Page 10 of Sugar Baby Mine

“I would hope not,” I say, despite knowing that to be the truth regardless.

We spend the next couple hours at the spa, one of the fancy ones with the hot towels and warm blankets. The staff are intimately familiar with Cora, carrying on with conversation as I get poked, prodded, and my hair yanked out all over.

I’ve never had a facial before. Well, the kind with the steam, the exfoliation, and the dermaplaning. It’s as relaxing as they say. There’s usually a fine line between too much stimulation and just enough, but this is the best way to keep my mind off of him.

Off of Ben.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t daydream about a man in a three-piece suit with silver hair.

Chapter 4

It’s Friday before I know it.

I spent the rest of the week in my makeover arc. Except, you know, in reality, I just got my nails done, my hair color and low-lights touched up, and an embarrassing full panel STD test done.

My meeting with Ben isn’t until seven tonight, so I have all day to worry over every little thing.

Yay.

It’s driving me crazy how much this is driving me crazy.

I soak in the bathtub until my fingers prune. I get out and stare at myself in the mirror—this time there’s more life to my skin, at least. Though I’m more nervous for this meeting,this date, than anything else in a long time.

It takes me twice as long to get ready than normal, taking care with my appearance rather than rushing through my routine. I actually blow dry my hair once I find my hair brush, though it wasn’t in the right spot. Put concealer on the dark circles under my eyes. Rub a little bit of shimmer across my eyelids that brings out the green of my eyes. Flick the wing on my eyeliner a little more than usual.

Who am I?

I shake my head, putting everything away in my makeup bag.

I’m still there, underneath this little bit of makeup. I want to be myself when I meet him—I don’t want to give him the impression of someone I’m not, because that’s just not fundamentally something I can do long term. It’s just hard when I haven’t seen the woman in the mirror for quite a while. But it feels good.

Which is why I turned down Cora’s offer of shopping for a new outfit or borrowing anything to wear. I want this to be as authentic and organic as it can be, in a situation that is anything but.

My bed is too tempting as I pass it by. It’s hard to resist the urge to climb in even with just my towel wrapped around me. I know I’d lose myself, staring at the ceiling until it was dark, unable to make myself get back up. So I steer clear before my knees buckle.

Moving to my dresser, I pull out the first bralette folded on top and make sure to actually grab the matching light pink panties. From my closet, I grab a black shift dress. Stepping up to look at myself in the mirror, I spend way too long looking at how square my shoulders look under the thin straps before deciding to layer a plain white tee underneath.

My wedges will have to do because I feel like Ben might be affronted if I wear my ratty Converse to dinner.

At the last minute, I throw my hair in a ponytail, smoothing my hair back with quick precision until my scalp stings. Fluffing my bangs out, I tilt my head back and forth until the ends swish against the back of my neck and everything feels sort of right with the world.

Though we’re going to a restaurant I would still deem too fancy for this entire thing, it’s nothing like Cora originally suggested. It’s still intimidating when my Lyft pulls up to the front. The doors and windows are all glass and sleek metal with fancy scripton the building written in Italian that I can’t understand.

I clutch my purse close, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life, before walking past the obvious line of people waiting for tables.

The hostess smiles at me, tapping her Bluetooth earpiece. “How can I help you?”

“I’m—” My spine stiffens, brain buffering as I try to recall what Cora told me in the moment. “I’m meeting someone. Party of two, for Reed.”

The woman gives a nod, humming under her breath as she grabs a stylus off the podium and looks through her tablet.

“Hmm, there it is. Looks like Mr. Reed has already been seated.” She looks up and motions with her hand to another hostess at her side to come and take me to the table.

As we walk through the full restaurant, each step rings in my ears. We’re coming up on a table that I know in the marrow of my bones is our destination. There’s a man with his back to us with a dark gray suit stretched across broad shoulders, tousled hair, one empty chair across from him.

“The other half of your party has arrived. Enjoy,” she says with a smile to both of us before leaving me completely alone with him.

Well, in a restaurant packed full of other guests, but still.

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