Boyfriend Bargain by Ilsa Madden-Mills

21

Sugar

Ibolt out into the yard and head for my car, sans shoes and coat. At least my little sequined crossbody purse is draped across my chest. I huff out a laugh that really isn’t a laugh but more like a what in the hell just happened and what am I going to do now sound.

I feel tears welling up and I fight to keep them at bay.

I wouldn’t put it past Zack to chase after me—I’ve never met a more determined person—so I pull up the hem of my dress and jog, which isn’t such a bad idea anyway considering it’s cold as hell. I’m insane to be running barefoot across a street in Minnesota at the end of January with no jacket on. Thank goodness we’re having unnaturally warm weather, a balmy thirty-three degrees. My feet are chunks of ice as I reach my truck, crawl inside, and crank it up. I sit here, my head resting against the steering wheel, letting the heat kick in before I take off.

My throat feels tight and I want to cry, but I clench my fists, determined to not give in.

Z and I just blew up at each other.

Why?

What the hell just happened?

Why are we so combustible?

Why am I so upset?

Why do I want to go back to him and see where we went wrong?

You can’t, my inner voice says, and I hunch over. I think about the girls there tonight, the ones I can’t compete with. What if…what if I fall for him?

Fuck.

A tear courses down my face, and I grimace as more fall. Wetness tracks down my cheeks, and I close my eyes and put my face in the stream of hot air that’s blowing from the dash.

After a few seconds, I gather myself together and pull out onto the street. Not wanting to go back to my dismal dorm, I end up driving around Lake Sparrow. I contemplate checking in with Mara, but she’s in work mode at this hour and I don’t want to bug her. Taylor and Poppy…I could call them, but they each had their own thing to do tonight. When midnight looms, I run through the drive-through at the all-night Krispy Kreme—sorry to cheat on you, Joaquin—and go back to the dorm. I could have bought extras earlier when I picked up Eric’s, but I didn’t think about it. I guess I’m jonesing for donuts because I’m sad. Ugh. Someday, I’m going to have to cut back on my treats, but not today. Not today.

I park illegally, near the inner circle where people walk, because I’m shoeless. I drift in through the front door of the lobby and it’s mostly quiet, thank goodness. I don’t want anyone to see what a mess I am right now. The girl behind the desk arches a brow when I pass by and then calls my name.

“Hey, you’re Sugar, right, in 412?”

I plod back over to her. “Yeah?”

She picks up a small vase of daisies and sets them on the counter. I blink down at them and look at her. It’s the third one in a month.

She shrugs. “No card, but a really hot guy with dark hair dropped them off for you. He said he was your boyfriend and wanted to come up to your room, but well, it’s past visiting hours and all, although I was tempted. He’s hot. Nice catch there.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my ex.”

“Okay.” She shrugs and goes back to her desk.

I exhale and pick up the vase. Fucking Bennett. Now I have two things to carry upstairs. “Thanks.”

I take off for the steps, my feet heavy as I climb the flights up to my floor. Periodically, I pause and look down at the white and yellow flowers.

I glare down at them. Daisies. They aren’t even my favorite, but he always got them for me because he liked them. “They’re glorified weeds,” I say to no one and keep walking. “If you would have just listened to me, Bennett, you’d know I don’t care for pale flowers with no soul.”

Maybe Julia will like them.

Once inside my room, I see that she’s gone. Typical. I set down the bag of sugary fried dough and flowers, glad I have my entire dorm room to myself.

I yank open my dresser to pull out a Boobie Bungalow pink tank and a pair of booty shorts. For once the stupid radiator in the room seems to be working, but there’s no valve so it’s hot as heck. Once the torn dress is off and hung up nice and neat, I pull out a half-full bottle of Grey Goose from the top shelf in my closet and pour a few inches into a plastic cup. From the fridge, I pull out a club soda and a lime. When you’re a girl dealing with a cheating ex and a creaky old dorm room, these are basic tools of survival.

“I’m sorry you got ripped in the crazy sex,” I say to the dress with a little sigh as I plop back down on my bed. I keep a small sewing kit in my desk, and I make a mental note to see if I can fix the tear. If I can’t, I’ll send it to the alterations place across the street from BB’s.

