Sugar Baby Beautiful

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Chapter One

Unleashing Felicity Harper

Felicity

It was quiet.

I glanced away from the book in my hand to the cat-shaped clock, which sat on my bedside table next to a potted cactus and lava lamp: 8:53 p.m.

Sitting up, I listened, but I didn’t hear any giggling, moans, or cursing. Something was wrong. A person with normal roommates wouldn’t think much of this; however, I could think of a thousands words to describe Mark and Cleo, and normal would not be on that list. It was never quiet here unless they were up to something, and if they were, I would be the one suffering.

Guys! I called, jumping off my bed and rushing to the door. As I pulled it open, Cleo placed Mark’s laptop behind her back.

Shit. I knew it.

It was May. My birthday had already passed, so they couldn’t be planning a party. And I hadn’t gotten a new job or anything.

Hey, Felicity, what’s up? Cleo Owen lifted her dark, dyed red hair—this month’s color—into a ponytail before turning to face me. She had an oval-shaped face covered with little freckles.

Why is it so quiet? I asked, crossing my arms.

Mark, Cleo’s cousin, stood up and went to the kitchen. I’ll never fucking understand you women. Didn’t you say you wanted to rest?

Nice try. I eyed him. He stood about an inch taller than me. I was five nine, which made me tall for a girl, but as a guy around here he was considered short. He had messy blond hair and bright blue eyes, and was always rocking the California surfer look. It worked, seeing as how this was Los Angeles.

Nothing is going on, Felicity. I swear, you’re so paranoid sometimes. Cleo shook her head at me as I followed her.

I was screwed. Damn. Whatever they were doing, it was already done.

"I never said anything was going on, but thanks for confirming my suspicions. Spit it out. What did you do?"

Mark glanced at Cleo before reaching into a white kitchen cabinet to grab the margarita mix.

Guys! Is it that bad?

Oh, calm down. It’s not bad. Just... Cleo looked at Mark, who grinned as he grabbed the ice. She smacked his shoulders. We said we would do this together.

Do what?

They had a mental fight, and for a second, you would have thought they were both teenagers and not twenty-three. I was only a year older than them, and sometimes I felt as though I were their mother.

Do what? I repeated louder.

Mark rolled his eye. For fuck’s sake, Cleo, you’re freaking her out more. Nothing, Felicity, we just made sure you were invited to a party tonight. We know you aren’t a party person, but we wanted to show you a new spot.

That’s it?

He nodded, putting ice into the blender.

Then why does she look like she stole something? I pointed at Cleo, who was trying to pretend she was invisible.

Because she’s a klepto. He laughed and threw a small piece of ice at her.

A reformed klepto, thank you very much! she snapped.

She wasn’t lying. Cleo had been a kleptomaniac. She was diagnosed while we were both serving time at the Nidorf Juvenile Detention Facility.

She’d been only fifteen when she first came in, and her first big act was to steal Bambi’s lip-gloss. No one stole from Bambi. So she got her ass kicked. She came over to our bunk bed and cried, and the next morning I slipped her some extra meds. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it was because she looked so pitiful, or maybe I was as lonely as she was—I’m still not sure. But after that, she followed me everywhere. When I was released on my eighteenth birthday, she and her cousin were waiting for me since I had nowhere else to go. She had been released a month earlier, but she hadn’t forgotten about me.

God, that was six years ago. Sometimes it really did feel like only yesterday. Since then, it’s been the three of us, our own weird little makeshift family.

Felicity? Cleo snapped her fingers in front of my face.

Where did you go? Mark asked.

Nowhere. I shook my head. Fine about the party or club. Whatever. I’ll go. I’ve been working double shifts at the diner and high school all week. I need to blow off some steam.

Cleo jumped onto me like a koala. Really? You won’t bitch out?

Yes, really! I’ll go see what’s in my closet. I laughed and pried her off of me. I made it three steps before I noticed the laptop on the couch.

If it was just about the club, why were they hiding this?

Mark, can I use your computer for a second? I asked, already moving toward it.

No! they both yelled, and like a fucking cat, Cleo leaped for it while Mark spun me around as if we were dancing. As a distraction, he handed me a yellow margarita.

What she means is it’s broken, Mark said before drinking his from his glass. He was also avoiding my gaze.

You’re busted! What did you guys really do? I glared, but neither of them spoke. Fine. If you won’t talk, I’m going to have fun in your closets.

I went to get the kitchen scissors, but Mark caught my hand. Let’s not do anything we’ll regret or anything that will make me look bad.

Well?

Urgh! In your next life, you should be a detective, Cleo muttered. Honestly, it really isn’t that big a deal. There’s a party in the Hills tonight where people just meet up.

