Page 10 of Sugar Baby

I turn off the stove and pick up the frying pan, carrying the entire thing over to the table. Oakley sits clear of the hot pan, and I scoop up one of the fried eggs, placing it on top of her toast and doing the same to mine.

“Very likely. The ratio of sugar babies and daddies-slash-mommies appears to be heavily slanted in our favor. There are bots out there—fake accounts. But I’ve been to a couple of Sugar Baby brunches and by all accounts, there aren’t more than fifty of us in the area, so we service quite a few of the local mummies and daddies. I haven’t been turned down yet.” Oakley uses a fork to pierce some bacon and put it on her plate.

I toss the pan in the sink and run some water over it so it’s not a bitch to get clean later. “So, what you're saying is that I shouldn’t ask a daddy to pick me if I’m not one-hundred-percent into what they want?”

Oakley shrugs one shoulder as she holds her coffee cup in front of her. “Pretty much.”

Well, fuck.

I really wish I’d remembered to bring my phone out here with me. But, in my defense, I barely had a need for the thing, normally. Tray is the only person who ever contacts me, and I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. Not since I told him I was getting out.

Other than that, I occasionally scroll social media, but not really. My last few years have been consumed by my need to get into college, get my degree, and get myself into a stable situation.

While numbers really fucking bore me, I’m good at them. And if there is one thing I learned in the foster system, money is the motivating factor for just about everything.

So, my life goal is to become a tax accountant. It’s stable and dependable. Taxes are never going to disappear, and the job is in high demand.

“You don’t have to use the app,” Oakley says, her voice softer than I’m used to hearing. “I could always help you find a regular job.”

I snap my gaze to hers and see worry written all over her face. Ah, fuck. My silence must have sent her scurrying down a bunch of self-doubt rabbit holes. “No, thank you. I might change my mind on that in a few days, but right now, I think I’ll try the whole sugar baby thing. See if I can manage it.”

The lie sits heavy on my tongue, which is a strange sensation. I’ve lied a million times, a million different ways. Usually, I lie to keep myself out of hot water, and a solid nine times out of ten, it has kept me out of that hot water.

So, why does this lie make me want to squirm in my chair?

I should just tell her I’m interested in letting four men rail me for a few hours in exchange for a shit ton of money. Surely, she wouldn’t judge me. She’s on SugarLife herself. She knows what’s on there, even if she does filter it out.

Oakley seems to accept my words. Her phone lights up on the table next to her and, after checking out what it is, she shoots me an apologetic smile before picking it up and answering the call. “Hey, Daddy.”

She pins her phone between her shoulder and ear, picks up her plate and coffee, and disappears into her room. I’m beyondgrateful, because now I can dash to my room and get my own phone.

As soon as the screen lights up in front of me, I see the notification from SugarLife.

SugarLife

Brat4Us invites you to chat.

Chapter 4

Emery

I check the time of the notification, and it’s from about twenty minutes after I passed out last night.

Damn.

Okay, well. I can do this. Just, like . . . sext, right?

I’ve never had to worry about this part before. Usually, it’s a done deal, and all I have to do is walk in and lie down on a bed or nearest piece of flat furniture.

Nerves zap down my arms, and I fall back until my butt lands on my unmade bed. Sliding my thumb over the notification, I wait for SugarLife to open, the pink and blue spinning ball taunting me as I get logged in.

I’m prompted for my license before I can continue to the chat, and I quickly get that uploaded. It doesn’t give me any time to prepare myself, opening straight up to the message request once I hitsubmit. Fuck, will they see I’ve seen it?

I shake that thought from my head. Who cares if they know I’ve seen it? I don’t know them and owe them nothing. I could totally ghost them. Block them, if they become dicks.

That little piece of perspective settles something in me.

I have a private account.

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