Sugarbaby

by Crystal Green

  “I read that he gets around.”

  “He used to. Not anymore. Not since he fell for Shelby. She brings out the best in him.”

  He seemed to turn that over in his mind as his fingers moved on my flesh, caressing, almost as if he didn’t realize what he was doing to me: the pressure in my belly pulsing outward, petaling apart until I had to bite my lip and press my face into his shoulder.

  “We all need people who bring out the best in us,” he said.

  I was getting close to being brought out, all right. “And who does that for you?”

  With one sure move, he ended the conversation, swinging me up and over until I was almost on top of him, one of my legs between his, my hands braced on his shoulders, the blanket half off of me.

  I was so taken off balance that all I could do was look down at him while another bubble of time expanded between us.

  His eyes bright with fever.

  His lips parted with a hunger that I felt, too.

  He slid a hand up my back until he came to my hair, planting his fingers in it, pulling me down to him. When our mouths crushed together, I moaned, and when his other hand nestled under my T-shirt to ease up and over the small of my back, I moved my hips ever so slightly.

  I hadn’t meant to. This was going too fast.

  And too slow.

  I kissed him with a searing need pushing me on, making me devour him as much as he was devouring me. We found a cadence, sucking, nipping at each other, breathing short and sharp, my head spinning until I didn’t know up from down.

  Colors peeled apart from one another in my mind, and I felt as if I were being stripped, layer by layer, exposed as he kissed me and kissed me and I died a little with every passing second.

  Weak . . . formless . . . melting into him . . . wanting more than I should . . .

  I had no sanity anymore. How else could I explain it when I reached down to take his hand, pressing him against the middle of my legs?

  He moaned as I intuitively wiggled my hips again, wanting him to touch me harder, to stroke me and stroke me until I cried out with a small release that wouldn’t do anything to put out this fire.

  “God dammit,” he whispered roughly under my mouth. Then he lost his willpower, too, working at the buttons of my jeans.

  “Yes . . .” I heaved in a breath, the blanket slouching off me with my sudden move. I didn’t mind the cold. I didn’t mind anything as he reached into my jeans and my panties.

  And when he massaged me, taking his time, up and down, up and down, he got me wetter than I’d ever been.

  I pressed every sound back into myself, enjoying the tension, the erotic buildup that threatened to burst, pushing at me . . .

  With a smooth thrust, he eased a finger into me, and I gasped loudly. Too loudly, and I bit my lip until he brought my head down with his other hand to kiss me again.

  He slipped his tongue into me, following the sultry rhythm of his finger as he pumped in . . . out . . . With every motion, I churned, asking for more, becoming the girl I’d been running from, dancing on the edge of coming for him, getting so close . . .

  I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t realize Noah had stopped, even though his finger was still inside me, his lips still against mine.

  “I don’t want it to end here,” he said softly, tickling my lips. “But if I don’t stop now, I won’t stop.”

  A sound bleeped from behind us, and I leaned away from him, my heart kicking at my chest as I realized that the computer had gone to sleep and the movie screen was blank, leaving us in the moonlight.

  Another moon-soaked night, a memory, came to me then: a bonfire, a keg, Micah Wyatt grinning at me and leading me into a temptation I should’ve learned from.

  Too fast, I thought again, pushing an escaped cluster of curls away from my face. Think before you do anything else.

  “Maybe you really are a gentleman,” I said.

  He kissed me again, long and hard, taking his finger out of me. He left behind an ache, and I wanted to press my hand to myself to make it go away. But Noah was already buttoning me back up.

  Then he kissed me one more time, and it was soft, almost questioning.

  How long will I be waiting? it asked.

  As I rolled off him, he didn’t protest. Not exactly. He only leaned forward as if he was in some kind of pain. I didn’t mean to be a tease.

  “We should call it a night,” I said.

  “Probably.” He laughed a little. “I think I’m the one who’s going to need a shower more than you ever did. A very cold one.”

