Page 97 of Sugar Baby Mine

“Sure. Is there something particular you’re looking for?”

“Anything cute.”

Ben laughs, eyes dropping closed. “You said the same thing in Italy, and I ended up with a suitcase full of stuff. I have my work cut out for me today, then.”

“Always,” I state, leaning in to press our lips together in a kiss. “Hope you have your credit card ready.”

“Always,” he echoes between the slow back and forth of our lips.

I sink into him, my hands drifting through his hair and pulling him closer. He tastes sweet, unlike the usual spice on his breath.

“Ice cream,” I breathe, pulling a lung full of air in when I jerk my head back.

“It’s fifty degrees out.”

“Good, it won’t melt then.”

He gives me a withering look, tucking the hanging strands of hair behind my ear. “Fine, but we have to get going if you want to do all of this before everything starts closing.”

I jump off of him, bouncing on my knees to the edge of the mattress. I spring off of it and do a twirl, sweeping my hair behind my shoulder and tugging my cropped hoodie back into place. “Ready.”

“Do you wanna drive?”

I shrink just a little, because as much as I wanted to drive on the way here but was relegated to the passenger seat, the thought of going into town and driving on streets I don’t know to places I’ve never been isn’t it.

“No, you drive, please.”

Ben rises from the bed, arms stretched above his head as my fingers reach out to graze over the trail of hair on his lower stomach. He catches my wrist in his hand before I can curl my fingers in the waistband of his jeans.

He ignores my pout, guiding us back out of the room.

We slip into our shoes by the door. The outside air smells citrusy and salty and so clean compared to the city. I probablysound like an idiot, the way I keep inhaling, but I can’t help it. And Ben’s cologne on top of it all as he walks past? Yes. A thousand times yes. Yes to what? Doesn’t matter.

Somehow, I’ve managed to get in the car and the fading orange and yellows of the trees blur into one big mess of brown, even when I roll the window down and stick my hand out to slip through the breeze.

We park on one of the main roads downtown, Ben parallel parking like a God. It’s disgusting.

There’s a bunch of little shops dotting the main street and the next street over, and as much as I love window shopping on a good day, the fact that he said I could have anything I wanted still doesn’t make me go wild. But I’m not an idiot; he’s offering to pay so I’ll pick out what I want, what I’d buy for myself if I had the money.

I drag him into this store called Roller Rabbit where they have everything from bedding to pajamas to tote bags. Their house-made prints come in everything under the umbrella, so I pick out a quilted tote as my prize. Then there are the pajamas, such soft cotton between the press of my fingers that I can’t resist them. I pick us out a matching pair, much to Ben’s dismay.

“They’re cute,” I insist as we leave the store, the straps of my new bag hooked over my arm.

“They have whales all over them.”

“And whales arecute.”

“It’s not really my style…”

“I’m considering this part of my compensation, take a hundred bucks off my payment this week. Whale pajamas for us both.”

He rolls his eyes, but grabs them from my arms, folding them over his elbow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like that about me.”

He follows me into the next store without an ounce of protest.

When my new bag is full of knickknacks and new clothes fromthe downtown stores, my stomach growls again. Ben steers us down another street until I can smell fried food, making me want nothing more than a plate of fries.

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