Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) Read online

  Sweet Dreams

  Copyright @ 2016 Nina Lane

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9887158-6-8

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, storied in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Cover Design by:

  Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Photography by:

  Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model:

  David Wills

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  Table of Contents

  Sweet Dreams

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  About the Author

  Books by Nina Lane

  Acknowledgements

  AS IT TURNED OUT, CHEETOS dust incited Polly Lockhart’s come-to-Jesus moment.

  It wasn’t enduring grief over her mother’s death ten months earlier, or the agonizing resignation that had preceded it—the diagnosis followed by months of chemo, the hope that both expanded and shrank daily, the pain of watching her mother’s body fade into a hollow shell that couldn’t contain the warm, vibrant spirit she remained until the end.

  No, it was sticky, orange, pseudo-cheese dust that shocked Polly back to her senses.

  “Well, hello, stranger!” Mia Davenport sailed across the Indian restaurant, her blond hair spilling down her back and her lithe, sinuous figure clad in a navy sheath dress and heels. “I thought you said it was your three-month anniversary tonight.”

  “It is,” Polly acknowledged, after exchanging hugs with her friend. “I’m just picking up some dinner.”

  “Oh.” Mia glanced at the hostess, who was walking to the kitchen to retrieve Polly’s order. “Well, come say hi to the girls. We really wanted you to join us.”

  “Uh, I’m not really dressed for . . .” Polly glanced down at her wrinkled paisley skirt and T-shirt, but Mia grabbed her arm and hauled her across the room to a round table where three other young women sat munching on samosas and pakora. The sight of them, all polished and prettied-up for a girls’ night on the town, intensified Polly’s self-consciousness.

  That and the fact that she hadn’t seen much of the other girls in the past couple of years—not with her mother’s illness and everything that went along with it. Her friends had always been there, of course, calling and stopping by with food and offers of help, but Polly had been so mired in grief that she hadn’t wanted to see or talk to anyone except her mother. And months after Jessie Lockhart’s death, Polly was still trying to figure out how to emerge back into the world.

  Her older sister, Hannah, hadn’t had that problem, Polly thought—not without a twinge of envy over Hannah’s ability to keep living, even if that also meant leaving. Hannah had taken flight less than a week after their mother died, claiming she needed to “get away.”

  More like “run away.” Sadly, much as Polly wished Hannah had stayed, her sister’s flight hadn’t surprised her. If it weren’t for Hannah’s travel blog, she would have little way of knowing where her sister was.

  “Happy anniversary, Pols,” Emma said. “Three months dating, huh? You know what that means.”

  Polly didn’t, but she smiled anyway as the other women chuckled.

  “Sure you can’t come with us?” Mia glanced at her watch. “The show starts at eight, and I haven’t sold the extra ticket yet.”

  “No.” Polly deflected a pang of regret and glanced back toward the kitchen. “I should go. Brian is waiting.”

  “So what else are you guys doing to celebrate?” Sarah reached out to pour herself a glass of red wine.

  “Um, we’re just hanging out.”

  The other women blinked, as if “hanging out” was a lame way to spend an anniversary—even a three-month one. Sarah gestured to Polly’s face.

  “You’ve got something there, hon.”

  Polly touched her chin. Oh no, not an unwanted zit. “What?”

  Mia peered closer at Polly’s face. “Just some crumbs or something.”

  Polly swiped at her face with her sleeve, then caught Mia looking at her fingers, which were still colored with orange Cheetos dust. Embarrassment flushed over Polly from head to toe. She shoved her hands into her pockets and took a step away from the table.

  “So did Brian get you a gift?” Emma asked.

  “I think so.” Polly did not, in fact, think so. Brian had never gotten her anything and she had no reason to believe he would do so now, but she couldn’t very well admit that to her friends. “We’re exchanging gifts later.”

  “Is he here?” Sarah glanced toward the front doors.

  “No, I’m . . . he’s back at the house. I’m just picking up dinner. We’re going out later for drinks and . . . um, dancing.” Polly took a step back. “Great seeing you all. Have fun at the concert tonight.”

  The other women waved, and Mia fell into step beside Polly as she returned to the front counter to pay for the takeout food.

  “Really, Pols?” Mia eyed Polly with far more perception than was comfortable. “You’re spending your anniversary in the basement, aren’t you? What are you doing, playing Minecraft or Mario?”

  Polly sighed. As one of her oldest friends, Mia had always been one to see right to the truth, which was both one of her most appealing and most annoying qualities.

  “Brian is a homebody,” she said defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “For him, maybe not.” Mia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes on Polly’s face. “But for you? Come on, Pols. You’re eating Cheetos and delivering take-out Indian food to your boyfriend on your anniversary? You deserve more, and you know it.”

