Sugar Rush by Sawyer Bennett

Author:Sawyer Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2016-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

“So this is how the other half lives,” I whisper to Beck, bumping my shoulder against his as we walk up to the ginormous Pacific Heights mansion owned by his parents, Beckett and Helen North.

“I believe they’re called the one percent, not the other half,” he says dryly.

“Well, color me impressed,” I say softly as I take in the four-story white house with a portico porch held up by massive stone columns.

“The house was built in 1901 in the neoclassical architectural style known as Beaux Arts,” Beck says as he sweeps a hand toward his childhood home, “which is epitomized by the flat roof, carved embellishments such as those mascarons above each window, and the numerous and richly detailed balustrades, pilasters, and acroteria that abound.”

I stop abruptly and turn to face him with my mouth hanging open.

He grins at me and says, “This house was completely renovated when my parents purchased it before I was even born. What makes it so impressive is how it sits on this hill providing a full and unobstructed 180-degree view of the Golden Gate Bridge, Angel Island, and the San Francisco Bay. You don’t even want me to get into the fine appointments inside the house once we go in.”

Shaking my head in amusement, I say, “You sound almost proud of this house. You know, the way you just rattled on about the architecture and stuff.”

Beck’s hand curls around my neck and he pulls me in for a quick kiss. Chuckling, he says, “Nah. Not proud of it at all. I’ve just heard my mom say those same exact words about a million times as she brags about her house to anyone who will listen, and I picked up a few things.”

“That makes sense,” I say with a smile as I turn to look at the front decorated with wreaths on every window trimmed in red velvet bows and strategically placed floodlights to light up the façade.

“So you understand the game plan, right?” he asks in a serious voice, almost as if he were a coach and I was his star player.

“Yes,” I say with a nod of my head. “Quick in and out. We hunt down your parents for introductions, they can sneer down at me for a few moments, and then you ask to talk to your dad in private. I’ll sample all the expensive food, ogle the fancy dresses, and drink a glass of champagne, because…well, I love champagne. You finish up with your dad, come grab me, and we jet out of there before anyone can stop us.”

“Then we go home and celebrate Christmas Eve together,” he adds.

“Preferably naked,” I say with an impish grin.

“In front of the fireplace.”

“With whipped cream.”

“And toys…we must play with toys,” he says with a laugh, and I can’t help but join in. It’s funny, because we’ve both got dirty minds, but it’s not funny in the respect that we’re both deadly serious about what we just laid out. We now have a date with a fireplace, whipped cream, and sex toys for our Christmas Eve.

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