Annoyed and frustrated, I fluff up my pillows, flop down, and turn on HBO.

“Game of Thrones,” I snap into my remote. I need Jon Snow, stat.

I’ve gone through one drink and an entire episode of my re-watch, and I’m at the part where a zombie shows up—

Someone bangs on my door.

“Great timing! Almost pissed myself,” I mutter. Setting my drink on my desk next to me, I dash to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Z.”

My stomach clenches. He came after me? I put my hands on my hips. “Shouldn’t you be at the party?”

“I left. Went for a run.” His voice is low.

“But it’s Eric’s birthday.”

I hear a sigh. “The last I looked, Eric was with twins, one on either side of him. He won’t even miss me.”

There’s a long pause.

“Are you going to let me in?”

I chew on my lips. “Not a good idea.”

“Are you afraid we’ll have mind-blowing sex again?”

My teeth snap together. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we said we wouldn’t.”

“I knew we would.”

“Well, I thought we were on the same page.”

“We might have been, but then you walked into my house—”

“I have neighbors you know. They tend to listen.”

He lets out a small laugh, but I sense the strain underneath. “Come on, Sugar, let me in.”

But here’s the thing—there is no fixing this, because he’s hot and sexy and even now my body is practically pressed against the door. I have no control. None.

“Plus, I need to give you your shoes and coat. You ran off without them.”

“You ran with my stuff?”

“I wore a backpack—just for you.”

“Fine. Put them by the door.”

A few seconds tick by and I’m wondering, dying to know what he’s doing.

“What’s all the moving around? You still there?”

“Yep. Just sitting down. Not going away until you let me in to apologize.”

“For what? Be specific.”

He sighs and I hear the clack of the heels as he sets them on the tile beside my door.

“Things.”

“Uh-huh.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle when you brought up your ex. It’s just…I don’t like to think about you being with him.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” His voice is terse. He sighs. “I’m sorry I called you the girl of the month. There is no such thing, I swear. Some jersey chaser made that up to be cute my freshman year and it just stuck. Now we just make jokes about it.” He pauses. “I’m not the testosterone-addled asshole you think I am. I’m just a mostly normal dude who happens to be really into you.”

I fidget from one foot to the next, my head going back to the dragon tattoo I saw tonight. Placed on his left shoulder with the head lying over that side of his chest, it was massive and colorful, inked in shades of royal blue and yellow with orange flames coming from the mouth.

I chew on my nail. “When did you get your tattoo?”

He lets out a sigh, part weary, part amused. “Truly, it’s a fine story, how I came to have this wonderful tattoo, but it’s one that should only be told face-to-face.”

I cross my arms. “You are not getting into my room.”

“Because you’re too chicken to be alone with me?”

I huff. “I am not—”

“You’re afraid you’ll take one look at my incredibly muscled, naked chest—”

“I’ve seen some chests, and yours is not the most incredible.”

“And you’ll faint like those ladies in the Jane Austen books—”

“How do you know what ladies do in Jane Austen books?”

He sighs. “I know my books.”

I smirk.“Quote me something from one of your books.”

He clears his throat. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. That’s Mr. Darcy speaking to Elizabeth Bennet.”

“You probably saw it on a coffee mug,” I say, but he has my attention. I happen to adore Mr. Darcy.

He huffs. “My mom used to read the classics aloud to me and my brother. She was a high school English teacher.”

I sniff. “Well, fine, you know Jane Austen. Do you know anything else?”

He pauses, and I picture him thinking—

“Are you Googling stuff?” I ask.

“No. I’m racking my brain to come up with some kind of quote, but Jane isn’t my favorite. I know a poem by Robert Frost.”

“The one from class?”

He huffs out a laugh and quotes.

“Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.”

His words are wistful as he recites the poem, and it strikes a chord.

“My mom used to say that last line to me a lot, especially when I was upset or working through something. She died when I was seventeen, right before I came to HU.”

I bite my lip. “My mom passed when I was eleven.”

