you a drink and have a conversation with you.”

  I laughed and accepted his hand to shake. His skin was warm, his grip so strong I felt safe. Someone sending me a drink was fine and all, but now I knew that someone was Harrison instead of a random stranger, I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. “Hi, Harrison. I’d love to have a drink. I’ll buy the food. How do you feel about Jamaican jerk?”

  He laughed, still holding my hand in his. His thumb wandered over my knuckles, gentle caresses resonating inside me like strikes of a match, rekindling the flames of desire. “I haven’t ever tried it before.”

  “Neither have I,” I admitted.

  “We’ll discover together, then.” Harrison glanced around the room, sharp gaze roaming up and down. “It’s a bit crowded in here. I know a quieter spot outside.”r />
  “Well, I’m a referee, so I’m used to shouting conversations. But, I’ll make a special allowance for the best basketball player I’ve ever seen.”

  Harrison flashed a pleased grin. “I’ll order us some more drinks. Could you fetch the plate?”

  As I went to get the jerk wings, while laughing a little again at my own joke, I realized I hadn’t told him my name.

  I came back with the plate in hand and said to Harrison, “I’m Kade.”

  “Kade,” he repeated, as if tasting my name. Hearing him say it like that was more intimate than a kiss, like he held my entire identity in his hands now. “Well, Kade, let’s get out of here. Come on.”

  I took my margarita out of his hand to make it easier for him to get around. He took the lead, using one hand as skillfully as he used two, dipping and ducking around obstacles that I could narrowly avoid. We went back out into the main hall, still crammed full with people all jabbering and rubbing shoulders, and down a few eerie, empty hallways I wasn’t sure we were supposed to be in. The clamor fell away, the twists and turns allowing few echoes to reach us. Then, we reached a side door with a window, light glaring on the glass. Harrison slapped the automatic-open button and went on through.

  I followed, squinting against the brightness. Harrison was reduced to a low, swift shadow in a washed-out camera flash world. Then, I stepped out of the beam and saw where we were. This time, my gasp was audible.

  We were on a balcony, accessible from outside by a set of thin, steep stairs no one else had seen fit to climb. The railing formed intricate peaks on all sides, covered in a façade of a garden. Thin vines wound each pole, delicate curved flower petals protruding. The tops were flat, open flowers in unchanging praise to the seasons, to day and night as a unit.

  The balcony overlooked an actual garden, surrounded by ornamental trees, which spiraled into shrubbery and flowers before ending at a fountain which shimmered with tossed change. There were people down there, but they were too far away to hear.

  In the other directions, the height of the balcony provided a perfect viewing platform upon which to observe the street. Cars went by every few seconds and people flowed in currents on the sidewalks, tributaries branching up to the garden and across the road. They looked like ants, busy with busy little lives I could never understand.

  “You like it?” Harrison asked. He had positioned himself near one of several benches on the balcony. His drink looked like a piece of captured moonlight in his hand. “I often come out here when I need a breath of fresh air. It can be stuffy in there. Although, it has become stuffier as the years go by.”

  I turned back to him, trailing one hand over the flowering railing as I walked over. “You come here a lot? So, you’re often invited to these galas.”

  Harrison sipped his drink. I gulped some of my margarita, too. “I don’t like to tell people this because I think what I do is more important than who I am. But, yes, I come to these a lot. Have you ever wondered who donates all the new equipment to that rec center? Who organizes the tournaments there?”

  It took me a minute to understand what he was talking about. I hadn’t volunteered long enough at that particular center to experience those things myself, but Sterling had told me about it. Some anonymous benefactor, or group of benefactors, was basically keeping the whole place running, had brought the center into the twenty-first century with updated equipment and replacement lighting, and even a trophy case.

  “You mean you’re the one doing all that? For real?”

  “Yes, that’s me. I’m very involved with this world. I try to do everything I can, although sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”

  My heart went out to him, this strong man who clearly did way more than he gave himself credit for. I sat down on the bench beside him and offered the plate of jerk wings. He smiled and took one.

  I picked up one for myself. “You know, you’ve done something amazing. Even if you still want to do more, you should appreciate what you’ve already accomplished.”

  “That’s very astute,” Harrison said, nibbling on his wing. “Good advice from a young omega like yourself.”

  I shrugged, embarrassed. “It’s just common sense.” I don’t like to be held down to things.

  “Common sense isn’t as common as it used to be.”

  “I agree with that.”

  “What about you? What do you hope to accomplish someday?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t really like to be held down. I switch around a lot, follow hunches.” His question unsettled me, touching too closely on the thoughts I’d been having lately, in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep.

