Sugarbaby

Titles by Crystal Green

Aidan Falls Series

Whisper

Honeytrap

Sugarbaby

 

Rough & Tumble Series

Rough and Tumble

Down and Dirty

Hot and Bothered

Sugarbaby

Crystal Green

InterMix Books, New York

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

SUGARBABY

An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Chris Marie Green.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18426-8

PUBLISHING HISTORY

InterMix eBook edition / May 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Penguin Random House is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words

are the author's alone.

To Mary Leo, who was kind enough to give me the shower sext for this book! Also, to Stephen Amell, for the inspiration of his abs.

“Not to be rude, but is there anyone else that can serve us?”

I stood at the side of the community-bench table with my order pad and pencil, trying not to let my jaw unhinge and hit the floor of the Angel's Seat Café. My customers just stared at me with fixed smiles.

I knew dang well who they were—alumni from Aidan Falls High—and they were back in town for the big Homecoming game this weekend. But most of all, they were fans of Rex Alvarez, former star quarterback and current big man on campus out of town at Texas-U.

Oh . . . and a former boyfriend of mine.

I was used to this kind of disrespect. A girl couldn't mess up in the epic style I had by stepping out on Rex one drunken, stupid night and expect to be loved by all of his admirers. His many,
many
admirers.

So I didn't ask why station two wanted someone else to wait on them. No, sir, I merely smiled like a blue-collar sweetie as my throat tightened around the words I needed to say.

“You bet.” I stuffed my order pad into the apron tied at my waist and tucked the pencil behind my ear. “Someone'll be right with you.”

“Thank you”—the crew-cut guy squinted at my nametag as if he didn't know who I was—“Jadyn.” Then he ignored me and started chatting with his girlfriend like nothing had gone down.

As I turned around, my temper brewed under my skin, but I kept it in check, still smiling as I passed the long tables filled with pre-game diners. The aroma of locavore Tex-Mex food spiced the air, sharp and heavy, while the sound of Ryan Adams filled my ears, too loud, too overwhelming. Everything was pounding at me while, in my peripheral vision, the coffee bar blurred by with its repurposed train car wood, then the railroad lanterns, the potbellied stove, then my coworker Carley as I blew past her toward the kitchen. From the way her eyes widened at the sight of me, I knew I'd better get to the back before I let loose with a few choice cusses. I didn't curse much, but this seemed like a good time.

“Would you take station two?” I asked between my teeth. Bravo for holding back the cuss.

“Sure.” She followed me into the steamy kitchen. The owner, Jackie Carson, didn't even look up from plating food.

“I appreciate it,” I said.

“What's the problem?” Carley was still on my tail.

“They're here for Homecoming.”

Carley had moved to town right before spring, but that didn't mean she was well versed in all things Aidan Falls, even if she'd heard a little something about Rex and the drama that'd happened around him last summer.

I shouted to Jackie. “Is it okay if I take a short break?”

My boss gave me a thumbs up, her little blond hair all over the place as she called for pick-up. “Carley!”

“Be right there.” Carley followed me to the back screen door, tugging at my Angel's Seat Café T-shirt to slow me down. “Does station two hold one of those grudges against you? Or are they just being rednecks and . . . ?” She gestured to me.

She didn't have to say a word about the color of my skin—light brown, half-and-half. I'd grown up with that skin my whole life, dealing with sneers from some, unwelcome comments from others about my white dad and black mom, even though kids were always careful about being
too
vicious since my parents had gotten in that crash near the fairgrounds when I was seven, leaving me to the care of my great-uncle, bless his soul. Most of this town had always accepted me, though, especially at church, back when I'd gone. Also, we lived a stone's throw from Austin. There were definitely a few more tolerant pockets here than most places—if you looked in the right spots.

But Carley was ready to take up my back for any slight. She was a California girl with rosy-tan skin, long, straight brunette hair, and big liquid dark eyes, so she wasn't from around these parts.

I opened the back screen door to the covered patio, where wooden benches lined the concrete. The fall sun crept through the awning slats, a breath of the brightness I needed.

“Station two is only defending their god,” I said to Carley. “That's all. So go back in there and kill them with kindness. They might be good tippers.”

Carley rested her fingers on the door handle. “What're they even doing here at the Angel's Seat if they're fans of Rex? I mean, the café's owned by the mom of another ex-girlfriend who pissed off Rex, right? So why wouldn't they go somewhere else?”

“Maybe they just heard about Jackie's amazing food and decided to brave the cooties around here.”

“Or maybe they came with the intention of being asses to you.” Carley sighed. “Did you get this level of crap at Kroger when you worked there?”