  I was fairly sure he was talking about the sext that had started this all, but it wasn’t a joke anymore.

  None of this was a joke.

  ***

  “Those are some massive bags under your eyes, darlin’.”

  Diana came through my door with Carley the next morning, their arms full of bagels, lox, and cream cheese, plus java from Mr. Hernandez’s coffeehouse. Both girls scanned me thoroughly once I’d closed the door behind them.

  I expected Diana to say something more about how tired I looked, and I started thinking that maybe I should get her together with the equally blunt Simmons.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said. That was putting it mildly. I’d laid awake for hours, one part of me screaming to text Noah and get him over here to finish what we’d started, the other smacking me and reminding me of what moving too fast could do.

  I was trying to get my life together, not tear it apart again.

  Diana marched to the kitchen table in her blue cowboy boots, jeans, and a torn sweatshirt, then put down her bag. “Is there a reason you stayed up late?”

  Had Carley said anything about Noah to her? Carley wouldn’t have known about last night, but did Diana suspect there was something going on? “I had a lot of homework.”

  With a cynical glance, Diana watched as Carley dragged past her to put the coffee on the table. “Well, you’re not the only sleepy bobblehead around here. Looks like our therapy session needs to start now with this one.”

  Carley pulled out a chair and thumped into it, no comment necessary.

  I was already getting some old flowered plates from the cabinet as Diana leaned against a chair near my iPad and books. She eyed the textbooks as if she didn’t know what they were, but she went to community college like I did. Come to think of it, though, I never did hear her talk about studying.

  As Carley unloaded the bagel bag, Diana said, “Carley’s in a funk because Bret wrote another song about her. I should be so unfortunate.”

  “That’s a bad thing?” I asked Carley.

  She pried apart a bagel. “He makes me sound like I’m this amazing, perfect woman in his lyrics. Someone’s going to hear that song and go, ‘He’s singing about her?’”

  “Just the girls who come to his gigs and slobber over him,” Diana said. “They’re the only ones who don’t get that you’re every inch the woman his songs say you are.”

  Aw. Sometimes Diana knew the right thing to say. Sometimes. “Carley, it sounds like you’ve got an identity crisis.” I wished it were late enough to dial up Evie since she was so good at solving emotional issues like mine and Shelby’s. But it’d be too early on the West coast.

  Diana stayed standing and grabbed her own bagel. “Carley knows exactly who she is, but she’s only got some cold, cold feet. I never thought having a boyfriend worship you would be a bad thing in a relationship.”

  “It is,” Carley said, “especially when you have no hope of living up to his ideals. I mean, look how we met—he noticed me from afar and then started to post these lovely TellTales about me. I think he fell for someone who doesn’t exist.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself,” Diana said. “Or maybe you’re just making up drama where none of it is needed.”

  “Ca
rley,” I said before Diana made this worse, “how long have you two been dating?”

  “Seven months.”

  Wow. I knew Bret was out of town a lot, gigging with his band, and refurbishing that house, and teaching at music camps, but that was a long time to date. Then again, maybe it’d taken that long for Carley’s neuroses to build up to a bursting point.

  And I knew about neuroses.

  “That’s seven months in which he could’ve dumped you,” I said, still optimistic. “But I notice that he’s still very in to you.”

  “He loves her,” Diana said.

  “Bret was in love right away.” Carley stopped spreading cream cheese over her bagel. “He told me he loved me the first week we were together, but I took longer. I felt like such shit because I couldn’t bring myself to rush into saying it, but I couldn’t lie.”

  “You do love him now, though,” I said.

  “How could I not?” Carley slapped on some lox. “But the thing is, my love is slower, and his is like he’s driving two hundred miles per hour and I can’t see where we’re going.”

  I thought back to last night with Noah. Fast. Furious. It wasn’t love, but I was just as wary as Carley, anyway. “Talk this out with him.”