  Polly was saved from having to respond—or agree—by the hostess appearing with paper bags filled with fragrant Indian curries and dal. She dug into her patchwork purse for her wallet and handed the hostess her credit card. After she’d paid, she turned back to Mia, who was standing in front of the door.

  “Polly.” Mia tapped her fingers on her arms. “I am begging you to call Brian and tell him you decided to hang out with your girlfriends tonight.”

  “I can’t do that to him, Mia.”

  “Why not? It’s not like he’s doing anything for you. Or to you,” she added under her breath.

  “Hey.” Polly frowned, insulted by the implication that she and Brian didn’t have a hot and heavy relationship—even if that was, once again, the truth. “You don’t know what we’re planning.”

  “I know it can’t be anything good, if it started with a junk food appetizer,” Mia remarked. “On your anniversary, a guy should take you out to a high-class restaurant,
give you flowers and a nice gift, spring for a good bottle of wine, then take you back home and rock your world. He should not be asking if you want barbeque or regular potato chips. And he should most certainly not be sending you out to bring chicken biryani back to his basement so he doesn’t have to interrupt level eight of League of Legends.”

  “Super Mario,” Polly muttered.

  “Whatever.” Mia sighed and took hold of Polly’s shoulders. “Polly, look at me. You are almost twenty-three years old. Twenty. Three. Years. Old. I admire you for your loyalty to Brian, sadly misplaced though it is, but it’s time for you to play the field. Or at least get off the damned bench.”

  Mia was right. But Polly had spent the past three years living in a shell so dark that even after having emerged ten months ago, her eyes were still adjusting to the light. It was no wonder she’d been drawn to hobbit-like Brian in his basement room with the single window, green shag carpet, and walls plastered with gamer posters and street signs.

  “Don’t you dare make birthday plans with Brian.” Mia released Polly’s shoulders. “I will not allow you to spend your twenty-third birthday in his mother’s basement, drinking purple soda and watching old episodes of Star Trek. I’m taking you out to celebrate, and we’re going to have fun. More specifically, you’re going to have fun. Even more specifically, you’re going to remember how good it feels to have fun. And I’d strongly suggest you break up with Brian before next weekend because I’m going on the prowl to find you the kind of man who can show you exactly what you’ve been missing. In other words, a man who is the opposite of Brian.”

  “Mia—”

  “Nope.” Mia shook her head so vigorously her hair flew around her shoulders. “Next Saturday, seven sharp. I’m treating you to the kind of dinner Brian should be buying you tonight, and then we’re going out for drinks and dancing. I’ll come early to help pick out your outfit. And I’m blocking your texts so you can’t cancel. Now I’ve gotta go. My curry is getting cold. And you still have crumbs on your face.”

  Before Polly could come up with an excuse to decline, Mia pulled her into a quick, tight hug and flounced back to the table where the other girls were moving on to the entree course. Polly bent to pick up the paper bags she’d left at her feet. As she straightened, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the opposite wall.

  Her hair was pulled into a messy knot with frizzy tendrils drifting around her forehead, her favorite cotton paisley skirt was wrinkled and sagging at the hem, and there was a grape soda stain on the front of her shirt. Not to mention, a smear of orange dust marred the side of her pale cheek, like a really hideous blusher.

  Really, Polliwog? This is what you’ve come to?

  Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. Polly almost winced. Despite Jessie Lockhart’s peace-loving nature, the words felt like a smack right upside Polly’s head. Even after she’d gotten sick, Jessie had been all about living and having fun, taking risks, following your dreams. Maybe it was time Polly remembered how to do that too.

  After scrubbing her sleeve across her cheek, she drove back to Brian’s parents’ house. She went into the separate entrance and down the narrow wooden stairs. The noise of battle pinged from Brian’s Xbox, and an old Dr. Who episode played on the TV. The light was a weird yellowish color from the railroad light glowing on the opposite wall.

  Brian didn’t look up from his sprawled position on the sofa to acknowledge Polly’s entrance, but when she marched to stand right in front of the TV, his gaze settled on her with faint irritation.

  “You’re in my way,” he remarked.

  “No.” Polly put her hands on her hips and summoned her resolve. “Actually, you’re in my way.”

  Brian gave a whatever shrug and turned back to his laptop. Polly reached for the remote and turned the volume down on the TV.

  “Brian,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  He sighed gustily and dragged his attention back to her. Polly’s nerves tightened. She didn’t want to hurt him. They’d met at the local community college where she was taking culinary classes and Brian had been enrolled in a computer science class before dropping out at the beginning of the new semester. He was a good guy, just rather clueless when it came to relationships.

  Not that Polly was any more experienced, but Mia was right. She deserved more from her future than sitting in the basement, eating Top Ramen and watching Mystery Science Theater 3000. Wasn’t that the reason she’d enrolled at Hartford Community College in the first place? To learn how to be a better baker, a smarter business owner, a woman worthy of following in Jessie Lockhart’s footsteps?

