Page 20 of Sugar Daddies

How can a girl not blush when a man with God-like features says that we’re going on a date and his tone says I have no opinion on it?

Not that I would decline anyway.

Chapter Six

Pepper

Mr. Stephan stands out like a sore thumb in a place that is a live-action fairy tale.

It’s not his clothes that stand out; he has a simple grey cotton shirt and black pants on. His boots are not the standard tennis shoes that everyone is wearing, but it’s not those fancy, expensive leather shoes that go with his equally luxurious suits.

It’s his intimidatingly tall height and the massiveness of his frame that towers over everyone in the theme park.

From the perspective of other people who have mickey mouse ears on their head and colorful clothes, he is a behemoth stomping around and scaring children with his mysterious eyes.

People might think I’m being held hostage because the grip on my hand is tight and somewhat suffocating. I fear that he’ll feel how sweaty it is and be disgusted. I’m kind of revolted at the clamminess in my fingers as I try not to hold his hand too tight.

Another thing that makes him stand out is that he doesn’t look like the type to step foot in Disney World of all places. He still remains this polished man without his suit.

I applaud him for holding his appearance up to the standards of women around us; they’re eyeing him like hawks, and they’re waiting for the right moment to swoop in to sink their claws into his delicious muscles.

I can’t blame them for trying because I would do the same thing if I’m not already his center of attention.

Is it sick of me to feel a certain haughtiness for having him to myself while women are seething in envy and jealousy?

I am a woman with a dull sixth sense and feeling the intense gazes from everyone doesn’t take much effort to understand why they are trying to crack my skull with their glares.

As I pull Mr. Stephan towards another stand that sells giant turkey legs, my heart skips from the previous experience that I had. The roller coaster ride was insane, and I didn’t know that I could literally feel my heart on my tongue when the cart tipped forward, and then it was the best feeling when adrenaline kicks up at the drop.

I have VIP pass around my wrist, so I don’t have to wait for the long lines and sweaty people and I had to thank Mr. Stephan for being generous. He paid for everything; the entrance tickets, the food in my tummy, and the special treatment from the theme park.

When I mentally add up the price, it exceeds what normal people make in one day of work and Mr. Stephan doesn’t blink an eye when he swipes his sleek black credit card down.

If I remember correctly from a television advertisement, black cards mean that they are high prestige, hyper-exclusive that are reserved for those who either are filthy rich or those who have the best credit scores.

Somehow, I think Mr. Stephan has both. It shouldn’t surprise me since his gold watch has a ninety-nine percent of being real gold, but I didn’t have the courage to ask him.

I put down my order, and Mr. Stephan is already paying by shoving the credit card into the machine. The vendor wraps a jumbo turkey leg in a wrap, so my hands don’t get greasy or sticky.

My hands go to take the offered meat as the beeping noise from the card machine signals the approval of the purchase. My mind is nowhere near the price of it; I’m more focused on the heavenly smoky aroma that whiffs off of it.

The moment I bite into it; I am never going back to regular turkey for Thanksgiving. I need this as my daily meal. The taste isn’t exactly like a turkey. It’s somewhere near cured ham, and the meat falls off the bone in one smooth peel.

The meat melts in my mouth with a small tang of saltiness. Juices run down into the bag, and I couldn’t care less how barbaric I look in front of the ever-so-handsome Mr. Stephan.

I’m more concerned with devouring the turkey when he steers me to sit on an oddly suspicious empty bench. I chew as I think of reasons why no one is taking the seat. It’s a hot day, and there are a lot of people here so it should make sense to have trouble finding places to sit.

I shrug and sink my teeth into the meat again; it’s so juicy and tender as I swallow the rest of it down my throat. I may look like a starved child, but Mr. Stephan has fed me good the moment we stepped into Disney World.

I beg of him to buy me food, and he did it out of the kindness of his heart, or at least that’s what I think. I can never read him; his face doesn’t reveal his thoughts in ways that help me distinguish him being Mr. Stephan, the businessman or Mr. Stephan, the Daddy.

“Slow down, little princess,” Mr. Stephan said while halting my hand in mid-bite.

I blink as my thoughts come back to me. I look down to the almost finished turkey, and I’m shocked that my appetite expands that fast.

He questions with a slight humorous chuckle, “Does Max starve you?”

I blush and lick the smoky juices off my lips, “No, he feeds me well.”

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