Sugar Daddy (35 page)

“Girl, you done got some meat on dem bones, didn’t ya?” She clucked approvingly. “Y’all sure you can walk in that there dress? Go’on now’n give Miss Addy here a l’il walk, tha’s right.”

I swiveled and swished down Aisle 2, in between Family Planning and Greeting Cards.

“Damn, girl! I said, yes
ma’am
, swing it, sister.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Y’all don’t be ashamed of carryin’ some cushion back there, nuh uh.” A group of customers came in and still she didn’t stop. “That man a yours likes it like that, don’t he? Full figure? More to grab hold of when he gets–”

“Addy,” I screeched, slicing a finger across my throat.

“What? Don’t be embarrassed in front of them.” She waved over to the family settling on the bar stools. “These jest the Walters from over on Whilden.”

My face suffused with a hell of a blush, I backed to the door so no one could see my caboose.

Adelaide halted me. “Y’all sure you don’t want some a’ dis here macaroni and cheese? I promise, y’all like to put your foot in it.”

“I’m sure it’s yummy, but I don’t see how a thousand calorie plate of mac n’ cheese is gonna help me with the Mack truck I’m hauling around back here.”

Later, the evening promising to be one long, intimate, romantic interlude, I was escorted along a cavernous brick passageway toward a private dining room in an upscale downtown restaurant. Leaving the heat-saturated air outside to wander down the cool, damp enclave, I shivered from the change in temperature.

Most helpful, the handsome maitre d’ offered to fetch a wrap to take the chill off.

“Y’all can do that?” This was some kind of establishment.
Not like Melvin’s BBQ at all. Although I bet they didn’t do ribs half as well, seeing as this was an Italian joint.

“Of course, madam.”

Ooh, madam, that sounded so much sexier than ma’am.

Busy batting my eyelashes at him, I stopped when Reardon spoke, deep and throaty. “I’ll take it from here.” Reardon was curt when he transferred my elbow to his hand, dismissing the man. “If she needs to be kept warm, I’ll take care of it.”

Oh my, didn’t take much to get him all randy and riled. I liked it.

Smoothing my jade green sheath, I turned to him with a smile. Jealousy forgotten, his eyes leisurely strolled up my legs, hitting all the high points of my figure, his lips slightly parted.

“You gonna be okay there, baby?”

He leaned over to whisper at the corner of my lips, “You look sinful.” His tongue softly dipping across the seam of my mouth, he fingered a loose wave of my hair as if the color fascinated him.

“Wait ’til you see what’s underneath.”

A hand roving up my thigh, he groaned. “I hope it’s nothing.”

“Near enough. But you’ll find out later.”

“Good, because, uh…” When he retreated, I glanced around the intimate room. Glowing candles illuminated old tapestries and damask, French doors opened to an enclosed courtyard pouring in the sweet perfume of jasmine.

I glimpsed a thatch of salt and pepper hair beyond Reardon’s shoulder and the lover’s idyll became a lot more crowded.

What the Whistler?

Reardon hurried to explain, “I ran into them outside, and I invited them to join us.”

Always the good ol’ boy. “Of course you did.”
Wait...them?

“Besides, this is only the first part,” he reassured me.

A feminine voice intruded. “We tried to decline when he told us he was meeting you.”

I raised an eyebrow at Reardon, and he had the good grace to flush. The lady in question put out her hand. She was about as statuesque as me, had perhaps six years over me, and was bottled-blond and bubbly as much as I was a true redhead in color and temperament.

I shook her hand. “Delighted to meet you, you must be?”

“Chantal.”

“My woman.” Whistler came up.

“What I should be is your wife, Wayne Sottile,” she said with disdain. Oh goody, more namin’ and shamin’.
Not only was Chantal bubbly, but she was good at wielding the verbal hickory switch, too. I already liked her.

“Now don’t be goin’ on about our affairs in front of thessse good people,” he said with his teapot whistle. “’Sides, we got that common law thing goin’ on. Sixteen years of unwedded bliss, right?”

Chantal rolled her eyes.

“Good to see you, Miss Shay.” Whistler pulled me into a back-cracking hug.

Once he let me go, I got an eyeful of his outfit. He was altogether dapper with hair slicked back and chin free of whiskers, until his suit coat parted, showing a t-shirt proclaiming
Your bait sucks and your boat’s ugly too
. Then there was his cap dangling off the back of a chair:
Pluff Mud, it keeps the condos away.

I had no chance of hiding my laughter.

Chantal saw me. “Oh, don’t even get me started on his attire, Shay.” Condemning on one hand, she stroked his chest with the other. “If he could polish up like your Reardon, that’d be somethin’.”

Thankfully she wasn’t looking at my Reardon like she wanted to jump his bones–that was me–because I would take my heels off if I needed to. Mmm, he did look fine tonight. He’d had a fresh shave so his cheeks were slightly pink under his tan. The deep blue of his suit highlighted his dark coloring and dancing eyes that watched me giving him the thrice-over.

We sat at the table placed by the open doors, and Whistler’s woman patted my arm. “Anyway, don’t be scared of me, I don’t bite.”

“And don’t be lissstening to Chanty, sis, because yeah, she do.” He was batting a thousand, and Chantal beaned him on the back of his head with her handbag.

“Romance?” I murmured to Reardon, one more time.

He tickled my earlobe with his lips and warm breath. “This is only the first course, darlin’, I promise.”

