Sugar

9

chapter nine
florence thompson
song: teenager in love - madison beer

Dinner.

A date.

A dinner date.

With Vincent De Bellis.

Oh my dear lord.

What am I supposed to say? what in the world is the right answer here? How am I supposed to respond? For the love of god would someone just tell me how in the world I'm supposed to answer to a rich guy asking me to dinner.

Let's not forget the fact that the rich guy in question thinks I'm looking to be a sugar baby, and the sugar baby in question has never sugar baby...ed before.

Dear god, how do I get myself into such odd predicaments.

"Are you still alive?" His voice came through the phone, breaking the silence on the line and reminding me he was waiting for my answer in live time.

It was this moment that I decided texting is far superior to phone calls.

Terrified of any other answer than yes and having to explain how I'm not a sugar baby, I slapped a hand over half of my face and internally screamed my lungs out.

"Yeah, yes. I'm alive, very alive," I spoke quickly, barely able to keep up with my own words.

"You can say no, really-,"

"No, no," I rushed out maybe too quickly, cutting him off. "I'd love to go to dinner with you," I spoke the truth but the panic inside me led me to believe otherwise.

The silence lingered once again and I found myself listening for his breathing.

"Tomorrow night, 6PM, should I have a limo come get you?" He asked, and I felt my eyes widening dramatically.

I glanced down to my old PJ's and nearly laughed.

A limousine. Funny.

"Oh no, that's okay. I'll drive myself," I insisted.

"Are you sure, Miss Thompson?" He asked, his voice mildly worried as he asked me this. I pictured a crease forming between his full brows.

"Positive, De Bellis," I retorted, a smile on my lips.

"Well alright then. I'll text you the address tomorrow."

"It's settled then," I spoke, hoping my nerves weren't noticeable in my voice.

A dinner date.

With a super hot rich guy.

Rico is going to lose his shit.

"Goodnight, Florence," he whispered gruffly, making tingles dance down my spine. I hadn't heard him call me by my first name yet so the sound of my name rolling off his tongue was...different. But in a good way.

"Goodnight, Vincent."

• • •

The next morning started out ridiculously, pretty on par for my Saturdays.

I woke up to a grinning Rico, elbows on my mattress, hands cradling the sides of his face as he blinked rapidly.

"Jesus christ!" I exclaimed, shoving myself backwards quickly and throwing my pillow in his face on instinct. "You can't just do that to people, Rico!" I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. The grogginess in my voice was obnoxiously audible.

"You can't just throw pillows at people, Flo," Rico grumbled, grabbing the pillow from the spot in front of him before pelting me straight in the face with it.