A long, long sigh comes from him. “Mine had breast cancer. She and my dad hid how bad it was from us for a long time, but it got her.” I hear a rustling noise as if he’s really getting comfortable. “She gave me a necklace with the last line from the poem on it before she died. She said it was a reminder that life isn’t always gold, but that green does eventually come back around. It’s the way of the universe.”

“It’s beautiful that you have that.” I swallow.

“How about you? What happened?”

My heart is heavy, even though it’s been years. “I came home from school and she was dead. Seizure, they said. She was epileptic and wasn’t great about taking her meds. She…she was all I had. My father had completely broken up with her by the time that happened. Plus, he already had a wife and kids. I was the love child he never wanted.”

There’s silence for a while.

“Are you still there?” I say.

“Yeah. Just thinking about you being alone…it must have been hard coming here, your dad not being around and all.”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“Can I come in, Sugar? I just want to hold you. I was an asshole.”

“Honestly, I like talking to you like this. It’s easier.” With a door between us, there’s no risk of me having sex with him. “Tell me about your cat. What’s her name?”

“She’s not my cat. Her name is Long John Silver.”

I smile. “Who named her?”

He snorts. “You’ve been talking to Eric. Okay, okay, the cat is mine. I dig the cat. She curls up next to me when I sleep, and honestly it makes me feel calm, and I need a little of that during hockey season.”

I grin and a few more moments pass of us just breathing.

“Let me in, Sugar. I need…I need to see you. Just let me give you a hug and I’ll leave.”

Another voice interrupts us and I recognize it as the girl from across the hall, a stocky rodeo chick. Whenever I see her approaching in the hall, I always give her a wide berth. “Oh, for God’s sake, open the damn door already, or I’m calling security! A person needs their sleep in this dump!”

Z huffs out a chuckle, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Fine.

I crack open the door and there he is.

He’s standing up now and he leans against my doorjamb, wearing black running gear from head to toe. There’s a serious expression on his face, and his hair is wild and flying everywhere as if it has static in it. Static hair is such a regular human thing and it’s nice to see, because honestly I was beginning to think of him as very non-human with that face and body.

“You look like a burglar who stuck his finger in a light socket,” I murmur.

He shoves a black knit hat down on his head. “You should have seen me when I had this on—cat burglar extraordinaire. I had to slip in through the side door because the girl at the front desk told me visiting hours were over for this floor.”

“Alas, I got housing so late, I have sucky hours. They call this dorm The Virgin Vault.”

His brows go up. “You trying out being a nun?”

I give him a look. “We just had sex in a garage—does that sound nunnish to you? And yes, I know that’s not a real word.”

He grins. “Let me in?”

“CHRIST, LET HIM IN!” comes from the door across the hall.

“You should definitely listen to her.”

“You’ve worn me down at this point, plus I’ve had a drink, so I’m willing to hear your apology,” I say.

I step to the side so he can brush past me. Of course my gaze follows his physique. Mr. Black Spandex is hot and every muscle in his backside ripples. I sigh—I can’t help it. He turns around and catches me checking him out. Moving with a swift athletic grace, he sweeps me up in his arms and hugs me, his voice gruff when he speaks. “See, hugging is good.”

I slide down him, my body pressed tight against his.

He frowns, looking down at my shirt. There’s a white logo on the front of a girl sliding down a pole. “You’re a stripper?”

I stiffen. I’ve learned that some people get weird when they find out where I work. I once had a professor who discovered it and pulled me aside after class one day and got a little too close when he asked what nights I worked. Just no. I was glad when that class ended. “Would it bother you if I were?”

“Fuck yeah. I don’t want anyone looking at you like that.”

I cross my arms. “As it happens, I don’t strip, but if I did, it would be fine. Mara owns BB’s and I mostly do office work and sometimes tend bar.”

His lips compress.

“What?” I ask.

He rubs his face. “Just…I don’t know. It’s not a safe place to work, even if you’re not…”

“It is. Mara runs a tight ship. We have bouncers and our place is clean. Plus, some of the girls are like family to me.”

His chest rises.

