Page 7 of Sweeter

Oh no, I’m mooning at him. I should really moderate my tequila intake…at some point. I take another sip of my drink. “I think Anna was trying to help us explore our thing.”

“Thing?”

“Vibe? No, that’s worse. I hate people who say ‘vibe.’ I mean I get the idea, but there’s no way to talk about vibes without sounding like a fuck.”

Will squints at me. “Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy. All thanks to you, Hellfire.”

He smiles, though it doesn’t touch his eyes. “You saved me, it’s the least I can do.”

I give in to the fact I like him. Up close there’s just no fighting it. I study his face and see earnestness and humor floating somewhere beneath the detachment. Part of him is tethered to the now, but the rest is floating somewhere above us like a cosmonaut. “Are you going to tell me why you’re sad now?”

Will shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do!”

His expression grows challenging. “How about a story for a story? Why are you in the market for a sugar daddy?”

Heat blossoms in my cheeks. It’s not that he’s bringing up my catfishing, it’s the way he said ‘daddy.’ Before, when he was talking to Anna, he could hardly get the word out. Now his voice is all low and confident, like he’d have no trouble saying it in other contexts.Spread your legs, baby, daddy needs you to lie very still...

I have a daddy thing. It’s, like, twenty percent of why I wanted to be a sugar baby. Two hours ago, I’d have slapped anyone who said a tech bro could be a daddy, but Will doesn’t have that manic, hypebeast, ‘um, actually?’ attitude I associate with bros. Instead he’s got an easy confidence that reminds me of electricians and tattoo artists and sculptors, men who work with their hands and do it well. I wonder if Will works with his hands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s really good with his…

“Marley?”

I drink some more margarita. Precious margarita which has never launched a dating app and moved to Bozeman and made me want to have sex with it. “Mmm?”

“You don’t have to tell me about the sugar baby thing, but then—”

“I don’t get to know why you’re sad.”

He grins. “Gotta have a bargaining chip.”

I consider my blond infatuation, then sigh. “I’m broke. I know that’s surprising because I’m so rich in spirit, but there isn’t as much money in handcrafted ceramics as you’d think.”

He looks so sympathetic, it irritates me.

“I’m going to be successful; I just need more time to grow my client base, have another gallery opening, hit those Kendall Jenner numbers on Instagram. Then I can rule the world.”

“You’ve got it all figured out.” He sounds wistful, like having a strict set of life goals is better than being a cashed-up tech bro, even though it objectively isn’t.

“Except the money,” I point out. “It’s hard to fund dreams with dreams.”

“That’s where the sugar daddy thing came in?”

“The idea of it. I don’t think the SB life is for me.” I tip my margarita to the babies drinking and laughing nearby. “They have so many horror stories. I don’t need more distractions and risks and men being weird at me; I just need capital.”

“Have you tried those sites where people who like your work give you an allowance?”

I smile. “Yeah. I have thirty-three supporters on Patreon. It’s amazing, but I can’t live on the donations. I know I should get another part-time job, but whenever I have one, I never make things. I come home exhausted and watch hair tutorials on YouTube. Which is pointless because my hair doesn’t do anything.”

Will strokes one of my more extroverted ringlets. “It seems like it’s doing a lot.”

I try not to shiver. “It does, but it’s naturally uncontained.”

“That’s appropriate.”

I squint, unsure if I heard him right. Alchemy has started playing Juice by Lizzo, and the sugar babies and every other woman in the bar are screaming and jumping to the beat. “Huh?”

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