  What did I want to accomplish? What goals did I have? I didn’t pursue things when the going got rough. I moved on to something else. There wasn’t a pattern, and there wasn’t a purpose.

  I set the bone of the wing down on the plate and moved to sit closer to Harrison, hoping to distract him. I draped my arm on top of his and laced my fingers between his stronger ones. A silence fell between us, the quiet of the balcony thickening, penetrating both of us. Harrison looked peaceful, unbothered by the lack of communication. From the way his body leaned towards mine, as if he’d rest his head on my shoulder if his chair wasn’t in the way, I had a feeling he was fine with just being close.

  Me, too. I wriggled closer until my side pressed on the unyielding structure of his chair and tilted my head towards him. Our hair touched, brushed together. Harrison sighed softly and closed his eyes. “This is nice,” he murmured, just a zephyr of sound.

  I didn’t trust myself to speak quietly enough to keep from breaking this spell of stillness and timelessness, the magic that had wrapped the two of us together. This alpha was extremely successful and intelligent and kind, and I had no doubt he was more important than he gave himself credit for. After all, he had changed so many lives by making the rec center capable of hosting new activities, and he came to these galas often. I could hardly wrap my mind around the thought that he had chosen me to spend the evening with.

  I could hardly wrap my mind around my own urges either, stronger than any other I’d ever felt. He stirred something inside me, a magnetic force which pulled me to him, first my eyes and then my body. It kept taking me off-guard, but damn, was it nice. I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted to know more about him, what had made him who he was. I wanted to keep touching him, his warm breath on my cheek a tease, a promise of more I hoped he would keep.

  “Kade?”

  Harrison’s voice roused me from my thoughts. I skimmed my finger over the back of his hand, tracing a line from his middle finger and over the sculpted lines of his muscles, to the divot of his elbow. Fine hairs tickled my skin, almost too soft to really feel. “Yes?”

  He watched me stroke him, and I felt him catch his breath. He shifted his legs, a motion which excited me, to think I was having such an effect on him. But, it also startled me. He hadn’t moved his lower half at all until right now and I had assumed…

  “What do you do when you aren’t volunteering? Tell me about yourself.”

  I was too new to this whole scene to know if asking about his particular ailment would be considered rude. He might appreciate my honesty, or retreat from my prying. Maybe, if we spent more time together, he would want to share that with me. And maybe by then I would know what to say.

  “I’m a coach,” I said. “And a physical fitness trainer. And a referee.”

  “You like to stay busy.”

  “I do. There’s never a down moment. I can always find something else to do.” I laughed.

  Harrison turned his hand over and caught my fingers in his. “Tell me more about your jobs.”

  I would do anything he asked if it meant he would keep holding my hand. My groin stirred with heat and now it was my turn to shift my legs. Partly to distract myself, partly to please him, I started to talk. I outlined my various jobs and how easy it was to balance them with each other due to the schedules involve
d. Real organized tournaments didn’t happen back-to-back every single day, after all, and the people I trained were so busy I usually only saw them each once or twice per week.

  Harrison asked questions here and there, and I couldn’t help feeling like he was trying to guide the conversation toward some goal unknown to me. Most of what he asked had to do less with the sports and more with management. How early did I have to show up, did I have to talk to a lot of people every day, what schooling did I have, and how much of the rules of each game did I really have memorized?

  I wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Testing me? Trying to decide if I was as much of a conversationalist as he had apparently been told I was? Either way, I decided I didn’t mind. I felt very special that he was taking an interest in me, out of all the people he could have decided to talk to. My heart fluttered, skipped beats whenever he moved and his skin rubbed on mine. Remembering to breathe was difficult.

  I paused and lifted my margarita glass to my lips. Dribbles of watered-down moisture wetted the tip of my tongue. Surprise ran through me. When had I finished it? And Harrison had drained his martini, and most of the jerk wings had been reduced to bones, their spicy-sour taste only a memory lingering in my mouth. I didn’t remember any of that happening, didn’t remember anything except voices and touches and the sweet burn of arousal between my thighs.

  “Do you want another drink?” Harrison asked. He licked his lips. I stared, mesmerized, and hadn’t even begun to decide whether I was too tipsy for more when the door to the balcony opened.

  The magic of our isolation was ruined, the illusion shattered by the alpha female invading our space with her presence. Irritation rose sharply inside me and, from the look on his face, Harrison felt the same way.

  “What is it?” he asked. He pulled his hand away from me, the loss as painful as having one of my own limbs wrenched from my body.