“Rex's influence reaches everywhere.” I shrugged. “That's not why I left Kroger, though. Jackie needed help, and she was willing to schedule around my classes. Besides, the tips here are good, especially with the organic wine list that draws in the out-of-towners.”

“Thank God for Yelp, right?” Carley opened the door to go back inside. “It's crazy how people in this town choose their sides. It's not like L.A. here at all.”

“It's Aidan Falls, baby. We might as well be another planet.”

She smiled at me before she went back in.

I hadn't known Carley all that long; she'd been hired only a week ago, but she was easygoing and seemed like she could be a friend. We were even going to a classic movie tonight at the Ritz with her next-door neighbor, Diana. But sometimes you trip over the most interesting parts and people in your life. And sometimes you just downright fall.

She was a good kind of trip, though. I could tell right off the bat.

Which reminded me . . . As long as I was on a break from the morons, I needed to text Diana about meeting up at the Ritz. I also had to make a call to my second cousin, the only family I had left after my great-uncle's death. If you could call Delroy family. But talking about Uncle Joseph's finances and how he'd left almost everything to his son and a smaller sum to me, his actual caretaker, wouldn't exactly bring my mood from surly to perky.

It wasn't that I was resentful about being shafted—I hadn't taken care of Joseph just to wheedle my way into an inheritance. It was that his death was still fresh with me, and I hated talking money at a time like this. He'd had his heart attack over a month ago, and he'd been the closest thing I'd had to a parent. I supposed
I
was probably the closest thing he'd had to family, too, with me taking care of him these past few years after his health had started deteriorating and with Delroy running off to New York to follow a big career as a corporate lawyer . . .

I took the pencil from behind my ear, then let my dark curls out of their clip, restyling, redoing, putting myself back together. Nothing was going to ruin my night—I was going out with new friends, after all—and I sat down, telling myself to breathe.

Just breathe.

Don't think about missing Uncle Joseph. Don't think about all those Homecoming fans coming in for the game tonight. Don't think about how desperate you are to make more money and get out of this town and go to Texas-U next year, now that you won't have to stick to the community college . . .

Better. Much, much better.

I took my phone out of my apron pocket. I didn't have Diana's number in my contacts, but I had quickly scribbled it on a scrap of paper, so I pulled that out, too. Since I was barely buddies with her—only buddy enough to remember from high school that she was kind of a gossipy loose cannon who loved to shop—I texted instead of called.

Jadyn:

I just need to jump in the shower after work. How's 7pm?

Without another look, I sent the message, then switched to my phone contacts, where I debated about that call to my cousin. I did have a couple more stations to see to in the café, and taking a long break wasn't going to get me better tips.

Forget it, then.

I stood from the bench just as my phone vibrated with an incoming text. Okay, I'd check Diana's response before I got back to work. Really. Then it was all about service . . .

The message on my screen showed the phone number I'd used for Diana, but when I read what was written below it, I frowned.

555-8465:

I'm happy you have such a robust sex life, but do you tell every stranger all the details?

Huh?

For the second time in about fifteen minutes, I just stood there, processing what was going on right in front of me. Why was Diana talking about my sex life, as non-existent as it even was? And why had she called herself a stranger? We hadn't hung out a lot, but “strangers” was kind of a strong word . . .

As I realized what was going on, a shot of panic jolted me. Oh God.

I checked the phone number on the paper, realizing I'd typed in a “6” instead of another “5.” But the text I'd sent was even worse.

 

I just need to hump in the shower after work. How's 7pm?

I plopped right back down onto the bench in horror when I saw that I'd made a key typo.

No—it was a sext-po.

Oh.
God.

My heart beat a little faster as I wondered about the “stranger” who'd received the horny message, which could also be translated as an invitation. But that was nothing next to how my pulse howled as another text popped onto the screen.

555-8465:

Didn't mean to embarrass you, but I thought you might want to know that you didn't reach your boyfriend or girlfriend or . . . whoever, LOL. I suspect that there's even a typo here and you didn't mean what it looks like you mean. Maybe you were going to meet your sweet grandmother for dinner or something, and it'd be a shame to leave her waiting in front of the restaurant.

Well, that was considerate, and all I had the guts to do was text a mortified “thanks” back. Then, before I could think too hard on it, I did what I usually did—tucked whatever was bothering me away, out of sight out of mind, as I shoved my phone and the slip of paper into my apron pocket.

After I went back to work, I felt it buzz against my leg with yet another text, telling me that whoever had received that sext wasn't done quite yet.