Page 5 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

NOEL

I hate being late to anything at all, and I know I should’ve left earlier considering everything, but I got pretty drunk by the end of last night and wound up sleeping way in.

I hardly had the time to brush my teeth and dress before stumbling out the door.

Also, I couldn’t find my CharlieCard in my bag and had to run all the way back to the apartment and swipe it off my kitchen counter, but that’s neither here nor there.

Still, it’s annoying. I want to look good for Luca, not like I just rolled out of bed. I want to look as enticing as fucking hell because I have a proposal for him and I need him to agree to it. Instead I am a goddamn mess and it’ll just have to do.

I catch sight of the man in question sitting inside the cafe as I approach, right by one of the large, plate-glass windows.

He must be freezing his dick off because who chooses a window seat when it’s this damn cold, anyway?

He sees me the moment I walk inside, calling out my name to get my attention.

I give him a wave and motion to the counter and he nods, go ahead, I’ll wait.

Gracious of him when he’s already been waiting a half an hour or more.

Maybe he’s more into me than I thought. Or curious, at least. I still can’t believe he just bailed on me last night.

Armed at last with a hot chocolate and a large cookie, I toss my bag into the booth and sit down before Luca.

It’s nearly eleven in the morning and I should feed myself something more substantial, but I have a painting assignment due in two days that I’ve made almost zero headway on.

Only sugar will see me through this day.

“Hi,” I say. “Sorry. The T was wicked fucking late, per usual.”

Luca gives me a smile. “I figured as much.” Now that I’m seeing him in actual daylight he’s even more handsome than he was last night.

His hair is bleached platinum blonde, made more obvious by the dark roots and eyebrows, but it looks like he takes care of it; it’s not burned or brassy or anything.

It looks soft and healthy. Today he’s wearing a gray knit sweater over jeans and Timbs, and there’s a black horseshoe pierced through the septum of his decidedly Greek nose.

Beside him on the seat his coat is folded neatly. He’s pretty put together, ink and all.

I cross my legs and pull off my beanie. I comb my hair out with my fingers and try to look halfway presentable, but I know I don’t look half as good as he does, so I give up.

This is my punishment for not setting an alarm.

“Right,” I say, wrapping my frigid fingers around my cup. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

He raises his eyebrows and begins rolling his sleeves up his gorgeously inked forearms. “Jumping right in, huh?”

“Sorry,” I say sweetly. “I’ll start over. Oh my god Luca how are you? I can’t believe the weather we’re having. How’s work? How’s your mother? How are the kids?”

His lips twitch. “Okay, you don’t like small talk. Reading you loud and clear.”

“Do you?” I challenge. “Does anyone?”

“No,” he admits. “But when you’re client facing five days a week you just kinda default to it, you know?”

“Right. Mr. Karvelas, master tattoo artist. Asking about someone’s wife and kids while tattooing their taint.”

He stirs his coffee. “That’s happened before.”

“You tattooed someone’s taint ?” I’m fascinated. “No way. You’re bullshitting me.”

“Not me, but another artist in the shop.” Luca is watching me, seemingly gauging my reaction. He really does have beautiful eyes, so pale they look nearly gray in this light, and his thick lashes fan his cheek every time he glances down. “Tattooed an eggplant right onto this guy’s gooch. ”

I bite my lip to contain an ugly laugh. “I can’t believe he talked your coworker into it.”

“Neither can I.” He sets the cup back down and folds his arms over the table top.

“Well?” He has a low voice, almost rough; a bedroom kind of voice.

“What’s this proposition of yours, Noel?

” I can tell he thinks it’s something very different than what I’m about to ask him just from the weight of his gaze, the way he sort of edges into my space without encroaching upon it.

He’s just as intense as he was at Anathema— before he bailed on me.

I drag my gaze away from his and take a big bite of my cookie, then cautiously lap the foam from my drink.

It’s still too hot, but the cocoa powder-sprinkled foam is divine.

I savor it before I launch into my brilliant idea, dreamed up by my intoxicated self about twelve hours ago: “You need a place to stay, right? Can’t live in a hotel room forever.

” I pause long enough to let him nod, then say, “So why not move in with me?”

He’s clearly taken aback. Literally, he jerks backwards until his shoulders crash into the back of the booth. “Sorry?” he splutters.