“Z, you have no right to judge where I work. Don’t even try.”

“I know, I know. Just…maybe I should come check it out.”

“I can handle myself. You have no clue how I grew up, okay? Hockey in the suburbs is your normal, and hanging out at a strip club is mine. It doesn’t mean I have questionable morals. In fact, Bennett was my first.”

He frowns and holds a hand up. “Okay, just stop and let me back up. I know you’re not a bad person. I’m just…surprised.”

“I didn’t grow up rich.”

His face softens. “And I like you the way you are. I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“Good.”

“Nice place,” he says as he walks toward what is obviously my side of the room since the TV is on. He takes in my white duvet and fluffy pillows.

“It’s not, but it’s all that was left. I was supposed to move in with Bennett this semester.” I move to the desk where the bottle of vodka sits. “You want a drink or a donut?”

He surveys the room, taking in my books before his eyes land on the vase of flowers. “Nah.” He picks at one of the blooms. “An admirer?”

I detect a steely glint in his eyes.

“My ex. They were here when I came home tonight.”

His nose flares. “I see.”

“He leaves gifts for me, trying to get me to talk to him.”

His shoulders stiffen. “Are you still in love with him?”

“He cheated on me. He lied.”

He stares at me. “That doesn’t mean you don’t still love him.”

I pause, thinking.

There are residual feelings of loneliness, especially hurt, but he tossed me aside to be with someone else on a whim, and that…that I can never get over no matter how many flowers he sends me.

“I don’t love him.”

“Good.”

An easy silence fills the room, as if the tension has dissipated, and his gaze washes over me. I tug at the tank I’m wearing, but really what’s the point? I’m braless and he knows what I look like.

“I have to say, it’s a nice look for you,” he murmurs. “Now we just need a stripper pole in here…”

I roll my eyes, go to my closet, pull out an HU fleece jacket, and jab my arms into it while he looks around the room.

I watch him warily as he paces around my space, taking in the bookshelves bolted to the wall and the attached desk where I have my laptop. He stops a few feet from my bed and takes in the collage of Post-it notes I’ve stuck up above it. They’re all done in hot pink and neon yellow and it’s quite garish, but I get a buzz when I read them.

He leans in over my bed. “Modern art?”

I snort. “More like modern shit.”

He plucks one of the squares of paper and stares down at it.

I shuffle my feet and take a seat on the chair next to the TV. I want to keep as much distance between him and me as I can, and I tug at the edges of my soft jacket, not quite meeting his gaze. “Those are my way of dealing with Bennett. We broke up in December, and coupled with the holidays, it was rough.”

His gaze goes to the daisies in the corner. “Bennett Walsh, lead singer of the Orange Bird band, generally a popular guy and might well be on his way to a big-time music career? Am I right?”

My mouth pops open. “You asked around about me?”

He shrugs. “After he was thrown in my face, I had to go look him up.”

I chuckle. “You can’t keep up with my stalking skills, Z.”

He looks down at the Post-it, his gaze thoughtful, and I say, “Go on, read it. It made me feel good to write those.”

He clears his throat. “Dear Future Boyfriend.” He pauses. “Is this to anyone in particular?”

“No.”

He nods, continuing. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for not taking mirror selfies of your hot bod and posting them on social media. Also thank you for not sending me the poop emoji when you text me.” He throws his head back and laughs. “He did these things?”

“The man has no boundaries.”

With an intrigued expression on his face, he plucks down another one. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for not calling me babe.” His eyes widen. “Shit, you really, really do have a thing about that.”

“Indeed.” I take a sip of my drink.

He snatches another one, glee on his face.

“Those are really personal, you know. It’s kind of a big deal to let you see them.”

“How else will I get to know my new girlfriend?”

“Fake girlfriend, and are we still together?”

“Miss Ryan, hell yes we are still together. Tonight was just a bump in the road.”

I blush. Okaaay.

He clears his throat. “Dear Future Boyfriend, You singing “I Want It That Way” to me last night at the karaoke bar was the highlight of my week. I promise you a blowjob later.” He bends over, laughing.