"And when you say people? I thought for second, and then it hit me. Guys, I’m not going to one of your sugar daddy parties."

There are some fine mommies there too. Don’t discriminate. God knows I don’t. Mark said with a wink. His motto was if he or she made him feel good, he was all in.

No. And double hell no. I trotted back up the stairs toward my room. 

Cleo and Mark were what could only be described as sugar babies, which meant, according to Mark, a relationship where the younger party was financially cared for in return for companionship, aka sex. And it was the type of sex you couldn’t confess to in church.

Felicity. Cleo walked in after me. I jumped onto my bed and picked up my book. Come on, live a little. You have no idea—

No sharing.

Mark fell onto the bed next to me and propped himself up on one arm. As your friends, it’s our duty to tell you that you can’t live like this anymore. It hurts us.

What? I tried not to laugh at the pout on his face.

Cleo lay down on the other side of me, sandwiching me in between them. What he means is that you are smart, funny, beautiful….

Not just any type of beautiful, but sugar baby beautiful, Mark added, and she nodded in agreement.

I looked at them both. Okay, I’m going to need a definition of that.

Cleo spoke first. Naturally stunning without even trying.

Absolutely radiant when you do try, Mark continued. Good boobs.

Flawless, sun-kissed skin.

Sweet, heart-shaped face.

Long, soft, honey-brown hair.

Not to mention your pretty hazel eyes.

Cleo went on. And we even haven’t even gotten to your body yet. You can eat whatever the hell you want and still have a tight ass and flat stomach.

She’s probably the only woman over twenty in L.A. with her real nose, Mark replied.

Cleo grabbed her nose. You can’t tell, right?

No, babe, he did you good, Mark answered, and they reached over me, high-fiving each other before looking at the ceiling. Once again I found myself wondering how the hell I was friends with these people.

Trying to ignore them, I lifted my book and started to read in the hopes they would get the message, but they kept talking as if I wasn’t even there.

You are sugar baby beautiful, Felicity. Any guy would walk through fire for the chance to be with you. Cleo sighed.

Plus, even though you can’t cook, you’re great at—

What’s the point of being a sugar baby if you have to cook and clean? she questioned.

Good point. He chuckled and took the book from my hands.

Hey! I tried to reach for it.

You’re not listening to us.

You all are talking crazy again. You make it seem like I’m God’s gift to—

Felicity. Cleo sat up, looking at me seriously. God put you on this earth to make the rest of the female race feel inferior.

Mark laughed as he sat up. She is the standard all photographers and magazines use when they Photoshop.

"She would have been on Top Model, but the producers thought it wouldn’t be fair to the other contestants."

Oh! I’ve got one. She is—

Oh my God, stop! I yelled with a smile on my face. It was hard not to smile when your friends thought so highly of you, but seriously, they were exaggerating. Thank you both, but like I said, I don’t want to get involved with your dirty, secret lives.

Dirty, secret lives? Mark’s eyebrow rose. Babe, this is Los Angeles. This isn’t any secret. The SB community is a proud one. Hell, other than Las Vegas and maybe New York, I’m not sure there is any place in the world that’s as approving.    

Felicity, I sent in your picture—

"You did what?" I looked at her.

She reached for the laptop I hadn’t noticed that she’d put on the floor beside my bed.

There is a standard level of beauty you have to be have in order to get into these parties, so they ask for a photo. Usually it takes a day to be approved by someone, but I swear to God with my hand on the Bible, I sent yours in, and not even two minutes later, you were approved.

I stared at the photo of me waving at the camera, wearing jean shorts and a button-down white shirt. Mark had taken it only a few days ago when we’d gone to the beach.

This is why you were taking my picture?

He took the laptop. It’s already live for tonight’s party?

Where’s the return-to-sender button? I muttered, snatching the laptop from him. All they had put down for me was my name: Felicity, age: 24, height: 5’9", interests: books, music, and the outdoors. There were no matches yet, but it showed I was one of sixty other women who would be part of that night’s event. There were no questions about where I went school or if I had any aspirations. Then again, they weren’t trying to get to know me. All they wanted to do was bend me over and screw me twelve ways to Sunday, and then maybe give me a purse or a car for my trouble.

Don’t you miss sex? Cleo asked me.

Miss it? You make it seem like I haven’t screwed anyone in years. I frowned. It had only been eleven months, give or take a few days. Before my dry spell, I’d put a few boyfriends and one-night stands under my belt. I just liked to do it on my own terms. I’m saying no because it just feels like….

Damn it, I couldn’t explain it.

