Page 109 of Sugar

Both

MADDIE

Comfy bed, check.

Darkened room, check.

Smell of smoky cologne, ch?—

Wait.

Nope.

That’s a new one.

My lids shot open, and I confirmed what my sleepy subconscious already knew.

I wasn’t at my apartment. I was at Easton’s.

I’d slept with him. In his bed. At his exceedingly swanky but unspeakably boring house—though I had a vague memory of speaking that last part to his face.

Where he’d also kissed me before eating me like I contained the sustenance he needed to survive.

I was tempted to yank the blankets higher, but I had the distinct feeling that it was already embarrassingly late. And the even more distinct reminder that I’d fallen asleep the night before without brushing my teeth.

Thankfully, Easton wasn’t in bed with me to get scared away by my morning breath, and I didn’t linger in bed and risk that fact changing. I hurried into the bathroom to pee, wash my hands and the smeared makeup from my face, and brush my teeth with the vigilance of someone who was hoping to be kissed.

Preferably multiple times.

As I put in a valiant effort toward presentability, my mind replayed the night over and over like a sports broadcast covering the highlight reel. Despite the nervous energy twisting in my stomach, I couldn’t stop smiling.

I left the bathroom, ready to search out my missing panties before searching out Easton.

I didn’t have to go far.

The panties were nowhere to be found.

But on the other side of the expansive room, Easton stood stiffly in the doorway. I’d never seen him in anything other than a suit. The most casual I ever saw him was when he ditched his jacket and rolled his sleeves.

He looked insanely good dressed in those tailored suits.

He looked somehow even better in a pair of loose, worn basketball shorts. His tee was the same as the one I wore, but in dark gray instead of white. And unlike the way it fit me like a mini dress, the buttery cotton seemed to strain to accommodate his broad shoulders and impressive biceps.

His hotness was nearly enough to distract me, but I knew something was up even before he said, “Something’s been bothering me, Madeline.”

The bubbling giddiness that’d already started to dissipate at the intensity of his stare turned flatter than an opened Diet Coke at his tone.

“Okay,” I said when he just continued to study me in that disconcerting way. The one that had every embarrassing confession rushing to burst free.

“I checked my bank.”

Now I’m really lost.

My brows lowered as I repeated a drawled, “Oookay?”

“You haven’t used the card. Not once. Not even for a damn cup of coffee.”

“You send me one every day. The café tastes like crap comparatively.”

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