Sugarbaby (3 page)

And now he was flirting. Wasn't he? Did I even know how to do that anymore?

Why not find out?
said a little voice inside me.
What's the harm?

Jadyn:

Thanks. Do you have one? A name, I mean?

The pause seemed to go on forever—so long that I could see the moviehouse lights dim, casting shadows into the stairwell, flickering white streaks onto the walls. The soundtrack from one of the old newsreels Mr. C. liked to play flooded the area with a man talking fast about the Great Depression.

By the time my phone buzzed again, my pulse was clamoring. I hadn't even realized it'd been alive.

555-8465:

You can call me Aidan.

Aidan.

I held the phone away from me. How much of a coincidence was this? Someone with the same name as the town I lived in?

Then suspicion rolled over me, pushing at my veins, making the blood bang through them even faster.

Jadyn:

Are you a boy Aidan or girl Aidan? Or are you Aidan because of another reason?

I was asking if he or she was making a word play with the name of my town, and “Aidan's” answer came really quickly this time.

555-8465:

Boy Aidan.

Yes!
said a hopeful little spark in me. But that was insane. Just imagine—being so entertained by a stranger. Or by texting. It wasn't like I was going on a blind date or anything. These were just words.

My heart kept thumping.

Jadyn:

Funny. Your name is *very* familiar to me.

He knew just what I was talking about, too.

555-8465:

You got me. I was curious and did a search on your area code. Texas, huh?

Again, a tiny red flag went up in me. Or maybe it was pinkish. I wasn't scared, because I'd met people I didn't know online before. Big deal. Most of all, though, I'd been feeling like a pixel in a field of pixels for a few years now and, dang, it felt nice not to blend, to have a boy—I hoped it really was a boy—flirting with me from . . . somewhere. And maybe nearby, too, based on his number. It felt nice knowing that this was all it'd be—flirting until one of us decided to shut down the phone.

Jadyn:

Yes, Texas. Small-town fishing holes, meat-loving, yee-haw, horse-riding state that we are.

555-8465:

I haven't gone fishing in . . . Damn. Years.

Jadyn:

It's been a while for me, too. Same with horse riding.

I'd been good at it when I was little. My parents had a horse they'd let me name Samantha Antoinette Marquette—I'd called her Sam—and I remembered swaying in the saddle as we rode over our huge backyard lawn, always staying in my mom's sights. It was a sun-dappled memory that I didn't think of much these days. Not until now.

Jadyn:

BTW, don't you have the same area code as I do? That's what my phone is showing.

555-8465:

No. This actually isn't my phone.

Before I could ask about
that
, another text came.

555-8465:

I haven't been on a horse in years, either. Too many distractions.

I went with it.

Jadyn:

Like what?

This time, his response took a little longer. But when it came, I was surprised he was being so forthcoming. Unless he wasn't that way at all and he was getting his rocks off by mind-whacking the girl on the other end of the line.

555-8465:

Meetings. Business. Other distractions. Also, I don't get out much.

Now I was very curious.

Jadyn:

You're a businessman?

I waited. Then . . .

555-8465:

If that's what you want to call it.

Way to be cryptic, boy Aidan.

It was as if he could hear my thoughts, wherever he was, and he wanted to keep me from digging further into him.

555-8465:

It really has been a long time since I've been fishing. Or riding.

Just as I was wondering why he'd made it a point to isolate “riding”—were we back to sexting?—I saw a shadow on the wall, and I hid the phone at my side.

Diana was coming down the stairs toward me, twirling a long, wavy strand of hair as if she was nervous.

“Hey,” she said over the sound of the newsreel. “You doing okay?”

She was definitely nervous. I was pretty sure she thought she'd insulted me with the Rex and Micah talk. “Yeah. I just got some texts on the way back up here, so I thought I'd answer them.”

“You sure? Because sometimes things come out of my mouth before they should. Carley's having me work on that. I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

I recalled the reputation she had in high school—Motor Mush Mouth. I'd always felt a little sorry for her having to live with that rep.

“Don't worry about it,” I said, smiling, itching to get back to “Aidan” or whoever he was.

My phone buzzed, loudly, and Diana craned her neck as if she could see the screen at my side.

“So who're you texting?” she asked. “It must be someone stupendous if he's keeping you away from the movie.”

“It's no one.”

“Ooo, that means it
is
a someone!”

Like a puppy, she pounced, grabbing my phone before I even knew what was in store.

“Hey!” I said.