  “Oh, I’ve tried. But I feel that if I’m not as intense as he is, he’ll be disappointed in me. He wants us to live together and start a life, and I know I can’t do that yet. How would we support ourselves with all that rent and bills?”

  So this was the true issue that was weighing Carley down—real life versus love.

  She shook her head. “Am I an idiot for being so careful? If I wait too long, he might rethink being with me.”

  Diana raised a finger, her bagel in her other hand. “Don’t you say that about yourself.” She turned to me. “I hate when she calls herself dumb in any way. Her step-ass always tells her she is.”

  “My stepdad doesn’t bother me anymore,” Carley said. “Bret has my back whenever I man up to Toby Taylor, Esquire.”

  “See,” I said. “Bret’s good for you. You just need to make it clear to him that you need time, and it’s no reflection on how you feel about him.”

  Diana finished chewing her bagel, then set it down on her plate. “I swear, Carley, you and Bret should start from square one and pretend you just met each other. That TellTale stuff messed you up, gave you a relationship before you were ready for one with a boy from the bad side of town.”

  Carley flinched. “What does that have to do with it?”

  At the same time, I shrank into myself. I was from that side of town, although Bret’s family was worse off, living south of this neighborhood in what was known as The Dumps. This was Shangri-la compared to that.

  Realizing what she’d said, Diana widened her eyes, then sent me a regretful glance. “I didn’t mean that in a terrible way, Jade.”

  “No offense taken.”

  Carley put down her bagel now. “Where Bret used to live has never been a factor. He’s in the apartments closer to Jade’s place now. Besides, we’re too old to have something like that matter. We’re adults.”

  “But him being a poor boy does bug you,” Diana said. “He’s still a guy who doesn’t have a regular job. He lives on poetry. It’s romantic, but . . .” She let it go from there.

  At the word “romantic,” Noah’s green eyes covered my vision, and I pushed the thought away. I tried not to think about when he would text next or what surprises he might have in store for me. My so-called relationship with him was way less steady than what Carley had with Bret. They were a real couple. Noah was the closest to a figment of my imagination as it got.

  Carley had slipped down in her seat. “Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. I’m a working woman, and I’ve got a start-up business going. Someday, if it works out, me and Bret can make it. But it won’t happen as quick as he wants it to.”

  Her bracelet business. I knew Carley was a hard worker and had held another job before she’d come to the Angel’s Seat, but waitressing allowed her more time to devote to her passion. Was she more like Bret than she realized? Both of them were all about their passions to some extent.

  Diana was talking again. “Just throwing this out there, but there’s also the fact that Bret’s a sensitive guy for a reason, and those kinds of guys have needs. His family life was shit. His dad took in so many kids from his girlfriends that he barely noticed Bret was around. Do you think that’s why he wants love now, while he has it in his grip?”

  Carley sighed. “Or it could be that he was born a romantic.”

  “You’re one, too,” I said. “You would’ve never met him at the Hellfire Club sight unseen if you didn’t have a huge romantic streak.”

  “Romance,” Diana said, going toward the fridge. “I’ve been on so many dates that I’m beginning to think it’s an urban legend. Hey, Jade, do you have any butter?”

  As she opened the fridge, I remembered all the food Noah had sent over that I still hadn’t eaten.

  Diana just stood there, taking in all of the containers. Then she said, “What the hell is ratatouille?”

  Ergh. How much should I say about Noah? I had that NDA to consider, but even worse, Diana had a mouth the size of Texas itself, and I could see her spilling the beans about him online or around town. That was why I needed to be careful with Carley, too.

  I tried for some nonchalance. “My texter sent me some food to say he was sorry for not telling me who he was right away.” It wasn’t a lie, but it made things sound as if this texter wasn’t of any consequence.

  Still, a secret thrill spun through me. Sneaking around with Noah only added to his appeal. It was sexy. Way out of my limited experience.

