Sugar Daddies (13 page)

He sipped his beer. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He tipped his head. “Maybe, yeah.”

I propped myself on the worktop. “Solo?”

His cheeks pinked. “No…”

“Oh, come on, Rick. When have you ever invited one over in the week?” And he hadn’t. The idea was absurd. Together or not at all, that normally stretched to everything.

He sighed. “She’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Just… different.”

I took a breath. “She must have a magic pussy if you’re all hung up on it after one little fuck.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Of course it’s just that,” I said. “What do you think you are? Fucking soulmates?” He looked shifty. Awkward. It bothered me. I fucking hate secrets. “What is it?” I said. “Spit it out.”

He turned away, pretended to wipe something down from the sink. “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” I said. “You’re up to something.”

He groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Carl, why do you always fucking do this?” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He hovered as I reached for it. “Before you read this, know that I had to really dig, and this isn’t recent, and it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Just hand it over, what did you fucking find?”

“And I’m seeing her.” He kept it above his head. “I’m seeing her Wednesday regardless, and I’m scoping it out, and I like her. I really like her.”

“Just give me the paper, Rick.” I took it from his hand, and he looked away as I unfolded it. A collection of Facebook statuses. Quizzes, and comments on other people’s tags. My eyes soaked it all in. “So, it’s done,” I said, folding it back up. “Another pointless exercise.”

He slammed his hand on the counter. “I knew you’d be like this.”

I downed the rest of my beer, telling myself I wasn’t bothered, that this was just another par for the course, but I felt strangely disappointed.

He shook his head. “Just let me scope it out.”

“I don’t have fucking time,” I snapped. “Find someone else.”

“Please, Carl, just give me a chance…”

I sighed, and there was disappointment. Definite disappointment. “I don’t have time for this shit.” I grabbed another beer and stepped away, but he didn’t follow.

He stood with his arms folded, and his expression was resolute and steely and all fucking loved up. “I’m seeing her on Wednesday,” he said. “And you can either be there or not, but I am.”

“So, why tell me?”

“Because we’re honest with each other. Because I want you to know,” he said.

“And now I know.” I shrugged. “Do whatever you want, but I’m out.”

He took a couple of steps in my direction, and his voice had an edge of desperation. “Six months, you promised.”

“And you rendered them unnecessary.”

“But I
didn’t
. Don’t you see that?”

“I see exactly the opposite.”

He scowled, shook his head. “What about the weekend? What about stretching tight little cunt and taking her together? Hey? You telling me you don’t want to do that now?”

I sighed. “Fucking hell, Rick. I don’t know.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll cancel her. I’ll call it all off, right now.” He pulled out his phone and began to text, but my hand landed on his wrist.

And I had nothing to say, no fucking reason, and he knew it.

His eyes were victorious.

“I’ll see her Wednesday,” he said. “I’ll work it out.”

And I didn’t argue.

I didn’t say another fucking word.

Do I smell like horse?
I pulled my t-shirt to my nose, took a whiff. Hmm, maybe a little. I pulled my emergency perfume from my handbag and spritzed the shit out of myself, then rubbed my fingers in my armpits to check for body odour. Safe enough. I’d just have to hope I didn’t have any stray bits of hay dangling from my underwear. It’s been known to happen.

One of the perils of heading straight to a lunch date after a morning at the stables.

I vacated my vantage point at the end of the street, then rumbled onto Rick’s driveway. The Range Rover was missing. Made sense that Rick’s was the sporty little BMW, it suited him. I switched off the engine and my heart was pounding, which was standard, but there was more than nerves today. I’d woken early, even for me, and I was excited. Ridiculously excited. So, this was
crushing
? I’d never really had a crush before. I’d liked plenty of guys, but it was always just a like. Occasionally a strong like. Sometimes even a considered
yes, I’d like his dick in my ass, possibly many times
, but never something that had me waking up before dawn with a big goofy smile on my face.

Rick.
His point score was going up every time I pictured his face, every time he sent a text, every time I rubbed myself off to the thought of his hot pierced cock. And now I was at his door, with the promise of no Carl, just us.

That shouldn’t feel as good as it did, and definitely shouldn’t feel as good as the thought of three grand a month landing in my bank account.
Keep your fucking head, Katie, keep your fucking head.

Rick opened the door before I’d even locked my car, and today he was barefoot, low slung jeans
hugging his hips. He was wearing a simple t-shirt, but it was bright yellow, emblazoned with
life is art
in a funky font.
He looked awesome, and his smile told me he was pleased to see me, too.

