Sugar

“Here’s all you need to know. In five seconds, that elevator’s going to open, and a man’s going to step out. He’s sixteen years older than me. He’s going to open doors for me and take me to a fancy party, and I’m going to let him because he pays my rent every month so I can live in this gorgeous building that’s probably a dump compared to where you grew up. He bought my clothes and my jewelry—”

“The jewelry’s fake. He’s ripping you off.”

“I know it’s fake,” I hissed. “But I paid for it with his money. I’d rather keep as much as I can for tuition and other bills. My point is, this is who I am, whether you accept it or not. This is how I afford to live here. If you saw where I came from, you’d run. Trust me, Noah, you don’t know me, and if you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The elevator pinged, and Noah took a step back just as the doors parted. Micah’s familiar leather soled footfalls broke the silence.

Micah’s eyes held nothing but polite patience. “Avery?”

I blinked away from Noah and gave Micah a shaky smile. “I’m ready.”

His assessing gaze traveled to my neighbor and back to me. He approached and held out an arm. Dressed in black tie as he was, he should’ve easily been the most intimidating person in the hall, but Noah didn’t flinch. Micah gave him a stiff nod and escorted me toward the elevator.

“I’ll talk to you later, Avery. We’re not finished.”

My eyes continued to blink as we stepped into the elevator and Micah keyed in the first floor. He didn’t say a word, but I knew his mind was full of thoughts and opinions.

Noah unapologetically watched us as the doors slowly closed.

“He’s just—”

Micah’s hand tightened on mine. “No need, love. I see you’re upset. Let me take your mind off whatever that was and treat you to a pleasant evening.”

Strangely, his nonjudgmental response relieved me. I knew it was a cop-out, and that I was running from some emotional baggage I didn’t feel like carrying, but that was the perk of being a sugar baby. I didn’t need to think beyond my own personal safety. All I needed to do was let my clients pamper me.

I had the luxury of pretending to be someone else for the evening. Tonight, like most nights, that was exactly what I wanted to do.

11

Noah

“Gin and tonic.” I put my back to the bar at the club, doing a quick scan of the room.

Women in white tennis skirts and men in sports jackets crowded the well-appointed tables of the country club. It was all so monochromatically mundane and redundant. But the Florida weather offered a nice break from the Philadelphia fall, and I was glad for the distraction.

After my last run in with Avery, I put all plans on hold. The things she said about going out with so many men really stuck in my brain and left an unsavory aftertaste. It was starting to make sense. She lived in an upscale apartment, wore Valentino and Oscar De La Renta, and went out with men who drove cars retailing over the hundred thousand dollar mark.

Avery was a user. She used men to get what she wanted. She blatantly admitted that the one guy was paying her rent. Her rent was the same as mine, so that guy was either wealthy enough to throw money away or was getting a substantial trade-off in his deal with Avery.

I couldn’t stomach the thought of her hooking up with that guy or any of the others. Yet, like clockwork, a new date showed up each night. So flying down to the Keys for Thanksgiving with my family seemed like a welcome reprieve and great change of scenery from my neighbor and her revolving door of bachelors.

“Having fun?” Laurel slid onto the barstool, and the bartender slipped a cocktail napkin under her chardonnay before it hit the countertop.

“A blast. Where’s Stanley?”

Stanley was Laurel’s on again-off again date who often crashed Florida holidays but passed on the Pennsylvania ones. Lately, he seemed to enjoy the spoils that came from our family’s situation more than he enjoyed passing one on one time with my sister. And it was starting to piss me off.

“He’s changing into his bathing suit. Said he wants to digest by the pool.”

My sister had the complexion of a porcelain doll, so she rarely spent time poolside. “And what will you do?”

She lifted her wineglass and clanked it to my tumbler. “Get drunk with my little brother.”

“Sounds ambitious.”

She shrugged and settled in beside me. “Any progress with your neighbor?”

“No, and I’m over it. She’s … baggage.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Kids?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Gay?”

“Definitely not.”

“So what sort of baggage does she have?”

I shrugged and sipped my cocktail. “It’s hard to explain. She’s busy.”