Page 14 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

NOEL

“No fucking way,” I say. “What is he doing here?”

It’s late Wednesday afternoon, and I’m sitting with my friends on the MassArt campus.

My ex-boyfriend Jordan—who doesn’t even go here, he’s a senior at nearby Northeastern—has chosen this precise moment to parade through the quad with my replacement in tow.

It’s a lanky kid with badly bleached hair named Kris who I remember from a digital illustration class in freshman year.

Did he really pick up another guy at my school less than two weeks after dumping me?

Did they know each other before? Was there overlap?

Danika looks up from her phone in time to see Jordan give Kris a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss a mere twenty feet away from where we sat. “Ew. Why do you care?” she asks me. “Isn’t that pedophile moving in with you?”

Not this again. I don’t dignify her question with a response, instead absorbing myself in the misery of watching my ex-boyfriend grab his new boyfriend’s ass, and viciously thinking about how flat it looks in his baggy jeans. I wish I could explode them both with my mind.

Jamil’s shaking his head. “Danika, for the millionth time. They’re both adults.”

“It’s fucking weird, though. What does a thirty-year-old want with someone a decade younger than him? It’s predatory, is what that is. It’s a stepping stone.”

“To what?” Jamil asks, exasperated.

“Younger guys,” she insists. “First a twenty-two-year-old?—”

“I’m twenty-three on Friday,” I interject.

“—and then what? Eighteen-year-olds? Sixteen? It’s gross.”

“Sixteen is the age of consent in Massachusetts,” Jamil points out. “So you know.”

She throws her hands in the air, nearly hitting me in the face with her phone in the process.

“Just because it’s legal doesn’t mean it’s not disgusting .

I’m twenty-one and can’t think of a single thing I’d have in common with a sixteen-year-old.

What the hell would a dude is his thirties have any business with one? ”

“I’m not saying it’s not weird as fuck, I’m just saying it’s not illegal. Or pedophilia, technically.”

“You know, I really hate when you play devil’s advocate.”

“I just said I thought it was weird! I’m agreeing with you!”

I tune them out. Both Danika and Jamil have been expressing their concerns for my new living arrangement since I mentioned it to them, even more so when they learned I was engaging in a sexual relationship with said living arrangement.

Although we only had sex that one time. Which was an entire agonizing week and a half ago.

And, I mean, I’ve got a pretty healthy libido, which is only made more pressing by the fact that my piece of shit ex is currently flaunting his shiny new lay in my face.

“Are you really going to keep fucking him?” Danika says, elbowing me and rousing me from my thoughts. “Your new roomie. ”

“Of course I am. Why not? He’s into it, I’m into it—besides, he’s hot as hell ?—”

“I haven’t seen him,” Jamil interrupts. “You never showed me him.”

“He is good-looking,” Danika tells him, almost begrudgingly. “In his pictures, anyway.”

So I bring up Luca’s Instagram page—or rather, the one for his tattoo portfolio, since he doesn’t seem to have a personal one, but there are a few pictures of him on there, and I hand my phone off to Jamil.

He scrolls through and makes a few appreciative noises before handing my phone back.

“Do you think you’ll date him?” he asks. “Like, officially?”

“No way. Neither of us want a relationship right now. You know, he’s got that divorce thing and I just got dumped.”

“But down the road, maybe. . .”

“Don’t encourage it,” Danika warns him before turning back to me.

“Definitely don’t fall in love with him, Noel.

Don’t even like him. Could you imagine? What if he winds up going back to his ex-wife?

” She shudders. “I’d kill myself if that happened to me.

” Danika’s prone to a little hyperbole now and then.

Just a few days ago she was going to kill herself because she got an 80 on a sculpture assignment.

I scrunch my face in annoyance. “I’m not going to fall in love with anyone. I’m just gonna use and abuse this guy until it’s not any fun anymore and then hopefully by then he gets his shit together and fucks off.”

They both look at me mutely for a moment. “Sheesh, Noel.” Jamil raises his eyebrows. “That’s heartless, even for you.”

But I’m not paying attention to either of them because Jordan is coming this way, striding towards our table with all the confidence he shouldn’t have and none of the shame he should , and as he comes closer to view, so does his little smirk.