  “Noah left you with food from the picnic?” Diana asked, looking at Carley, who got a pained expression on her face. She’d told.

  I didn’t have the heart to chide her, so I just shrugged. She looked relieved.

  Diana closed the fridge and came to sit at the table. “Okay. Carley messed up and filled me in about your lunch with Noah Reeves, but what’s with all this food? Did he come here for a candlelit dinner?”

  Think fast. “No. Like I said, he had the food sent over because he wanted to apologize for not coming right out and saying who he was in the texts. No big thing.”

  “He was the texter. Hot. So hot.” Diana waggled her brows. “When you had lunch, it was by the lake. In a tent. That’s smokin’, too. And now all these good eats.”

  “He is thoughtful. But it was just lunch and he’s moved on.” Maybe she’d think he’d left town.

  Unpeeling the butter from its wrapper, Diana said, “It’s too bad you couldn’t have taken advantage of him while he was here. You should’ve milked more out of him while he still has some money tucked away like I’m sure all billionaires do. Goddamn, I can’t believe you went to lunch with him then just let him go. So what was he like?”

  “Carley didn’t give you a swoony in-person description of him?” I asked.

  Carley sent me a harmless smile. “Yes, I described him to her after the Hellfire Club, which I’m not supposed to really talk about, according to Bret.” She pointed at Diana to preemptively warn her about blabbing too much out of our cone of silence, as well.

  “Hey,” Diana said, “I know the rules and I haven’t said a word to anyone. So, Jade, what was he like?”

  “He’s handsome, tall . . .” I had to play this down and restrain myself before my heart started coding. “You didn’t do any research on him or see him online? I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  Diana smiled sweetly and lifted her hands.

  “You did,” I said.

  Carley joined in. “She totally did. Diana, tell her—you spent hours researching Noah Reeves because he fascinated you.”

  “It’s true.” Diana’s smile turned smug. “And he’s going to make headlines again
someday soon, after he takes down that rat fart Harry Diamont. Then I’ll have some real reading to do. Who needs textbooks?”

  “Harry Diamont?” I was a little ashamed that I hadn’t done as much research as Diana.

  She picked up my iPad and turned it on. “That’s the guy who’s trying to kick Noah Reeves out of his own company. Don’t you know?”

  As I absorbed that, she brought a news site up on the tablet’s screen, and from the way I grabbed the iPad from her, I knew that I’d all but told her that Noah was still of consequence to me.

  So much for non-disclosure.

  12

  “Son of a bitch,” I whispered as I read what Diana had shown me on the iPad. I didn’t even chastise myself for the cuss, either.

  “Harry Diamont,” Diana said as she kicked her blue boots up on the corner of the kitchen table, “really has it coming to him.”

  Carley wadded up a napkin and threw it at Diana’s feet. With a roll of her eyes, Diana rested them on the chair next to her. But I didn’t care about the furniture because I was busy looking at a picture of Noah’s enemy. He was older—the article said he was forty-four—but he had a ginger beard and square glasses that gave the appearance of even more years. He was spiffy, though, wearing a plaid bow tie that was almost twee, but he had a fatherly smile. The caption beneath read:

  Harry Diamont takes over.

  Reading more, I discovered that The Reeves Group wasn’t the first company he’d infiltrated. He’d made his way up the corporate ladder in other businesses, always leaving for a better opportunity, even after he’d met his contemporary, Nathaniel Reeves.

  Noah’s dad.

  “Harry Diamont,” I said. “A worm in a bow tie.”

  Diana finished sipping her coffee. “Try a search about Diamont and the Reeves family. There was an article that talked about how he became a right-hand man for Nathaniel Reeves back in the day. Then he was offered a bigger position from another company, and there were no hard feelings. Business was business between these fellows until Diamont decided to become involved with The Reeves Group again, bringing his bigger and better ideas with him. That’s where it gets good . . . and stranger than shit.”