Sweeter Read online

  Marley shakes her head. “Tech bros.”

  “How do you know he’s a tech bro?”

  She holds up three fingers. “He spontaneously flew to Bali. This catfish thing is exactly the right combo of computer savvy and gross. And he’s your friend and you’re a tech bro.”

  “I’m not.”

  Marley puts her hands on her hips. “What’s your app?”

  I look at the linoleum floor. “Hellfire.”

  Marley looks at me like I raised the antichrist. “Oh man.”

  “You’ve...uh, heard of it?”

  She laughs, but the sound isn’t bright and bubbly anymore. “Have I heard of it? Do you know how many bad dates I’ve been on since that app got diarrhea-d into the world?”

  I want to joke it might have been worth it to end up here, but jealousy trips me on the way. I want to ask who the dates were, how they fucked it up, what her type is. Not me, I guess. Especially now I’ve dropped this bombshell. “Sorry if you’ve had shitty experiences. That wasn’t the plan.”

  “Yeah, I read the New York Times article. ‘Hellfire: the Trojan horse of Tinder.’” Marley’s expression is stony. “You know helping men ‘Trojan horse’ their way into dating is creepy, right?”

  I grimace. “Yeah, I hate the Trojan horse thing. Hellfire wasn’t meant to be so...”

  “Gross?”

  “Cynical. The idea is to get douchebags to put fewer shirtless pics in their profiles, not trick women into going out with them.”

  Marley doesn’t look convinced, and why would she? Hellfire’s reputation is trash. At this stage, calling it ‘the Trojan horse of Tinder’ is a compliment. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t popular. Five hundred downloads a day, last time I checked.

  “Sorry about your dates,” I tell Marley. “You can throw a drink at me if you want?”

  “I don’t want.” She looks at me curiously. “How in the world of fuck did you invent Hellfire?”

  “Help invent Hellfire,” I correct. “I don’t know. Me and Felix were screwing around, trying to get better Tinder matches. It was a goof, getting our pictures to change depending on whoever swiped right, but then Felix uploaded it, and ‘Hellfire’ took off like million bad idea rockets.”

  Marley frowns. “Don’t be mean to yourself. I mean, your app still sucks ass, but it’s cool you made something that got so huge. Why did you call it Hellfire?”

  “It sounded cool. I didn’t expect it to get big. Hardly any apps do.”

  She gives me a strange look. “You don’t sound excited yours did.”

  “I was. I am.” I force myself to smile. “Seriously.”

  Marley doesn’t laugh, doesn’t look away. “You don’t like Hellfire, do you?”

  I swallow; feel my smile slide away like non-stick paper. “I don’t like anything.” Fuuuuck, that melancholy bullshit should have been stopped at the mouth border. “Forget I said that. What do you do for work?”

  “I have an artist’s residency at the Blue Lodge.” Marley squints at me like I’m a skin sample under a microscope. Jesus, could my chances with this girl get any worse?

  The heaviness that took over in LA settles on my chest like a dead cat. It’s only now it’s back that I realise the weight lifted when I first saw Marley. A nice vacation, but now it’s business as usual. I clear my throat. “What do you make?”

  “Ceramics and jewelry.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “I’m great.”

  I laugh, impressed she can say it. I believe her. She’s got the confidence of someone who knows what they’re doing. I used to think I was like that, but I was just cocky. I gesture to her heavy red and gold beaded necklace. “Did you make that?”

  Marley doesn’t answer. She’s still studying me like my face holds the secrets of the universe. “You’re saying it sarcastically.”

  “Pardon?”

  “’What a time to be alive.’ You mean it like a joke, don’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah? How do you mean it?”

  Her hazel eyes narrow. “Why did you move to Bozeman?”

  I stare at the manager’s door, half-wishing I’d stayed with the sugar babies. They were angry about something I hadn’t done, but that’s better than being interested in something I have to hide. Marley moves closer, the bow of her lips slightly parted.

  Kiss me, I think. Forget what you’re thinking. Just kiss me.

  But she doesn’t climb onto the sticky leather chair and press her gorgeous lips to mine; instead she traces the air in front of my face.

  “I try to make things that reflect people,” she says. “If I made a cup for you, it would be tall and even, peacock blue with a bright gold drip down the side.”