I don’t get up to meet him. I keep my ass firmly planted on the bench and muster up the best and most blank face I can manage while inside I’m some strange mix of panic and fury and excitement.

He’s thankfully left his stupid boyfriend behind; actually, I have no idea where Kris has gone, but he’s not coming with so I don’t care, either.

He stops before me, tall and good-looking even though he’s shaved his pretty long hair off.

I mourn its loss briefly before kicking myself for caring, because he isn’t mine anymore, then immediately console myself because hey, whatever, I did love him at one point.

Still do I guess, and if he was here right now about to tell me it was all a mistake and would I take him back I’d first tell him to fuck off and then say yes of course Jord, let’s figure this shit out.

As long as you never lay eyes on anyone else ever again.

And we would pretend the last few weeks hadn’t happened, that goes without saying.

Or maybe I wouldn’t do any of those things. Maybe I have slightly more self-respect than that now. Maybe.

“Noel,” he says. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” A brief pause as he glances at my entourage. “Alone?”

My heart flutters. “Why?” I ask warily.

“Just really quick.”

I acquiesce, of course, letting him lead me away from my friends a short distance away, just out of earshot.

I fold my arms and stare at him, hoping my face is still that carefully composed blank I worked so hard on moments before, and wait for him to spit out whatever it is that he wants.

An apology, I’m hoping. And then the rest.

Jordan clears his throat. “So,” he says. “I hope you’ve been doing well, or whatever. Since everything.”

Not exactly what I was expecting, but better than leading with what the fuck were you on the other night. “I’m fine.” I don’t ask about him. He’s clearly doing okay.

“Yeah, good. That’s good.” He wipes his hands on the front of his sweatshirt, like they’re sweaty. “There’s still those things I wanted to grab from the apartment.”

Oh. This again. “What is it? I could just grab them and meet you somewhere.” I’m leery about letting him in, especially when Luca’s going to be there .

“You remember those vinyls I gave you?” He waits until I nod. “I was hoping to get them back.”

It is a slap in the face, this request. The fucking sheer audacity of it, to ask for the gifts he had given to me. “The vinyls,” I repeat, just to be completely sure I was hearing him correctly. My voice is ice.

“Yeah.” Shameless. Abso-fucking-lutely shameless. He goes on, oblivious to my mounting incredulity and fury. “Um, since you weren’t really into either of those bands until I introduced you to them, and you don’t have a record player anyway, so...”

No, I wasn’t into those bands before, and no, I don’t own a record player since he took his with him when he moved out.

I knew subconsciously, even back when he bought those vinyls—the first for my birthday last year, and the second for Christmas—that it was more for him than me.

I also told myself it was just his way of sharing something he loves with me and that in itself was a form of loving me. A delusional cope, I’m realizing now.

“If you could just bring them tomorrow,” he’s saying. “Or I could come over and grab them real quick tonight. No big deal.”

No big deal? No big deal?

“No,” I say.

“Huh?”

“No, I’m not giving you the vinyls,” I snap, even though I don’t particularly want them and especially not now, since they’ll just remind me of him. It’s the principle of the thing. “They were fucking gifts. You gave them to me.”

“I mean—well yeah, sure, but I gave them to you for us , and now there’s no us —” Jordan founders, spluttering.

Why the fuck had he thought I’d nod and smile and go along with his request, just because we were in public?

Which goes to show just how fucking little he does know me, because when have I ever gone quietly into that good night?

Has he forgotten our exchange from a week ago?

Moron. “You don’t even have anything to play them on, Noel,” he finally accuses.

“And it’s not like you care about the sound quality or anything. ”

It’s true, I don’t. And I never did see what difference there was between that and playing the same damn songs on my phone, besides the inconvenience. “I’m gonna buy one.” I’m lying. I have no intention of doing that.

“But those vinyls are limited edition!” Jordan rages. “And you don’t have the appreciation for the experience , not like we do.”

“‘We’?” It comes out in a hiss. I’m resisting the very strong urge to lay hands on him, my fingers balled into fists and nails biting into my palms.

He’s gone into snotty audiophile mode, looking down his nose at me despite the minimal height difference between us. “Kris and me. He has a huge vinyl collection, actually, super impressive, and those two records would make the perfect addition?—”