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That made me chuckle.
“Your dad gave you all some Pride and Prejudice names.”
Hart snorted.
“Tell me about it. We rarely go by our legal names. Hawthorne goes by Thorne and Radcliffe answers to Rat.”
My head tilted to the side in confusion.
“Rat? Why Rat?”
“Because he was always ratting us out when we got into shit. And don’t you dare pity him. He wears the title like a badge of honor.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, laughing as Hart regaled me with more stories from his childhood as I packed. He was an open book—leaving no stone unturned, while I was a bound grimoire that took complicated spells and magic to crack open.
Truth? I didn’t want to get hurt again… not like the last time.
Dissed and Dismissed
Hart
I watched Vera silently as she finished packing her suitcase. I was sobering up but horny from watching her constantly bending over in those leather pants and bewildered by this secret life of hers. I was itching to Google her, but I also wanted to respect her privacy. However, the suspense was killing me. Thankfully, the doorbell ringing distracted me from my sugar baby’s secret life.
“Who’s ringing your doorbell this late?”
Vera snorted and rolled her eyes.
“Relax, Grandpa. It’s only 10:30.”
“That’s late,” I responded, ignoring her subtle jab at my age.
“It’s not late.”
“It is for someone who has a flight to catch at 7:45 in the morning,” I reminded her as I left her bed.
“Where are you going?” she hissed, running after me. I was nearly at the front door when she blocked me. I almost laughed at the visual. I had over 100 pounds and a foot on her, and somehow she thought she could stop me.
“Hey!” she whispered with a hiss. “Deborah Cox called. You’re not supposed to be here!”
I clamped my hand over my mouth to hold back the laugh that threatened to rip out of me. I failed tremendously when I softly sang, “I tried that love thing for the last time.”
“My heart says—no! Stop it!”
She whirled around and looked through the peephole. She swore under her breath, and I moved her aside to take a peek.
“Sugar… what is the benchwarmer doing here?”
“He lives here,” she whispered back.
“Here?” I screeched, earning a swat to the side and a warning to keep it down. “Sugar, you failed to disclose that you live with another man.”
“Oh, my God. You’re so annoying when you’re drunk. He doesn’t live here,” she said, flailing her arms around. “He lives a floor beneath me.”
“Get rid of him.”
“I would if you’d move the fuck out of the way.” The doorbell rang again. I thought about answering myself until she hip-checked me into the damn coat rack. “You’re so extra,” she muttered. “Don’t move and be quiet,” she demanded.
She rolled her eyes when I childishly mimicked zipping my lips and throwing the key away.