  I smile. “Sounds nice.”

  “Then I’d blow charcoal dust over it. Dull the blue, turn the gold to brown.” Her gaze clicks into mine, surer than any stranger’s has a right to be. “Do you want to like things again?”

  The air in the room is too thin. Where did this girl come from? Felix’s catfish can’t have brought us together, that’s too stupid. It feels like fate or something equally impossible. I stare into her hazel irises and my heart starts pulsing like I’m at the top of a double black slope, about to push into the future. I get to my feet. As technique goes, this is the worst approach I’ve fronted since middle school, but I need to be closer to her.

  Marley doesn’t step away. Instead, she looks up at me, her hair and lips and eyes shining like an angel. “You didn’t answer my question,” she says, but her voice is husky. I don’t think either of us care about the question right now.

  I slide a hand around her side. She trembles and it’s a relief to know I’m not alone in this insane attraction. “I want to kiss you.”

  “To get out of answering my question?”

  “Because I want to kiss you.”

  “So, kiss me.” She closes her eyes, waiting.

  The hairs on my arms stand on end and I’m hard beneath my jeans. I haven’t been this turned on by the idea of a kiss since...ever. I cup the back of her neck, her curls are soft and smell like roses. It’s a gentle scent for someone who saw through me so mercilessly, but I think that might be Marley—bright and piercing, like a diamond. I lean forward, feeling her breath on my lips, and a bang sends us stumbling apart.

  “Hurry up, Hat Boy!” the brunette yells. “Come face the music!”

  Marley giggles and my dick wilts. Nothing like a girl laughing at you to punch your sexual killswitch.

  “Fucking hell. Can we not get the manager to kick her out?”

  Marley runs a hand through her curls. “The manager’s not in. Or I assume she’s not, or she’d have kicked us out of her office.”

  I look around the room we’ve been using as a refuge. “You don’t know her?”

  “Oh God, no! I just dragged you back here and locked the door from the inside. It worked out pretty well, don’t you think?”

  Before I can say anything, protest, or run, Marley claps her hands. “I have a plan for calming the sugar babies.”

  “Does it involve giving away my testicles?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then I’m all ears.”

  Chapter 3

  Marley

  Time goes a bit wobbly when I’m drunk, but I’d guess about three hours has passed since I coaxed Will out of the manager’s office. The bartender at Plonk said he’d rather eat glass than host a ‘sorry about the catfishing’ party, so we went down the street to Alchemy. I don’t know how much money Will put on the tab, but we’ve been drinking fancy cocktails for ages and no one’s asked us for cash. There are nine of us in all, nine women this Felix asshole conned into stepping out on an ice-cold evening.

  “Henry just seemed so not insane,” Sarah the redhead sighs, and we nod because he really didn’t seem insane. Which is ironic because this Felix guy clearly needs a team of psychologists on his case.

  “It was nice of Will to pay for all this,” Katrina the platinum blon
de says and we all glance at the bar. Will is draining a glass of whiskey. He’s put his hat back on, concealing his handsome, angular face. He looks like a fuckboy, but now that I know what’s under the hat, I can’t bring myself to hate it. In fact, the more tequila I put in my mouth, the more I think maybe...I like the hat?

  Anna, the glamazon who threw my margarita at Will, stands and pulls me into a side-hug. “I’m heading home. Great to meet you.”

  “You too,” I say and I mean it. Once she understood Will wasn’t the catfish and he’d buy her all the vodka sodas she wanted, Anna stopped being terrifying and started being hilarious. We’ve spent most of the party talking about the shitty waitressing jobs we’ve worked and her six-year-old daughter, Tia. Apparently, she loves finger-painting and I’ve convinced Anna to bring her to the studio for a clay-throwing lesson.

  “See you and Tia on Thursday,” I tell Anna, getting to my fee t. “Do you want me to walk you to your taxi?”

  In addition to free drinks, Will agreed to pay for everyone’s ride home.

  “I’m okay.” Anna jerks her head at Will. “Go talk to him.”

  My stomach shimmers like a mirage. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a tech bro.”