“Hmm.”

Through a meal of vintage vino and veal something or other, the talk flowed and my hand wandered. Lowering his chin to his chest, Reardon struggled to keep his head in the conversation. I laughed and made small talk and did some under-the-table servicing of my own. My nails scratched lightly along the inside of his thigh to the point where his length pressed heavily against the inseam.

“Seems to me Mount Pleasant’s bein’ overrun by them damn carpetbaggers from up North.” Whistler soapboxed on every Southerner’s favorite topic since time immemorial.

“Terrible.” I gave my Amen.

Reardon said, “Go on and ask Chantal where she was born.”

I waited expectantly.

“Maine.” Her eyes twinkled. “Yep, you got a damn Yankee in your midst!”

“Oh Lawdy,” I exhaled. Then I turned on the guys, who were laughing together. “Y’all are scoundrels.”

Whistler held Chantal’s hand. “We-ell, I reckon Maine’s so far north, it’s not even considered part of the U-nited Territories.” He kissed her knuckles softly, smiling at her. “Anyway, she’s a southerner at heart.”

Reardon pushed his chair back. “I’ll go settle the bill now if you’re done insulting our guests, Shay.”

I smacked his leg. “I did not! Whistler set me up, and you trapped me.”

He pulled me to other side of the room. “You know I’m joking. Truth is, you get any friskier with me, I’ll have no choice but to clear the table with your body and fuck you right here.” He pivoted out the door, leaving me a pile of horny mush.

“I hear our boy has grand plans for you tonight,” Whistler called over.

“Oh? I thought you and your lovely Chantal were my surprise.”

He guffawed. “Yes’m, you sure are a charmer.” He followed up with a grumble and an affectionate wink. “Don’t know why you’ve hooked up with the likes of ’im.”

After we said our goodnights, I dragged Reardon back down the passage. “C’mon, tell me where we’re going.” I was too giddy to wait any longer.

He smirked and shook his head.

Reaching the main dining room, I gestured toward the ladies’. “Give me a minute?”

Soon as I entered the powder room, I wished I’d crossed my legs and held it.

There was Leila. Of course I’d have a run-in in the restroom with the hex, because my life was a damned Lifetime Movie of the Month at the moment.

Before I could express my condolences over her son, she sliced through all my good intentions. “I assume you’re here with my husband, since they don’t let any old riffraff get a table.”

“He’s not your husband anymore. You cheated on him, remember?”

“Well played, dear. And you, cheating on...Palmer, isn’t it?” Peering into the mirror, she said, “Of course, I did it only the once. Your poor husband. How can he be so oblivious when you prance about like the low class, high-paid whore you are?”

My intention had been to show compassion; now I wanted to rip her hair right out by the roots. “Don’t give me that bullshit.” Rage made my voice shake. “You couldn’t care less about my marriage. This is about you and Reardon, and the fact he didn’t fight for you at the end, isn’t it?”

Her invincible Shellac cracked–her lips pulled tight, her eyes revealing pain, her hands gripping the vanity.

I shoved the truth at her. “Don’t answer, I already know what happened. And you hate me because he cares for me in a way he never did for you.”

“I don’t hate you, dear, I have neither the time nor the interest to even despise you.” The usual venom was lacking from her cheap shot.

I smiled, remembering the other night when we held one another to sleep and solace. “You can compare me to his former mistresses all you want. The truth is I am different, and he let you go as soon as he reasonably could.”

Blanching for a second, she recovered with a facsimile of a smile, one coated in poison as obvious as her blood-red lipstick. “Told you he loves you, has he?”

The force of her blow must’ve showed on my face.

“I didn’t think so,” Leila crowed.

Advancing toward her instead of retreating, I straightened my spine. I didn’t cower or cry. I placed my hand over hers, her tendons jumping at my touch.

“You may be a petty piece of work, Leila, but I feel nothing but pity for you.”

Her mouth, which was stamped closed, opened for rebuttal.

I shook my head. “I do have one more thing to say to you. I am truly sorry about your William.”

Her sneer disappeared, transforming into the expression I’d often regarded in reflection. The one trying to hold in all the unceasing horror of losing a child.

Leaving her to her grief, I replaced my shaky knees with a confident sway. I found Reardon and hustled him from the restaurant.

Thankfully, Junior was idling at the sidewalk. Tucked inside the car, Reardon drew me over his lap, rubbing my shoulders when I hid my face in the nook of his neck. “Hey? You okay?”

I nodded. I did not want my rumble in the restroom ruining our night together.

“You’re shaking.”

My body stilled. “Got cold back there.” Cold was an understatement.

“Shay.”

“Please just hold me, warm me up.”

He ran his fingers through my hair and down my neck, starting a new set of chills having nothing to do with being upset. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” In this warm, spicy-smelling happy place, I relaxed. Wiggling further against him I let out an excited sing-song, “Are we there yet?”

His laughter only stopped when our mouths met in a languorous kiss.

Approaching downtown’s waterfront over Calhoun Street, I asked, “The Aquarium?”

“No.”

“Spirit Cruiselines for a midnight cocktail cruise around the harbor?”

“Definitely not.” His lips curving, he enjoyed our game.

“Humph.” I pretended to mind, but I really didn’t.

Driven nearer and nearer to the harbor, the car only cruised to a stop inside the Charleston Maritime Center.

“The dinghy again?”

He shook his head.