“What?” I say indignantly.

He grabs his stomach. “The Backstreet Boys? For real?”

I snatch the note out of his fingers. “That song is iconic. It’s got depth and love and angst and—”

“’Ain't nothin’ but a heartache,” he sings out with a hand over his heart.

“You’re mocking me, and your voice is shit.”

“You’re cute when you get mad.” He takes down another. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for binge-watching The Office with me and agreeing that Jim Halpert is the second sexiest man alive next to you.” He laughs and looks up at me.

I shrug. “All my secrets are revealed.”

“This is addicting,” he murmurs as he takes another one.

“You don’t have to read them all. There are so many.”

“But I like it. It’s like putting a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle together slowly. You’re a complicated person, Sugar.”

“Ditto.”

“Last one,” he says, looking down at the note. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for forgetting about the Super Bowl and taking a bubble bath with me instead.” He fingers the paper slowly, rubbing it softly, and his eyes are warm when they meet mine. “We can definitely do this one. I’m not a football fan—”

I stand up to pour another drink. He’s making me nervous. “The Super Bowl already happened.” I indicate the box of donuts on the desk. “If you don’t want a drink, how about a donut?” Food fixes everything.

“I’m not here for a donut.”

He levels his gaze at me.

The tension ratchets up in the room, and I clear my throat and make my way over to the Post-its. I grab one and thrust it toward him. “Read this one.”

“Dear Future Boyfriend, I love that you didn’t freak out when you found my secret wedding board on Pinterest.” A slow grin curls his lips. “Trying to scare me?”

I blink up at him, fluttering my lashes, deepening my Southern accent. “Well, I declare, isn’t that what every girl dreams of, a big wedding outside in a garden with her big, strong, hockey-playing college sweetheart?”

He bites his lower lip. “Keep talking like that and you might be able to talk me into a pretend wedding.”

I place my hand over my heart. “Bless your heart, I have more sayins’ if you wanna hear ’em.”

He rubs his jaw. “Verging on redneck. It’s only good when you talk about how hot I am.”

I roll my eyes at him and grin. I like him so much. He gets my goofiness.

He’s moved closer to the TV. “This is that dragon show everyone talks about…” He kicks off his shoes and plops down on my bed, leaning back against my pillows. “You’re a fan?”

I nod. “Duh. It’s got giant wolves, dragons, zombies, and tons of blood and sex.” I sigh softly. “There’s this one battle called the Battle of the Bastards where Jon Snow retakes Winterfell from Ramsay Bolton, who also killed one of his brothers right in front of him and also cut the balls off…” I stop, not wanting to spoil it for a Game of Thrones virgin. “It’s pretty much perfect.”

“You’re more bloodthirsty than I realized. I like this side of you.” He pats the mattress, wanting me to join him. “You need to educate me.”

I arch a brow. “You wanna watch?”

“You said blood and gore and sex. Toss in a dragon and I’m all yours.”

I laugh and ease in next to him. “The guy with the dark hair, he’s about to—shit, I can’t tell you. If you want to be a Game of Thrones fan, you have to start from the beginning. You have to know everyone’s backstory and why they do what they do.” I give him a look. “You can’t just start in the middle.”

“Ah, sometimes the middle works out.” His lips curve up as he gazes at me, and his eyes are on my chest, lingering before coming up.

I restart the series at season one, episode one.

“Let us begin,” he says softly.

I swallow, feeling the warmth of his bicep as it brushes against me. “Begin what?”

“The show. What else?” There’s an amused glint in his gaze until he gets serious. He toys with a piece of my hair. “Sugar, I’m sorry for being a total jerk. In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to like control. When I don’t have it, I might say something shitty, but I’m the first to admit when I’m wrong and I’ll apologize for it.”

“Okay.”

And that’s it. I let it go.

I nod and turn to watch as the episode starts. I explain some about the author and the rabid fan base that has made the show popular.

He’s watching my mouth and I elbow him. “Are you listening to me?”

He blinks and looks back at the TV screen. “Totally.”

With a heavy sigh, I settle in, leaning against his shoulder.