Page 77 of Sugar

“Possibly. You know I’m starving after yoga.” She tossed the clothes she held at my head. “Get dressed and let’s go.”

“You better listen before she gets hangry,” Wren called over her shoulder as Greer dragged her from the room.

Once the door closed, I began the arduous task of prying myself out of the comfortable bed. There was very little that could motivate that feat, but French toast was pretty high on that list. I was nearly ready—and looking pretty much the opposite of theglamorized version of myself from the night before—when my phone vibrated with a clatter on my nightstand.

Easton: Good morning, Madeline.

Uh oh. Madeline, not Maddie.

Me: Good morning, Tyrant.

Easton: Good instincts.

Easton: Funny thing happened last night. I found the card I gave you tucked in my pocket. Would you care to explain that?

Me: I would not.

Easton: Madeline.

Even over text, I could somehow hear the stern way he said my first name. It sent a zip of electricity to mix with the effervescent giddiness bubbling through me.

Me: It had your name on it, so I returned it to its rightful owner. You’re welcome.

Easton: What did I say about trying to give it back to me?

Me: Nothing.

Easton: Are you sure that’s how you want to play this?

Me: It’s the truth.

There was a bang on my bedroom door, and I jumped out of my skin. For a wild moment, I thought he’d appeared to make his displeasure known.

I hoped that was true.

But it was Greer who shouted, “You better not have fallen back to sleep.”

I opened the door and startled my friend. “I didn’t.”

Though, that’s not a bad idea.

Heading out to the kitchen, I found Wren eyeing the bag I was looking for.

“This store is crazy luxurious. John bought Mom a pair of heels from there for their anniversary, but she hasn’t even worn them yet. And you know my mom with shoes. She has them in a display case so they don’t get scuffed or dirty.”

I believed it. Despite the delicate straps and thin heel, the gorgeous shoes had still managed to be supportive and comfortable.

Or as comfortable as heels could be.

“I probably shouldn’t have left them in the bathroom then, huh?” I admitted.

She let out a panicked squeak and took off to rescue the shoes. Greer followed after—likely just to look at them.

I took the opening and snagged the notecard from the bag before quickly taking a picture. I sent it to Easton.

Me: Exhibit A. You said HAND it back to you. Which I did not do. So again, you’re welcome.

I tossed my phone into my bag—a cheap one, not the golden clutch—just as they reappeared.

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