Rookie in Love [SYTYCW 2013]

Check Out SUGAR by RuneMonroe on Wattpad!

Money isn't important to me. I try to make just enough of it to stay afloat in this ridiculous city. Want my Outfit of The Day, or OOTD as my generation insists on calling it? My dress is courtesy of Gabby—my bestie, who thank God has a wild streak and a few club dresses. My earrings and necklace are from Target, and these torturous heels are from Shoes for Less in the mall. And this bad attitude I'm trying to shake as I walk up to the sliding glass doors? Well, it's from my editor at the magazine assigning me an article called "My Sexy Month as a Sugar Baby."

Barf.

Look don't get me wrong; I respect the hustle of these sugar babies. I also don't want to yuck someone else's yum, but it isn't for me. I've never been interested in a man that was more than a few years older than me, and the idea of getting paid to keep someone company makes me a little put off. I recently got out of a really ugly relationship where every disagreement turned into a money argument, and I'm trying really hard to heal and find a man who doesn't see relationships as transactional and money as his god. But that moment of growth will have to wait until after my article deadline.

"Welcome," the doorman of the hotel greets.

"Thank you," I say.

I tug on the bottom of my dress one last time before stepping inside the large glass doors and ready myself to fake all the confidence I'll need to get through this evening. This is my first actual meet-up. The seven other men I chatted with on the site all turned out to be salt daddies, a term I just learned earlier this week while doing more research into the sugaring lifestyle. Some men join the connections site to scam women. With a little help from a friend of a friend who's lived this lifestyle for a year now, I was able to figure out how to avoid them and find a real sugar daddy.

I'm early. I'm always early. This gives me the chance to get a shot at the bar to calm my nerves and take in the ambiance of the hotel. I've never been here before and want to soak it all up to paint a vivid picture for the readers.

The hotel looks like it was built in the twenties. I should've done my due diligence before coming, but I was busy trying to argue my way out of taking this assignment in the first place. I'll have to backfill the research. The colors are muted earth tones, and the wall-to-wall luxury carpet creates a very hushed and expensive feel inside the lobby. Plush, over-sized chairs seem to reach out regally with their polished oak claw feet and clean, inviting upholstery. I wish I could sit down and forget this whole thing.

The hostess greets me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm going to wait for someone at the bar," I tell her.

She nods, and I get the feeling she's used to not asking questions if they aren't her business. Money and discretion dance closely together in these situations.

"I'll have a shot of whisky please," I say when I find a seat at the bar.

I'll also need to research how to get on a barstool gracefully. I lift myself up and my dress reaches its capacity to stretch very quickly, limiting my range of motion to three or so inches. One cheek on the stool. My clunky heel finds the old brass bar that runs along the floor close to the wooden backing of the bar top. It's meant to rest your feet on, but I use it as a step ladder and awkwardly scoot myself onto the stool in a clumsy back and forth motion until I'm centered. I don't have a good history with these things. Last month, while out with my girlfriends, I fell right off one for no good reason. Was it a ghost? Poor balance? The fact that we'd gone to brunch in the morning but found ourselves two cities over and still drinking at 5pm that evening? One will never know.

His scent catches my attention before I can even see him. Woodsy, but clean. Freshly showered with the small bite of an expensive after-shave. I close my eyes and take it in slowly. It reminds me of wealth, not like the way cheap cologne assaults my senses and makes my eyes burn. This scent warms my insides and lures me into a feeling of submission. Weird since I'm not ever that girl.

"Bourbon," he commands.

His suit is impeccable. It's perfectly tailored to his fit body. My gaze starts at his brown dress shoes peeking out from beneath his trousers. I want to reach out and touch the fabric because I know it'll run through my fingers like nothing I've ever experienced before. Has he even worn this outfit outside the hotel? There isn't a stitch out of place—not a snag the whole way up to where they cling and curve around his thick, impressive thighs.

I thought the days of three-piece suits were gone, however, this man two seats down at the bar wears his as if it's part of his daily routine. I imagine his itinerary plots his perfect day: wake up next to a beautiful model, work out, shower, head to the closet to pick from forty suits just like it. His large hand nimbly unfastens his jacket button, and I watch him visibly release some of the stuffiness that must be part of the uniform. His shoulders, which are similar to that of a sturdy rugby player, fall subtly, and he slides himself onto the barstool with all the grace I lack. Thank God I got here first.

There's an urge to tuck my lips beneath his jaw pepper tiny kisses up his warm skin until I meet his mouth with mine.

Holy shit, what's happening?

"Here you are, miss," the bartender says as he sets down a shot glass full of whiskey.

"Thank you," I reply.

I tip it back, not missing the opportunity to check out the man one last time. His perfectly messed hair and short well-kept beard make his features stand out. Even beneath the beard I can make out his strong jawline and perfect skin. His eyes meet mine, and a slow grin begins to unfurl on his lips. I'm not sure if it's the whiskey or his attention that has me feeling so hot. I'm bubbly and glowing.

"Excuse me," the hostess says as she gently taps my shoulder. "I believe your party has arrived."

I yank my attention away from the man at the bar. I'm not here for him. I have a plan. A date. A job to do. So why, as I stand and walk away, can't I stop myself from looking back one more time? Why does his smoldering gaze catch and hold me in a way that ignites something inside me? And why do I wish like crazy that if I absolutely must be forced to have a sugar daddy, it could be him?

CHAPTER 2

HUDSON

It's an interesting choice, the sequined dress that grips every curve as it stretches over her flawless body. Most women in this establishment are dressed for business—something more conservative and reserved. Not her. She stands out, but I can admit she'd stand out even in a robe and slippers in a room full of women in their robe and slippers. There's something about her that demands to be seen. Maybe it's her aqua-colored eyes with their thick, black lashes, or the fawn-colored hair, swirling with blonde sun-kissed pieces. Whatever it is, it's remarkable.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't love having women notice me, but getting her attention gives me a warrior's sense of pride. For a moment, I was the lion of the room, the strongest contender for the ultimate prize. The bourbon goes down easier when your senses are keen. Everything loose and hot for the hunt.

I watch her leave the bar, the hostess leading away the one thing that might've made today better. The small gems on her dress cry out for attention as they catch the light and reflect it back in my direction like a siren's song. There are some women who really know what they're doing and should be held on a pedestal for that alone. As men, we like to think we're the hunters. But the sway of her inviting hips and the way she seductively looks over her bare shoulder in my direction one last time shows the truth. We're the prey. I don't mind one bit...

Come and get me.

Read the rest of Chapter 2 and follow along as they update the story at user Rune Monroe!

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