But she'd already bounded away, holding the phone above her and reading the screen. She was tall enough to keep it away from me, and she was fast at reading, too, because she'd already scanned everything before I made an amazing jump and got my phone back.

“Who the hell is this?” she asked. “And don't tell me ‘Aidan.' That's clearly not a real name.”

“Really?” I asked, pissed that she'd seen his latest message before I had. “You're this nosy?”

“Yup. Friends protect friends from weird stalky phone numbs who prey on women.”

“Please.” I was chafed but, heck, I liked that she was protective. After my friends had left for college and never looked back, I'd missed having people in my life. Even nosy ones.

She got out her own phone, her thumbs tapping madly over the screen. I took the opportunity to read Aidan's last message.

555-8465:

Aidan Falls sounds most interesting, Jadyn. And so do you.

That was it.

Diana looked up at me, her blue eyes wide. “The number he's using could be a burner. I'm not getting information on it.”

“You looked it up?” I hadn't even done that yet.

“Of course.” She showed me her screen, as if I needed proof. “It's probably a temporary number or phone that he'll ‘burn' when he's done with it. Maybe. And I'm only getting all spy-rific here because he might be a freak.”

So then what did that make
me
?

“Listen,” she said, “I know it's fun to have these chats with strangers . . . unless they get
too
strange.” She grabbed me by my coat and pulled me along so I'd go back to my seat. “Just shut that conversation down, though, okay? He sounds like he's diddling with your brain.”

She was right, absolutely right, but as we walked back to our seats where Carley was chowing on Junior Mints and watching the start of the movie as the soundtrack's symphony filled the theater, I held tight to my phone, even though it didn't buzz again.

The phone didn't buzz for several more days, either.

How could “Aidan” be so in to a text conversation one night and then—
poof!
—nothing afterward?

Okay, I could ask that question of myself, too. I hadn't exactly texted him back; instead, I was waiting for him to pick things up and run with them, as he'd done the other night when he'd first latched onto the conversation. Was he wondering on his side of cyberworld what had happened to the lousy proofreader and her naughty showers? It was nice to believe that he
could
be thinking of me, that someone out there might be, and it wasn't just because of some scandal.

Dream on, though, right? I was making a bigger deal out of those texts than they really were. And, honestly, if “Aidan” knew that I wasn't the kind of girl who got frisky with anonymous guys, I was sure he'd get disinterested in me, anyway. How could anyone get excited about someone who stayed busy by putting her head down at work and getting through Homecoming weekend, thanking heaven that Rex had been on the road with Texas-U, second-stringing them to victory instead of showing up here in town? Let's not forget that I was also playing my part as Good Student, going to my general-ed college classes, studying, attending a counseling appointment to see if there were any internships that'd be available at the county hospital, now that I had more time on my hands without Uncle Joseph here.

Sadly, most of my time was actually spent watching that phone screen, wishing. It was almost as if I'd walked by a door and gotten a look inside a room at someone who stirred my interest, only a flash of him sitting with his back to me, and he had
just
started to turn his head so I could see his face and . . .
snap
. The room had gone dark. For a moment or two, as I'd looked into that doorway, I'd thought about going all the way inside but . . .

I hadn't.

Maybe that's why the doorway came to
me
that day instead of me going to it.

As I pulled into the nearly empty Angel's Seat Café's parking lot, heading toward the employee spots, the afternoon sun sparkled off a car that I'd never seen the likes of before. Something red, sleek, and shiny. I didn't even know what kind it was, although I suspected it'd have a name that sounded European and sexy. It was the type of car where you'd sit in the passenger seat, drinking champagne out of a designer shoe while you roared down a curvy road lined by pounding surf. And in the driver's seat? Yeah, it'd be a guy made of every fantasy you'd ever had.

What was it doing
here
?

Carley met me at the back gate that led to the employee patio, her rosy-tan skin even rosier. “You might be the luckiest lucky who ever lucked out, Jadyn Dandritch.”

“Don't tell me. I'm the proud winner of that sweet car out front.”

“Close.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I've got to go in fifteen minutes because Bret's coming back into town, and I'm driving to the airport to get him. Since you're taking over any stations I still have going, guess who you'll probably be waiting on?”

“Whoever paraded into the parking lot with that car?” That meant good tips! Hopefully.

“They just walked in five minutes ago, so I can't imagine they'll be gone by the end of my shift.”

I rested a hand on Carley's arm. “Don't worry about it. You know I'll tip you out.”

