Double Mountain Men (Hot Mountain Nights #11)

Chapter 1

Misty

I push open the door to Liberty Bakery, and skulk across the shiny polished cement floor to wait in line before a large glass case filled with delectable pastries.

Oooh, they look so yummy with their crisp, golden brown exteriors, decadent chocolate filling, and gooey, jam-filled centers.

But my eyes catch sight of the price list, and I wince.

Ugh, this is highway robbery! How can a single pastry cost eight dollars?

That’s without tax or tip too – not that I can afford to tip.

But I have to buy something because I’m meeting my friend Jenna here, and it’s Jen who suggested the location.

Still, I’m a little surprised because this place is fancy, and Jenna’s like me – a poor student.

In fact, we’re probably the poorest students at Evergreen College because we both came from foster care.

It’s a bit of a sad story, actually. I was left with Children’s Protective Services when I was just a tot, and have only vague memories of my biological family.

They never came back to claim me, and I bounced from place to place before being placed in a group home when I was in high school.

Fortunately, the transition, while bumpy, wasn’t impossible.

Jenna and I were both accepted to Evergreen State College with full scholarships, and there’s even a foundation that’s helping us cover housing and books.

We were giddy when we got our offers, dancing around in circles while screaming with joy.

“OMG, OMG,” Jenna cried, grabbing my hands and we spun in a circle in the rec room of the group home. “This is the start to a new life!”

“New chances, new opportunities ... you’re right, because the world is our oyster!”

Dizzy with excitement and laughter, we could almost forget our problems. Almost , but not quite, because money’s always been an issue for us.

Even with my scholarship and the stipend from the foundation, I’m still barely making ends meet.

I have a work-study job at the science center, but it doesn’t pay much.

I’ve even considered eating some of the fish food because I get so hungry sometimes.

That’s why I’m surprised Jenna chose this fancy bakery.

She should be in the same leaky financial boat as me, and pinching every penny in her wallet.

So what are we doing at a hipster place like this?

After all, Liberty Bakery is the epitome of understated chic, with iron pendant lamps, a burnished cement floor, and simple yet sophisticated blonde wood furniture.

The lighting is mellow and the baristas are dressed in matching brown sackcloth aprons, as if they’re real millers that work with flour.

My guess is that they’re actually trust fund babies who are only pretending to be poor by working in a cafe. Ah, how ironic life is.

But my thoughts are interrupted by the tinkling of the chime over the door, and a blonde girl strolls in with her hair tied in a bouncy ponytail.

She’s dressed in a skin-tight pink sports bra with matching pink leggings, and has a fancy gym bag slung over her shoulder with a yoga mat poking out.

Not only that, but her golden highlights are obviously the work of an expensive salon, and her nails are subtly shiny and perfectly pink with the latest “glazed donut” manicure.

“Hey Misty,” she calls before bouncing over to give me a hug. “Long time no see. How’s my girl doing?”

It’s only then that I snap out of my trance. I was so busy studying the blonde’s polished presentation that I didn’t realize that it’s my friend, Jenna.

“Hey!” I exclaim, my eyes wide with shock. “I didn’t realize it was you! You look different.”

Jenna merely giggles.

“I know, it’s the highlights. I finally got so sick of my blah brown hair that I had it professionally done.

Matthieu at John Barrett is an ace ,” she confides in a low voice.

“After having him handle my tresses, I don’t think I can go to anyone else again.

I’m going to be one of those crazy ladies whose hair appointments are more important to them than food.

I would rather starve than not get highlights. ”

I stare at her.

“Really?” I ask quizzically. “That sounds extreme, Jen.”

She pauses for a moment.

“Okay, maybe I’ll keep buying food,” she concedes. “I know! I’ll skip my Botox appointments to get my hair done.” She pauses again. “No, scratch that because I don’t want to miss those either. Botox is too important to me.”

I stare at her.

“Jenna, you’re only eighteen. You’re getting Botox? Where? Why?”

She pulls her brows together, and then points to two very faint lines that form vertical tracks between her arches.

“See that?” she asks in a hushed tone. “Those are called elevens. Right now, they’re only there if I frown, but this is preventative Botox, girlfriend. I’m getting it done now so that the elevens don’t become permanent as I age.”

I stare, utterly stunned.

“But Jenna, you’re beautiful—” I begin. At that moment, the barista interrupts us.

“Can I get you something, ma’am?” the bored girl asks. I shoot a quick look at the price list, and internally wince.