  “Tech is the way of the future.” Anna chucks me under the chin. “You like him. He likes you. Be a shame to waste it.” Anna shoves her fingers in her mouth and whistles. The whole bar turns to look at her. I’d die of shame, but she just tosses her hair. “Will?”

  Will’s hat tilts up.

  “Get over here.”

  There’s a pause, then Will slides off his barstool.

  I shake my head at Anna. “And people say I’m a force of personality.”

  She shrugs. “I’m Italian. See you Thursday, bella. Good luck.”

  Anna sashays away right as Will pulls up. “What did Anna want?”

  God, he’s tall. So tall and pretty. I can see his eyes from this angle. An icy lake gleaming behind a mountain.

  “Marley?”

  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?”

  “You seem like your hair,” he half-shouts.

  “Curly?”

  “No.” Will moves closer and the music swells, all bass and reverb guitar pushing toward the chorus, and my heart swells. It’s a cliché, but that’s how I feel, big and gold and expansive. Will wraps his arms around my lower back and heat zings between us. He’s warm in that way some people are. Like they carry sunshine inside their skin. He bends, his mouth near enough for a secret. “You seem like you do whatever you want but you always slip through things and come out perfect on the other side.”

  It’s strange, but it makes perfect sense. Like poetry. Or art. I smile into his shoulder. “You’re an unusual tech bro, William Faulkner.”

  He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

  “No, I like it. Promise.”

  Will doesn’t look reassured. “So, no sugar babying?” he asks, clearly needing the conversation to push forward.

  “No. I’ve never slept with someone I’m not attracted to, and I don’t think I can start now.”

  Another pulse of energy moves between us and I know we’re thinking the same thing—what if you were attracted to them? Now I’m the one who needs the conversation back on solid ground. I’ve got no problem with sex work or sugar babying, but if this beautiful, interesting guy offered me money to sleep with him, I’d freak out. I mean, isn’t it enough that he’s warped my brain?

  “I told you my story. How about yours?”

  “I can’t. I’ll sound like a whiny rich asshole.”

  I pull him closer. His arm is so action man hard, I’m tempted to squeeze it. He still smells like the spit bucket at a vineyard, but it doesn’t matter. He’s officially the hottest guy I’ve ever touched. “Being mean to yourself doesn’t put cash in my Patreon. Besides, I’m a stranger, what do you have to lose?”

  He smiles, a little warmth returning to his eyes. “Okay,
since we’re strangers, you can have the compact version—five years ago, I’m a graphic designer living in Missouri, still friends with the people I went to school with, cute girlfriend, baseball on Fridays. A normal fucking life.”

  I try not to lag on ‘cute girlfriend.’ “Then Hellfire?”

  “Then Hellfire. Everything gets brighter. Louder. Felix and I are living in LA with twenty people working under us. My girlfriend’s gone, I never call my mom and I’m drinking all the time, but at least shit’s interesting, you know?”

  I don’t, but I can imagine. Big parties, new friends, a bank balance that absorbs every punch you throw at it. How many times have I dreamed about that future? Making ceramics all day and soaking in pleasure at night. Jealousy pricks me, then I remember this is Will’s story and not one with a happy ending. “What next?”

  “We sell the app and I’ve got no reason to go anywhere or do anything. Everything starts to feel pointless.” He gives a pained laugh. “Felix and I try to work on some new shit, but nothing sticks, so I did something dumb.”

  “Get really into bongo drums?”

  “Dumber. I moved back to my hometown.”

  I wince.

  “Yeah.” His smile becomes pure aluminum. “My friends called me ‘Buffet,’ my ex told anyone who’d listen that I’m a selfish asshole, and I couldn’t buy a coffee without my third-grade teacher asking for a loan.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, turns out you can’t shove a crowbar into the past and jimmy your way back in. So, I moved here because Felix moved here and I still kinda like snowboarding, but...”

  “What?”

  “You’re gonna hate this, but everything bores me.”

  I gape at him. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I told you you’d hate it.”

  The battery acid in his voice says he’s not kidding but I can’t make the idea click. “Everything bores you? Coffee on cold mornings? Movies? Sunsets? Peanut butter crackers? Birds chirping? The way little kids run?”

  Will shrugs. “Eh.”

  I want to slap him. I settle for a poke in the chest. “How dare you be bored by life! How is that possible?”