Page 28 of Sugar Baby Mine

“Which is understandable. I don’t begrudge you that, even with my side of the family’s misgivings.” She scrunches her nose up and shakes her head. “God, we’re so fucked up. It’s no wonder this is where we’ve landed.”

I can’t stop the snort that leaves me. I put my hand over my mouth as laughter bubbles out. “You’ve got that right. But at least we have each other.”

“Always.” Cora scoots closer to me and bumps my shoulder with her own before pulling me in for a hug.

Her perfume and shampoo fill my nose with notes of jasmine and something deep and woody. It’s a comfort, and as much as I want to pull away and fold in on myself, I put my arms around her and squeeze.

“All right,” I say after a moment, and we pull apart. “Time to stock up on candy and frozen pizza.”

“And hard seltzers?”

“Oh, now you’re getting wild. Absolutely. We can come back and watch trashy TV for the rest of the night—unless you had plans?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing more important than spending the night with my best friend.”

And my heart aches just a little bit, because she’s mine, too.

Chapter 8

I’m cranky the next morning when I roll out of bed hungover, trudging to the door where someone is pressing the buzzer to the building incessantly. Each reverb bounces off my skull and makes the pressure at the back of my head and my jaw throb. I want to murder whoever pulled me out of bed at 8 a.m. on a Sunday.

I rub at the joint of my jaw and cringe when I open my mouth until it clicks, but it feels the littlest bit better. I must have ground my teeth extra hard in my sleep.

I jab the button to the intercom aggressively, like that’s going to absorb any of my rage. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I have a delivery here for a…sorry—an Emmeline Cahill?”

Squinting at the gray box like this man can somehow see the scowl on my face, I press the button again. “That’s me. I’ll be down in a minute, wait there.”

What could this possibly be? I haven’t ordered anything. At least, I don’t remember. Oh God. Did I do some online shopping last night? Overnight myself something? Did I spend all that money already?

I’m totally lost as I pull a hoodie off the hook in the entrywayand slip it on. Stuffing my keys in the front pocket, I slip out the door into the hallway and glide down the stairs in my socked feet until I reach the landing. Pulling open the front door, a shiver runs through me as a gust of cold air whooshes through the doorway.

There’s a man in a navy and purple uniform standing on the stoop, ballcap on his head and a name tag that readsGregtacked to his chest with two packages under his arm. He swivels to me and glances down at my bare legs beneath the hem of my hoodie, dragging his eyes up quickly before popping a smile on.

“Got this delivery for ya here, Miss Cahill. Happy Sunday to ya,” Greg says, passing me the packages after he scans them with the device in his hand.

“You, too,” I say warily, curling my arms around the boxes and blinking down at the address label.

He turns and leaves back to his delivery truck that’s double parked in front of the sidewalk.

When I get back upstairs inside the apartment, I toss my keys away and rip open the silverware drawer to pull out a knife. Slicing the tape across both the boxes, I peel back the cardboard flaps and take in a breath.

In the first box is a cardigan. My fingers tremble when I pick it up out of the box. It’s ivory with a lace collar and delicate, pastel floral embroidery on the pockets. When I slide it out of the plastic packet, it’s so soft and I love it immediately. I avoid looking at the price tag, because I don’t even want to know. My eyes close and I shake my head, looking back to the box with the lack of return address glaringly obvious as I stare at the bottom of the box.

The second box is a pair of shoes, ones I’ll surely break my neck in. Black Jimmy Choo heels with a crystal-embellished ankle bracelet and rhinestones trailing down the heel. I check the inside of the shoe, and they’re the correct size.

Motherfucker.

These are definitely worth more than the cash he gave me, no doubt about it. No return slip for these either, of course. There’s a printed piece of paper in this box, though.

Wear these tonight.

There must be something wrong with me. Because I have half a mind to grab up my phone and call Ben, telling him to take these gifts back.

But if I give them back, that defeats the purpose of this—of what we’re doing. I’m supposed to be grateful. I know I should be, and I said I would be to Cora, but it’s still hard when it comes down to it. I also can’t call him again like that. The other night was probably more than bordering on annoying when I rang him twice and nearly yelled at him. I’ve gotta get myself under control.

Shoving the empty boxes back on the table, I grab the shoe box along with the cardigan and head to my room. Tossing them both on my bed and climbing back under the covers, I dig my phone out from under my pillow and turn on several alarms to wake me up in a few hours. Then I do my best to fall back asleep to try and get rid of this nagging headache.

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