10. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Emery

I stand to the side of the entry to the lingerie store, staring up at the posters of the gorgeous women wearing the high-end undergarments. Their faces are in full makeup, and they probably starved themselves in the days leading up to the photoshoot. Not to mention all the retouching and mood lighting. But damn, they look amazing.

The fake tans are definitely helping.

I glance at the exposed skin of my forearms, and all I see is pale skin. I mean, my skin gets tan when I remember to spend time in the sun. But since bailing on my last foster home the day after I turned eighteen, because it was clear that my foster father was very interested in me staying in the house, I've become a bit of a homebody.

Couch surfing and bouncing through shelters while I waited for my college accommodations to open up became a full-time job. I did odd jobs here and there, like babysitting and dog walking, but the people I was doing the jobs for didn't have that much spare cash lying around.

Now, with the five Benjamins burning a hole in the pocket of my threadbare jeans, I'm struggling to find the courage to go into the store. I want to go in, and I definitely need to, because I'm pretty sure the originally-plain-white-but-now-gray panties and the bralette with the strap I've attempted to stitch back on aren't what they want to pay ten thousand dollars for. I'm just struggling to get my feet to move.

A woman brushes past me and, without a sideways glance, she enters the lingerie store, like it's as easy as walking into a grocery store.

I mean, I'm sure it is that easy. It's not like there are any physical barriers stopping me from getting in there. It's the mental ones. It's the thought of spending literally the most money I have ever held in my hand on clothes that are designed to be ripped off, rather than buying things I actually fucking need to live, like food and a good winter coat.

That is a complete mind fuck, for sure.

It doesn't help that the last time I went shopping was at a thrift store, and I spent a total of fifty dollars for an entire summer wardrobe. Two years ago. Hence the threadbare nature of my current outfit. I don't even know what size bra I actually need, always just having purchased whatever felt like it fit.

Okay, I need to do this. If I want that money in my bank account by the weekend, then I have to go in there and buy the things I need to make it happen. I'll be able to pay Oakley back as soon as I wake up tomorrow.

Taking a deep breath, I commit to my decision by opening up the SugarLife app and snapping a picture of the front of the store, being sure to get the golden logo in, before sending it to the guys.

SugarBB_Emmy: First stop.

There has been radio silence since I said I was going shopping. So, when my message goes to read before I can exit out of the app, I start to wonder if I crossed some sort of sugar baby line.

Brat4Us: Do we get to see what you buy?

I pout.

I wasn't planning on showing them, because the outfit I want is so perfect, I want to surprise them with it.

But maybe I could play a game with them? Try on a bunch of other outfits and tease them with those, but never let them see the one I plan on wearing?

Would that be fun for them?

Shrugging, I decide to go with it.

SugarBB_Emmy: How about I show you what I'm trying on? I want to keep my actual outfit for our evening a surprise, though.

I bite my lip and can't help adding one more thing.

SugarBB_Emmy: Is that okay, Daddies? Or would you prefer to pick my outfit?

I really want it to be okay, because that bodysuit I saw online is freaking perfect. It's sexy but cute. And if I can manage to do my makeup just right, then I should be able to pull off the look I have in my head.

Brat4Us: That works perfectly for us, baby girl. We're excited to see whatever you would like to show us.

Phew. Okay. So, I'm doing okay so far. I didn't scare them off earlier.

Buoyed by their words, I manage to get my feet to carry me into the store. There's a privacy wall at the entrance that you have to zigzag around to get into the main area. And, holy fuck, I have never seen so much lace and so many tiny little bows in one place.

After a few seconds of my wide-eyed staring, one of the sales ladies takes pity on me. Her figure-hugging, black tunic dress has a deep V in the front, showcasing her ample cleavage, and thick platinum blonde bangs form a line across her forehead while the rest of her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail. If it weren't for the huge smile on her face, I'd think she was kicking me out of the store. "Hey there, you look like you could use a little help."

I nod, trying to keep the movement at a normal pace, instead of bouncing with the seriously out of comfort zone nervousness that I'm feeling. "Ah, yeah. I mean, yes, please. Sorry. I've never bought anything like this before."

Her expression turns understanding. "Okay, so can I assume you've never had a proper bra fitting before?"

When her gaze flickers down to my not overly exposed breasts in the tank top I'm wearing, I don't feel bad when I do the same to her and catch sight of her name tag. Lisa.

Shaking my head in response to her question, I unlock my phone and open up the web browser I left my earlier search on. "I'm actually here, looking for this, specifically."

Her gaze darts to my phone before she goes full Cheshire cat on me. "Ah, the Lola. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

The muscle above my eyebrow twitches as I force my face to stay neutral, because who talks about clothes like that? "Um, yeah. Gorgeous. I'd also like to try on a few other things as well. Do you have any of those see-through nightie things?"

It's Lisa's turn to will her face not to show her feelings, but when her gaze flickers down my body again, this time pausing on my clothing and how it's clearly seen better days, I can all but see the words inside her head written in neon flashing letters above her head.

Poor. Shoplifter. Can't afford to breathe the air in this store.

So, to cut off any conversations heading in that direction, I quickly reach for the wad of cash shoved into my pocket, because I want the lingerie more than I care about embarrassing myself. "I can pay. I have money."

For a beat, Lisa simply stares at my offered cash, but then all the tension leaves her body as the stick is removed from her ass. Figuratively speaking. "Sorry. We've had a few fitting room thieves recently. Come on, let's get Lola and while you try that on, I'll find you some other things that will look good with your body type."

With nerves filling my stomach, I follow her through the store. As we approach a rack filled with lacy one pieces, I spot Lola and grin. Lisa flicks through the rack, pausing to eye me critically before making her selection. Without a word, she leads me to the fitting rooms and links the black-silk-covered hanger to a hook on the wall.

"Leave your underwear on, but remove your bra. Once you have it on, call out and I'll check the fit."

Before I can ask any questions, she unwinds the gold rope from around the heavy red velvet curtain and pulls it shut, leaving me alone with nothing but my reflection on two walls and a dark red cushioned seat in the corner.

Well, okay, then.