Page 73 of Sugar
“Deputy District Attorney Dave Augustian.”
“So kind of a big deal,” I surmised.
“Slightly.”
“Andwewouldn’t miss his birthday?”
“A week from tonight. Arrange your schedule accordingly.”
No question. Not even a firm request. His instantaneous response was resolute.
That was fine by me. For one, there were worse ways to spend a night than with Easton. For another, having a connection in the DA’s office would be advantageous.
Even if it meant putting up with mildly hostile matchmakers.
“Right,” I said.
He gave my shoulder an approving squeeze before the man on the other side of him grabbed his attention.
Figuring we’d played it up for long enough, I started to move my hand off his thigh. I didn’t get far. Not breaking from his conversation, his hand covered mine, and he pressed it back in place. That wasn’t enough for him. The arm still wrapped around the back of my chair shifted so he could absentmindedly play with a lock of my hair as they carried on a heated conversation about preseason NHL.
“Ohhh, I remember those days,” a woman a couple chairs away from me said. I got the feeling she was the same one who’d made the swoony sigh.
The man next to me scoffed. “Withwho?”
She rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him to talk to me. “How did you two meet?”
I’d anticipated the common question and gave the simple answer that was boring enough to not invite follow-ups and also not an outright lie. “A family friend. What about you two?”
If the circle really is as small as Easton said, everyone will know about us by the end of the hour.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of food—delicious food, just as I’d been promised—small talk, and probably one too many cocktails.
And those frequent touches that did their job. No one flirted with him. No one tried to set him up with their aunt’s uncle’s cousin’s former roommate.
I wasn’t an expert in fake dating or being an unofficial sugar baby, but it seemed like things went pretty damn smoothly.
So much so, a swirl of disappointment went through me when Easton leaned over to whisper, “Say goodbye, Maddie.”
I offered a polite farewell to the man next to me. He might not have paid attention while his wife had regaled me with their relationship history, but his eyes had lit when I’d shown an interest in the betting app he was monitoring. He’d gone into detail—great, never-ending detail—about his current parlay. I’d filed the info away to discuss with Marc.
Just because I was still bitter over not getting that sports betting story didn’t mean I couldn’t help.
Or maybe I would be petty, hold onto my intel, and write a follow-up to his piece that would be a million times better.
I hadn’t decided.
After a quick stop to say goodbye to Vanessa, Easton and I headed for the exit. He stopped us just inside the doorway and shook his coat off before helping me put it on.
The size difference between us had never been more apparent, and I must’ve looked comical swimming in the jacket that I could’ve belted off to wear as a dress.
And not even a mini one.
But Easton didn’t look amused. There was an odd, unreadable expression on his face as he scanned me up and down. It was gone just as quickly as it’d formed when he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Vic is outside.”
Well, I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d tried.
Once I was in the car, I used the momentary window to hurriedly slide Easton’s black credit card from my clutch and into his breast pocket. I’d barely refastened the clasp when he slid in next to me.