It only feels wrong because other people have labeled it that way, Mark mused, getting up off my bed and going into my closet. And if I gave a flying fuck about what they thought, I would explain that these people have more money than they know what to do with. They live in a world where they don’t know if people actually like them or their net worth. So they have us, attractive people who are upfront about what they expect. No one is stealing from them, and they aren’t taking advantage of us. It’s like any other relationship; I give to you and you give to me, and at the end of the day, we’re both happy. But since I don’t give a fuck, I say screw it, and while you’re at it, screw me, but only if you can pay my electric bill.    

I rolled my eyes. I pay the electric bill.

Yeah, but you don’t have to. That’s what we’re saying. Cleo grinned as she went to her old profile and clicked on her former list of matches. The first person that came up was maybe in his mid-to-late forties. First myth of being a sugar baby: all the people you hook up with are old, rich, and white. This, my friend, is a lie we tell to keep the community small. If everyone knew there were studs looking for women and men to pamper and screw, we’d be in the hunger games.

Fighting for cock? Man, I read the wrong book! Mark laughed, throwing the tight, short-sleeved white V-neck dress I was saving for a rainy day onto the bed. You’re coming tonight.

Hopefully in more ways than one. Cleo giggled.

Nice! They high-fived each other. 

This was a bad idea.

I should not join this madness.

I took care of myself. I paid my own bills and bought myself nice things when I wanted or felt like it. I didn’t need anyone else for that.

But the sex. They always talked about it, and I was curious.

Oh, screw it. I sat up and reached for the dress. I’m going to regret this. 

Tonight we unleash Felicity Harper onto the world, Cleo said, and the grin that spread across their faces reminded me of the Grinch when he stole Christmas.

Chapter Two

First, Second, and Third

Felicity

10:53 p.m.

So explain how this works again? I asked, placing the number thirteen sticker on my chest and heading farther into a mansion filled with people of every age and race.

For my first and only night out at Sugar Party, as they called it, Cleo had spent almost two hours curling my hair and putting on my makeup. Thankfully she hadn’t gone overboard and chose to go natural. She was dressed in pink, and Mark wore jeans, a causal shirt, and a jacket. Apparently it was to work his young, broke college student angle. He even thought of bringing a sketchbook to add intrigue. Even with all of that, it was funny how they were more excited I had finally come out with them than the fact they themselves were here. Mark winked at a man in the corner next to the grand stairs, who had his long hair pulled into a bun and was holding a beer.

Mark made sure to put some distance between us, and I raised my eyebrow at that. When we walked out to back near the pool, he said, So basically, at these parties, you just want to be seen. Usually the two types of people who come up to you are the super cocky ones, which isn’t really a bad thing other than the fact that you have to listen to them talk about themselves for hours, or they tend to be oppressive and might scare off others.

Yeah, that’s a no. Or?

Or you get the older, sweet ones who casually try to start a conversation. Cleo jumped in, waving to a man who had to be in his sixties. He was more Hollywood sixties. I liked his fedora, though. Anyone else will contact you via the website if you catch their interest tonight. So catch their interest! Now that you’ve been briefed, let’s regroup in half an hour.

She strode off toward the dance floor under the canopy, working her way through until she was in the center where the light was brightest.

Good luck, Mark said, moving toward the edge of the pool. He took off his jacket and placed it on a chair before he lifted his shirt, exposing his sculpted abs to the world. He even went so far as to take off his shoes and jeans and jump in, getting a series of full cheers and whistles.

I was so out of my league here. They were both professionals at this, and I couldn’t help but recall the number of watches, purses, shoes, and even cars they both had. Mark and I had joked that the reason Cleo didn’t steal anymore was because she’d found a new way to get what she wanted. But I didn’t want this.

For a split second, I thought it might be fun to explore my wild side again, but I remembered now why I didn’t. Bad things happened when I wasn’t in control of myself. Turning back the way I’d come, I returned to the house, my heels clicking against the marble flooring. I couldn’t leave just yet, seeing as how I’d come in Mark’s car. But no one said I couldn’t have fun.

Heading up the stairs, I ran my hands along the railing. Cleo had said the house belonged to big director, or was it a CEO of some kind? Either way, it was nice. Classic high ceilings with white crown molding, and on the walls were large movie posters from the sixties: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly; Psycho; Midnight Cowboy…it went on and on. I found myself mesmerized by them as I went farther and farther away from the stairs and down the corridor until I was standing in front of a set of double doors.

I glanced back, but no one was there. My hands hovered over the knob.

It’s just a door. To a room no one else was near, in a house I didn’t own, in the middle of the night.

I twisted the knob and entered. All that build-up was for nothing. It was just a piano room. I wanted to shut the door and forget about it, but I couldn’t. It had been so long that my fingers itched for the chance to play again.