“Um, yes, just a plain croissant, and a plain drip coffee please. Thanks.”

Jenna immediately steps in.

“Why would you get a plain croissant? That’s so boring, girlfriend! Two pistachio croissants,” she instructs the server. “Plus, two rose lattes please, made with pistachio milk.”

I almost choke from the order change, but my buddy turns to me and winks. “Liberty is a Third Culture bakery influenced by flavors from the Middle East using fermentation techniques from Copenhagen. They’re known for their pistachio and rose treats, Misty. We might as well indulge.”

Then, she whips out a wallet emblazoned with Coach “C” logos, and pays the exorbitant bill like it’s nothing. I watch, astonished, but manage to keep my mouth shut until we’re at a small table together.

“Jenna, that was thirty-five dollars for two pastries and two drinks,” I whisper. “I have to ask: how are you managing it? I mean, I know you’re in work study too, but your job at the school gym pays the same as mine, which is basically nothing.”

Jenna merely grins while biting into her pistachio croissant with a satisfying crunch.

“Oh, I quit work study,” she says in a careless tone. “They were paying me minimum wage to clean showers and sanitize the most disgusting flip flops ever. There was no way I was going to put in another minute there.”

I stare at my beautiful blonde friend, my own food untouched.

“But how are you doing it, then?” I ask, gesturing with a vague wave to her hair, and then to her outfit. “I mean, the highlights, the fancy gym clothes, and even the food! Jen, I’m eating canned beans and buying two-dollar next-day bread from the bodega because I’m so poor!”

Jenna frowns at me, immediately concerned.

“You are? You should have told me! I’ll spot you,” she says, reaching for her wallet.

I shake my head.

“No no, it’s okay because payday is tomorrow. But how are you managing this, Jenna? It’s like a fairy godmother appeared or something.”

My friend takes a slow sip of her latte before setting her cup down deliberately. Then she gives me a long look.

“It’s not a fairy godmother,” she states. “It’s Sweet Lies.”

My brow scrunches with confusion.

“What’s Sweet Lies?” I ask. “The latest book you’re reading? A new name for a fancy espresso drink?”

Jenna shakes her head and then looks around surreptitiously before leaning forward.

“No, Misty. I signed up to be a sugar baby on a website called Sweet Lies. It pays well,” she says. “So well, that I’m actually kind of rich now.”

I stare at her.

“A sugar baby website? You mean with sugar daddies ?” I ask, mouth agog.

“Shh!” Jenna says before leaning forward again. “Yes. It’s totally legit. I’m eighteen, so I’m legal, and it’s not like it’s prostitution or something. It’s just going on dates with rich guys. It’s a companionship website.”

I stare at her.

“Jen, you know these sites aren’t for companionship,” I say in a low tone. “We grew up in a group home, girlfriend. Don’t be naive.”

“I know, and I’m not being naive,” my buddy agrees in a calm voice. “I’m getting paid, remember? There’s real money on the table.”

I bite my lip as thoughts whirl through my head because the danger of this situation is obvious.

In fact, this is what we swore to avoid when we were living in the group home.

We didn’t want to use our looks, or our bodies, to make money because all women lose their looks as they age.

We were going to use our brains, which is how and why we worked so hard to get into college!

But now, it seems my friend has backtracked.

Still, I pause before I speak because I don’t want to sound judgmental.

“I don’t know, Jenna. Do you feel safe? I mean, are the guys normal?”

She winks at me.

“Yes, it’s totally safe! I only meet my clients for dinner, so my dates are in a public place. Plus, I take precautions so that I don’t end up spending time with a deviant.”

I stare at her.

“What kind of precautions?”

Jenna shrugs with a small smile playing at her lips.

“I keep my profile private, and then I only ping men who have hot photos. If they’re good-looking, and if they’re offering a gig that I’m interested in, then I’ll set something up.

It’s pretty simple, and the money is fabulous.

Plus, like I said, I only do platonic dates.

You can choose that, you know: the level of intimacy you desire. ”

I stare at her.

“So none of these guys have ever asked to make out?”

“Well, okay yeah, they have,” she acknowledges. “But I’m fine with a little kissing. Even a little petting sometimes, but nothing more than that. The men are generous too, so I often get a huge tip on top of my fee.”

I stare at her.

“You know I’m going to ask, Jen. How much are we talking here? You do dinner dates, right?”