  She looked at Brian with his messy hair and scruffy goatee. How many days in a row had he been wearing that Minecraft T-shirt?

  “Brian, I’m getting the sense that maybe you and I want different things out of a relationship,” Polly began gently.

  She hoped this news wouldn’t make him cry. She’d have a really hard time leaving if he cried.

  “Why’d you turn the TV down?” Brian frowned.

  “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here. I don’t think we’re as compatible as I was hoping we were.”

  He shifted one eye toward his video game again.

  “Brian.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m breaking up with you,” Polly said firmly.

  He didn’t respond, his attention on the screen as his fingers moved over the keyboard.

  “Brian? Did you hear me?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m breaking up with you,” she repeated. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not you, it’s . . . well, actually it is you and not me, and you’re welcome to blame yourself, but really, you need to get out of this basement and go do something with your life. It’s about time I did too. Brian? Are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah.” He craned his neck to peer around her at the TV. “Hey, did you remember to order the lamb vindaloo?”

  FIND YOUR HAPPINESS.

  Even amidst the noise of the Troll’s House bar, the thought zinged around Polly’s mind like a pinball. For years, she hadn’t had the luxury of thinking about happiness in any great detail, but she wasn’t going to find it, or her future, in a basement that smelled like old socks.

  And frankly she couldn’t imagine how she ever thought she might.

  Now her future would be about . . . well, it still involved finding a way to keep her mother’s bakery afloat and finishing her spring semester in the culinary arts program, but at least those goals no longer seemed quite so far away.

  Polly had promised her mother she would return Wild Child to the warm, homey place it had been before Jessie got so sick, and it was time to fulfill that promise. In her efforts to jumpstart her life, Brian had just been an unfortunate misstep, one she attributed to her weakness for wounded animals and lost causes.

  Her immediate future, however, involved another birthday cake shot.

  “Wow.” Polly gestured to the bartender, feeling sort of fizzy and bubbly, like soda pop. “These shots are awesome.”

  “Agreed.” Mia tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder and tilted her head back to down hers. “But I dunno, Pols. This place isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “I know, but thanks for humoring me.”

  After Mia had treated Polly to a gourmet sushi and teriyaki dinner, she’d wanted to go to an upscale club for drinks and dancing. But Polly had balked at the idea of sophisticated cocktails and gorgeous men and women who actually knew what they were doing. She wanted to be a braver version of herself, but one that was actually attainable.

  So she and Mia had ended up at the Troll’s House, a dive bar with a rough wood floor, flashing jukebox, neon beer signs, and several pool tables. It was loud, crowded, lots of beer, and nothing fancy. Exactly the kind of place Polly could start to come out of her shell.

  Maybe.

  “I told you I’d be on the prowl,” Mia said unapologetically, scanning the room with her sharp gaze. �
�And though I was hoping for a Wall Street executive, I can see the appeal of a blue-collar dude.”

  Polly turned to take the birthday cake shot from the bar.

  Live your life. Take risks. Embrace change. Be happy, for God’s sake.

  Her mother’s voice again. The sharp stab of pain Polly had felt at her loss had recently dulled to a soft, perpetual ache around her heart. She’d miss her mother forever, but more and more, Jessie’s incessantly positive, you-only-live-once, Polly-I-love-you-but-if-you-don’t-move-on-and-be-happy-I-will-come-back-to-haunt-you attitude, was easing Polly’s grief.

  She licked up another rainbow sprinkle. The alcohol hummed pleasantly in her blood, giving her much-needed courage. Though Polly had faced a lot of challenges head on, she’d never been confident, much less experienced, in the Men category.

  Brian aside, she just hadn’t been around men that much, especially after her father died when she was nine. Her mother, determined to start a new life, moved out of the Twelve Oaks commune in Santa Cruz where they’d lived all of Polly’s life.

  Jessie had taken Polly and Hannah to Rainsville, a small farming town south of San Francisco, and opened up the Wild Child Bakery with their father’s life insurance money.

  Women had always worked at the Wild Child Bakery, and Jessie had been active in feminist groups and women’s writer workshops. She had boyfriends every now and then, but they never stuck around. And Polly hadn’t had much chance to form her own relationships before her mother got sick.

  “They’re like a foreign species,” Polly muttered to Mia, gesturing toward a group of men crowded around the tables. Even with his video games and geekiness—or perhaps because of them—at least Brian had been safe. “I feel like I’m studying them for research purposes.”

  “As long as it’s sexual research, you’re good to go,” Mia replied. “I guarantee that great sex will give you the boost you need.”

  Though the thought of great sex made Polly a little nervous, it was past time that she finally got her groove on.

  “I’m ready,” she said with a firm nod. “I want to experience everything I’ve been missing, and especially to—” she dropped her voice to a whisper “—get laid.”