Would I even remember how?

 Just thinking about it made my eyes water.

Closing the door behind me, I moved over to the white grand piano. It overlooked the pool, but I didn’t pay attention to that. All I could see was the instrument, and all I wanted to do was play. I took off my heels and dropped my purse on the floor and sat. After I lifted up the key cover, I ran my hands over the top of the keys.

Miss me? I whispered as if it were my old piano. Then, with a tiny smile, I pressed down on C. Biting my lip, I took a deep breath and slammed the keys, the music vibrating through me. And just like that, it all came back. I played—fast, slow, loud, soft, angry. I played, just like I used to. It felt…it felt amazing.

I had no idea how long I’d been playing when I froze mid-chord, lifting my hands off the keys. The clock on the mantle chimed as it struck midnight.

That was quite rude.

With a jump, I turned around to find a man dressed in a pair of black pants and a black button-down shirt, leaning into a corner of the window.

He couldn’t be real. He was too handsome to be real. Black hair, green eyes that shone in the light streaming in from the window, the first couple buttons of his jacket undone, exposing his neck and the top of his well-sculpted chest. I had seen attractive men before, I had seen men who knew they were attractive, but he looked like sex. Like he had just had it, he was going to have it again, and he had mastered it. 

Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.

His gaze traveled down the length of my body before stopping at the number stuck on my breast. Something changed in his eyes, like I had pissed him off somehow. He glanced out the window at the others by the pool.

You do know the only way someone can take care of you is if they see you, right? he said more harshly than he needed to.

Judgment. That was what I was sensing. 

First of all, you’re at this party too. Secondly, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been doing that since I was child. Thirdly—

If that’s true, then why are you here?

I don’t have to answer to you. I bent down to grab my shoes and purse. Without saying another word, I moved to the door, but he blocked my path by stepping in front of me. He was so close I could smell the spice of his cologne.

Thirdly? he questioned.

What?

Your last decree before I interrupted you?

Shit, I’d forgotten. Thirdly, you aren’t my type, I lied, skirting him and flouncing out the door. I was sure I heard him snicker, but I was proud of myself.

When I made it downstairs, Cleo and Mark were speaking to each other. Cleo was texting on her phone.

Guys?

Felicity! Cleo gasped and grabbed on to my arm. What happened? Where did you go?

What do you mean? It felt like I had just seen them.

Remember we were supposed to regroup? But when we looked for you, and we didn’t see you in the crowd, we thought you’d left, she replied.

"No. I thought she left, you thought she’d been kidnapped and stuffed into a suitcase, Mark joked, looking back up the stairs and then to me. What happened up there?"

I was just looking around, I lied again, this time with a smile, and slipped my shoes back on. You know me. I was able to sniff out the library and curl up to read Dickens. If it weren’t for the clock chiming, I wouldn’t have come down.

Seriously? Cleo groaned. We want to leave, but no one has seen you yet. You were outside for, like, two seconds.

Leave? It’s only been about an hour.

She shook her head. Rule number two: never stick around. You start to look desperate. Get their interest and then disappear. Maybe we can—wait, what happened to your number?

What? I glanced down, but the number was gone. I checked the floor to see if it had fallen off.  "Oh well. Guys, really, I tried, but let’s call it a night. I don’t want to make either of you look desperate."

Grinning, I placed my hands around their arms.

I heard a tone in there, Mark stated.

Yes, exhaustion. Now come on. I pulled them toward the door.

They thought I hadn’t had a good time, but in reality, playing the piano—playing any instrument for the first time in years—was worth anything. I wasn’t sure what that said about me though.

2:12 a.m.

Falling onto the bed, I crawled around on top of the comforters, trying to get comfortable. Because no one had eaten, Mark had driven us to Sam’s Morning Night Kitchen. It was basically what it sounded like: breakfast at night. They talked about all the people who, in just an hour, had come up to them. I made them promise not to check their profiles until we got home.

At least the plumbing would be fixed. Cleo’s sugar daddies always either came to the house themselves or sent someone to fix something for her. Why? Because she said she liked to renovate her home. We owed our new kitchen and bathrooms to her.  The patio was all Mark’s people though, fountain and all.

Don’t be stupid.

But I was really curious. Reaching for my laptop, I sat up and was on the sugar baby website before I could stop myself.

When I logged back in, it said, Welcome back, baby.

Somebody really needs to change that. I giggled. However, my smile faded when I noticed the red circle with a number one inside it, telling me I had a notification. I had a match. One match.

What were you expecting?

Rolling my eyes, I moved to close it but stopped. What could it hurt to find out