I’m patient. “I need a roommate. You need a place to crash until you get your life sorted out. What’s the issue?”

“The—the issue is that we don’t know each other,” he says, bewildered. “And now you’re asking me to move in with you?”

“I don’t know any of the people looking for rooms on Craigslist, either,” I return. “So what?” Frankly, I thought it was perfect. I don’t know what he’s freaking out about .

“Like, I don’t even know your full name. Or age. Or literally anything else.”

I wave my hand. “It’s Underwood,” I say. “Noel Underwood.”

“Noel Underwood,” he echoes. “Okay. And how old are you? What do you do ?”

“I turn twenty-three in two weeks.” He groans, for some reason. “On Valentine’s Day, actually. And I’m a student at MassArt, in my final semester. Major in illustration, minor in biology.” What the hell else did he want, my social?

“Jesus Christ.” He rubs his eyes. “You’re eight fucking years younger than me. Almost nine .”

I am unfazed. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You were born after 9/11.” He drops his head into his hands. “You were in first grade when I was going into high school.”

Oh my god. “Okay, see, that’s making it weird.”

“You were playing with blocks and watching fuckin’ Dora the Explorer the first time I got drunk and?—”

My palms slap the table and our cutlery shudders. “Is this some kind of fetish thing to you?” I demand. “Are you getting off to this shit?”

“No way!” he protests. “It’s just—I’m supposed to move in with a twenty-year-old at my age? Do you know how bad that looks for me?”

“You’re the one making it bad. You literally wanted to sleep with me last night, but now this is a big deal.”

“A one-night stand is very different from moving in.”

“Hey.” I lean forward and tap on the table. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I need a roommate. You need a place to live. We both just got dumped. This is such a non-issue it’s not even funny. It’s convenient, really.” At least I thought so.

Luca drops his hands and attempts to glare at me. I say attempt, because it isn’t very menacing at all. He looks vaguely disgruntled at best. “I didn’t get dumped. It’s a mutually agreed upon separation?—”

I hold up my hand. “Semantics, Luca. And I don’t really care about your wife situation. Do you want to keep living in a hotel while wading through applications for income-controlled, overpriced, pet-friendly apartments? Or do you want to make life easy for both of us?”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if I’ve given him a headache, but I’m sure that can’t be true. It’s another long moment before he finally responds. “I don’t know. This is all happening at the speed of light.”

Life comes at you fast , but I don’t say it.

It hovers at the tip of my tongue and stays there until the impulse to say it dies.

He’s a strange one, Luca Karvelas, a walking contradiction.

He separates from his wife, comes into a kink bar and hits on me immediately, almost gets into my pants and then bails the minute he thinks he’s being ditched.

There’s a strange dichotomy in him, the intensity and confidence warring with something more insecure and repressed. It’s interesting. And confusing.

So I simply wait him out and let him work it out on his own.

I pull out my CharlieCard and use the edge to pick at my chipped nail polish and wish I at least had the chance to shower before I came here.

I feel like last night’s drinks are gonna come out of my pores and I’m suddenly grateful he chose this table by the window.

If we sat anywhere else, I think I would be sweating.

“Is this going to be some kind of arrangement?” Luca says at last, looking at me. “Like, are we going to...”

“Fuck?” I reply. “Do you want to?”

He says nothing. The insecurity is winning at the moment, heavily weighing the scales in its favor.

I suppose I can understand his behavior, a little, even if his methods are questionable.

It must be strange to get out of a very long relationship and immediately into another person’s bed.

Though he’d been willing and eager enough last night At least at first. And hell, even a few minutes ago it seemed like he was hoping I would ask for some sort of with benefits situation.

I wonder if his sexuality had something to do with the dissolution of his marriage.

If it wasn’t just my age being a factor, but the fact that I’m a man.

I wonder if he’s not bi but maybe gay, and exploring this side of himself is equally thrilling and scary and those parts are fighting for dominance.

So many questions.

I take a long sip of my mocha. It’s still too hot, but I push through. “Luca,” I say, “I’m literally just asking you to be my roommate. There’s a bedroom for you and everything. I’m out of the house most days, so I won’t be breathing down your neck?—”

“I am too,” he interjects. “With work, I mean.”