“Oh, the money will no doubt be good, but that's not why you've arrived in LuckyLand, babe. And just a warning? Jackie and Juanita are in full-on matchmaking mode.”

So that meant whoever was driving that car was cute, and the other waitress and Jackie would be encouraging me to flirt with him so I could have little single-girl fun.

I'd tried to be more assertive in that area, but I was still working on being good at casually flirting, approaching guys before they approached me. So far, I'd found a few dates that way, though everything seemed to fizzle out after the first coffee or lunch.

Really curious now, I went through the gate and then the back door, waving hello to Jackie and Juanita, one of the women who worked here and lived at Jackie's in some sort of artistic estrogen community they had. Jackie took in bohemian strays, but no one asked what went on behind the closed doors of the suburban house. Shelby told me her mom didn't show any signs of being a ladylover, yet she wouldn't be surprised if the tenants were that way on their own time.

Whatever they had happening there, the two of them were grinning at me here and now.

“Why do I feel like I'm about to be put on a hook and cast out to a pond?” I said.

Jackie answered, her big blue eyes shining. “Just take a gander and then ask again.”

Carley pulled me by the arm to the kitchen door, then opened it a crack so I could look out.

At first, all I saw was a nearly deserted dining room. Sometimes coffee drinkers lolled around post-lunch, sometimes they didn't, and today was a didn't-day. But there were two guys seated at a bench-lined table by the potbellied stove, near an angle of light that came through a front window.

The first guy was sitting all the way in the light, and he was . . . just a guy. He had dark hair that was combed forward as if he was a throwback to One Direction's early days—and yes, I would admit to knowing that. He actually had the entire vintage Brit Boy Band style down pat, with tight black Euro jeans and a sports jacket. His head was down as he perused the menu.

I looked at his friend in the opposite seat.

He was in shadow, but when he shifted forward, leaning his elbows on the planked table, I saw more of him, second by breath-stealing second.

Thick blond hair, the kind that can't decide just how light it wants to be, with flaxen strands mixed with the gold. It also couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to stay put or go wild, part of it combed just so, except for the errant tuft of hair in front. I barely saw a swanky tweed coat over a T-shirt before the sunlight turned through the window like it was stretching, reaching out to his face.

His
face
.

When I was younger, I used to dream of angels, and not the kind that whisper you to sleep at night, either. These were angels who'd tumbled from the sky like fast tears, hitting the ground in bursts of fire. I'd had those dreams after my parents had died, but those dreams hadn't been nightmares. They'd been a sort of strange comfort, the angels beautiful yet avenging as they'd risen from the ground to guard my bed, and even if they scared me a little, I'd always known they'd be there whenever I needed them.

And that's what he looked like. A fallen angel with eyes so clear I could see them from here, with an air about him that seemed sad for some reason. He appeared restless, maybe even a little angry, as if he carried a low fire inside of himself.

It felt as if someone had stuffed me with cotton and it was expanding inside my chest, making me soft and giddy. The cloudy sensation spread through me, floating through my limbs, then my tummy, where it whisked and tickled.

There was a feather-light niggle in my head, as if I had seen this guy before—and it wasn't in any dream.

Carley shut the door so as not to attract attention. Then she whispered below the soft Pistol Annies music Jackie had playing.

“See?” she asked with a grin that reminded me a lot of the expressions Jackie and Juanita had on. “One of those guys is your future boyfriend.”

Giggles from in back of us. The Greek Chorus was listening in.

“Be serious,” I whispered. “You know I've got zero energy for an actual boyfriend right now.” I was still grieving, still trying to find my footing after Rex and Micah, still testing the waters. No way did I have the confidence to strut out there in front of . . .
him
. He was the big leagues. Rex had been Big League, too, and look what'd happened there.

“Excuses, excuses.” Carley lowered her voice even more so Jackie and Juanita couldn't hear. “Weren't you the one sexting the other night?”

“Accidentally.” She'd teased me about it for days since Diana hadn't been able to keep her pie hole closed. “Besides, I don't like to mix work with pleasure.”

“
You
don't seem to mix pleasure with anything.” She was at full volume now. “You've got the goods, babe. Use them.”

She was serious. She thought that I, one of many pixels in Aidan Falls, had a shot with a fully formed blond god.

Thank goodness my skin tone could hide a blush. But, come on, I'd seen handsome before. Rex and Micah were hot.

“He's cute,” I said. “But not for me.”