Yep, this was definitely crushing.

I was shorter in flat pumps, short enough that his lips pressed to my forehead as he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping perfectly around my shoulders. I leaned into him, my tits pressing to his chest, hands snaking around his waist to land on the top of his ass, and there was that ocean smell again, only the ocean never smelt as good as it did on Rick’s beautiful inked skin.

“Hey, pretty lady.” His smile was boyish and animated and delicious. “Pleased you could stop by.”

He took my hand and led me inside, and the place felt so alive today. A radio blasted out soul music as the afternoon sun spilled through the kitchen windows, and there was a hint of a breeze from the open patio doors. He turned the music down and grabbed me a water from the fridge, then clinked my glass with his own.

“Cheers.”

I smiled. “Cheers.”

“Lunch is on.” He pulled the oven door down enough to peer inside, and the smell hit me. Chicken. Barbeque.

I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you, um…”

“Veggie?” He smiled. “Yeah, I am. But you’re not. I’m not one of those
thou shalt not
types. Eat what you want.” He pulled out a salad bowl from the fridge, and he’d even made that artistic. Chunky colours in flamboyant shapes. Cucumber stars, and tomatoes in neat little triangles.

“You shouldn’t have…” I started, but he waved it aside.

“Used to it. Carl’s virtually an anti-veggie. He has a side of beef with his beef, that guy.”

Carl.
I felt like an intruder upon hearing his name, hitting on his boyfriend while he was out of sight. I fucking hate cheating. The thought gave me shivers, feeling way more seedy than selling my ass for three grand a month.
Go fucking figure
.

“Where is Carl?”

“Work,” he said. “He’s sorry he couldn’t make it.”

I only wished I was, too.

He gestured behind me, to the laptop on the kitchen counter, the stool placed in front. “Beauty of working from home. My time’s my own. Mostly.”

“That’s what I want,” I said. “My own timetable.”

“Best feeling in the world.” His eyes looked me up and down. “Or one of them.” His gaze burned me, his low laugh making me blush. He pulled out some bowls, and sauces, and a couple of serving spoons, laid them out on the kitchen island and pulled me up a stool. “Thought we could eat here.”

I took a seat. “Works for me.”

I was glad I’d opted for casual. It felt so much nicer to wear my own skin. My jeans were my best pair, and my t-shirt was one of my newer ones, and I’d even worn a couple of bracelets to jazz it up a little, but I was definitely me today. It felt good to be me in front of Rick Warner, and his smile told me I was doing just fine. I liked that. I liked
him
.

“How’s your big hairy boy?” he said.

I gawped at him. Just gawped. Not once had anyone I’d been fucking ever asked after Samson before, not without prompting.

“Samson,” he clarified, like it was needed. “How is he?”

“He’s good.” I grinned. “He’s great. We’re in training for the summer eventing circuit. I think we’ll do well this year.” I crossed my fingers, held them up. “I
hope
we’ll do well this year.”

He mirrored my gesture. “I’ll keep mine crossed, too. And my toes.” He pulled on some oven gloves and took out the chicken. “Maybe we could come and watch. Me and Carl, I mean.”

“Watch me and Samson?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll see you pick up some rosettes. That would be cool. We could be your cheerleaders. Don’t be fooled by Carl’s stoic exterior, he’s got some moves.” He pulled a couple of
Saturday Night Fever
gestures, wiggling on the spot with his oven-gloved hands on his hips, and it tickled me.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You seriously want to come and see me and Samson on the eventing course?”

He fixed me in an easy stare. “Sure I do. Why, is that some dating no-no or something?”

I held up my hands. “No, I just… I thought…”

His stare didn’t waver. “You thought this was all about sex?”

“No!” I protested.

He laughed. “You totally did. And it’s not. I mean sex is sex, and it’s fucking great, and I can’t fucking wait to get you under me again, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not it. Not all of it.”

My mouth felt dry as he ditched the oven gloves and forked chicken wings onto my plate. “So… what is
it
?” I said. “What else is there?”

He handed me the serving spoon, and watched as I piled some salad alongside my chicken. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

“On
me
?”

He nodded. “Yeah, on what you want.”

I drizzled some olive oil over my greens. “Last time I checked you were the ones who were paying. Surely it’s about what
you
want, no?”

He shook his head. “That’s not quite how it works.” He forked himself some cucumber stars. “See, we want…
things
… we want…
someone
…”

The piece of tomato in my mouth felt big all of a sudden. I struggled to chew, and struggled harder to swallow. “
Someone
? Like… more than a…”