“He's intimidatingly cute. No, wait. ‘Cute' is not even a word for this situation. And I say this as a girl who totally has a boyfriend she adores.”

She let out a sigh, and it wasn't just an excited sigh about seeing Bret again tonight. It was laced with anxiety.

“Jitters?” I asked, seeing an opportunity to change the subject.

Carley bit. “A little jittery. I mean, I haven't been with Bret in ages, and there were nights when he didn't call or text and I had to wonder . . . You know.”

She'd wondered if he'd lost interest after their spring and summer whirlwind romance, which had been interrupted every so often by his trips out of town to gig with the band he'd joined after they'd started dating, after she'd given him the confidence to share his poetry with the world. He was also working on a house refurbishment with a friend who'd hired him.

I'd been through the same doubts with Rex. Bad direction to go.

“Ladies,” said Jackie from behind us, “those boys must be dying of thirst by now.”

Carley snapped out of it and gave a chipper salute just before she pointed at me and swung out the door to the dining room. I backed away so the customers wouldn't see that I'd been standing there gaping. As the door winged back toward me, Jackie nodded toward the dining room.

“Salt and pepper shakers won't fill up themselves,” she said.

Juanita giggled. Maybe they
could
see me blushing.

“Are y'all going to scurry over here and spy through the door crack after I leave, just to see if the magic happens?” Which it wouldn't.

Juanita held up a hand. “Count me in.”

Jackie threw a hand towel my way, and I ducked.

“Get,” she said.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up the towel, went to deposit it in the hamper, then washed up. I decided to stall ever so slightly as I put on my apron, then came back to grab some salt and pepper to take to the dining area. As I backed up to push open the door with my rear, Jackie and Juanita finger waved at me, and I smiled with all the sarcasm I could muster.

Then I emerged.

The music was so subdued that I could hear Carley taking drink orders as I headed for the tables by the opposite wall. Craft beer on tap for both gentlemen. But of course. And when she left to fill their order, I could hear the air in the room—and it wasn't because of the slowly turning ceiling fans.

As I reached for the shakers at station one, I heard a voice, and dammit all if it wasn't as deep and hot as sin.

“So what is there to do around here?”

I knew, even without looking, that it was the blond. Couldn't it have been the one whose face had been buried in the menu? Him, I could handle.

With professional politeness, I stopped what I was doing and smiled yet again, trying not to let that gorgeous, somewhat intense gaze throw me.

I got myself together enough to say, “What is it you like to do?”

The blond glanced at his friend, who paused, lowering his head again. It was a strange moment until the friend looked up and turned to me on the bench. Had he been trying to avoid me for some reason?

“We're here for a vacation of sorts,” Boy Band said. His smile was pleasant, the type that you trade with waitresses and maids and anyone else who serves you. Just by that smile, I could tell he had money, although I felt in my bones the car didn't belong to him. He didn't have
that
much money.

But his civil smile was enough to remind me of who I was—someone who took care of people. The thought made me tired, even if I'd loved Uncle Joseph, wanted the best for him, and I'd known that I could give it better than anyone else, especially my own second cousin Delroy.

“Well,” I said, sticking my hands in my apron pockets. I wasn't sure what else to do with them. “You've got Hill Country to see, and it's a pretty drive all around. You could go wine tasting on the trail—the area is getting more and more known for that—or go riding for a day . . .”

The blond raised a cool eyebrow at his friend. “Riding. Didn't I tell you, Simmons?”

Simmons closed his eyes briefly, as if . . . I wasn't sure why, but it seemed he was reacting to something he didn't agree with here. Probably because he was hoping I'd recommend a high-end lounge where he could order five-hundred-dollar bottles of scotch.

I continued. “There're some good stables I can refer you to. We do that for visitors all the time. Also, if you have no place to stay, we've got a list of B and Bs from the Chamber of Commerce.”

Simmons held up his hand to stop me. “We've got the housing covered.”

“Housing?” I asked. What a weird way to put it.

Just as Simmons started to respond, the blond broke in. “What he means is that our accommodations are all lined up. How about the night life here?”

“Night life?” I laughed. “If you're up for a silent movie, there's one playing at the Ritz. Or you can grab a beer that'll put more hair on your chest than you ever needed at the Lonesome Star bar.”

And there I was, talking about hair on chests. Great, now I couldn't stop thinking about what was under the blond's tweed coat and T-shirt.

“Is the bar a dive?” he asked with a gleam in his eyes that seemed . . . well, was “up for trouble” the right phrase?