The University Sugar Baby

I was thirty-two when I picked up my first broke college boy.
I was driving past the university when I saw him, Leo, holding a girl in his arms. His eyes were red-rimmed, a portrait of wounded pride. Please, he choked out, don't think I'm dirty...
It was a straightforward arrangement. A business transaction. So why did he make it sound like I was the one corrupting him?
If he felt so dirty, there were plenty of others who wouldn't.
I took a long drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. My eyes landed on a blond kid swaggering down the sidewalk, decked out in head-to-toe knockoffs. I nodded towards him.
"Ask that one," I told my driver, "if he's interested in a sugar momma."

1
Eason was in my office by the afternoon.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the thirty-second floor, glinting off his Balenciaga t-shirt, his Yohji Yamamoto pants, and his Louis Vuitton sneakers.
Fake.
Fake.
And fake.
But damn, if he didn't have a pretty face.
He was nothing like Leo, who had that cold, clean-cut look, an air of untouchable pride. Eason was more like something manufactured, a walking plastic surgery template. Exquisite, cheap, and with a hustler's glint in his eye.
But I’d had my fill of fine dining. Tonight, I was in the mood for some greasy takeout.
They were both selling themselves, so why bother with the one who acted like he was above it all?
The moment he opened his mouth, I knew I’d made the right choice.
"Heard you were looking to adopt?" He grinned. "Should I call you Mom right now?"
He caught on fast. A little too fast.
But I wasn't into that kind of roleplay. I could already see the entire trajectory of our relationship flashing before my eyes. Today, he’d have me launch his career. Tomorrow, he'd be begging for a leading role. The day after, our arrangement would leak, and he’d be on his knees, pleading for me to bury the scandal.
Perfect. This was exactly what I wanted.
I ignored him, flipping through the file my assistant, Ms. Evans, had prepared.
He was from some forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. Family wasn't poor, certainly better off than Leo's alcoholic father and gambling-addict mother. His grades were average, a far cry from Leo's scholarships.
But he was a good two inches taller than Leo.
I glanced up at him. He beamed at me, a perfect eight-tooth smile. He was handsome, no doubt, but the fawning was a little much.
I pursed my lips, a flicker of distaste crossing my features. "How many? Men or women?"
Eason’s expression didn't change. Not a hint of shame or offense. "Just you, boss!"
Bullshit.
"Ms. Evans will take you to a clinic for a full check-up," I said flatly. "If you're clean, be here in a week."
"You got it, boss."
He practically skipped out of my office. As he turned, I caught a glimpse of his perfectly sculpted ass.
I wondered for a moment if he was wearing pads.

2
A week later, Eason hadn't shown up yet, but Leo did.
He was wearing his usual uniform: a shirt washed to a faded gray, worn-out jeans, and canvas sneakers. Clean-cut and handsome, the very picture of the noble, struggling student.
He’d gotten off the bus. Couldn't even be bothered to splurge on a cab.
It really made me wonder where the thirty thousand dollars I gave him every month went.
Don't get me wrong. He wasn't here to see me. I was usually the one who went to him. He was working his part-time job at the coffee shop on the ground floor of my building.
As usual, his looks were already attracting a giggling girl asking for his number.
Leo turned her down, saying he already had someone he liked.
Back in the day, I might have been arrogant enough to think he meant me. I was beautiful, rich, and generous—emphasis on the last one. Not liking me was like not liking money. It wasn't like I was asking him to love me 'til death do us part. We were adults. After everything I'd given him, a little display of affection wasn't too much to ask. Anything less was just having his cake and eating it too.
I walked in and found a seat, but Leo didn't notice me.
Just then, a meticulously dressed girl walked in. The moment Leo saw her, he froze.
She wore a chic tweed suit and a Miu Miu clip in her hair, projecting an unmistakable old-money vibe. I hadn't gotten a good look at her that day at the university. Now, I saw her face clearly. I mentally scrolled through the city’s upper crust but couldn't place her.
While my mind was wandering, Leo's face had turned a deep shade of crimson. I heard him ask, his voice barely a whisper, "Are you here... for me?"
The girl lifted her chin. "No. I just heard the coffee here was good."
If Leo had a tail, it would have been drooping on the floor.
"Well, recommend something," she said.
He immediately launched into a detailed explanation of every coffee on the menu, describing the origin of the beans and the flavor profiles with painstaking care. The people in line behind her grew impatient and left. The girl, however, seemed to be listening to none of it, finally pointing to the house special.
Leo, ever attentive, explained how to drink it, warning her it was a bit bitter. He was a completely different person from the man I knew—so humble he was practically bowing.
I wasn't angry. Just... confused.
Why wasn't he like this with me? I was the one signing his checks.
A moment later, it hit me, and I let out a soft laugh. He seemed to believe that his youth and my thirty grand a month—plus the condo and countless gifts—was an equal exchange.
The men in my family have a tradition of keeping lovers. I'd seen it all: college girls, starlets, professionals. Just last month, my uncle nearly had a baby scare and paid three hundred thousand in severance. A sponsor as generous and easy on the eyes as me was a rare find.
A willing exchange didn't mean he wasn't getting the better end of the deal.
I used to spoil Leo, so I never sweated the small stuff. But he’d taken my money and stood me up multiple times, claiming he had to tutor, work his part-time job, or deal with student council or lab projects. I never got mad. I even had my housekeeper deliver homemade soup to him. Once, my father saw me arranging it and warned me, "Don't get in too deep."
My indulgence seemed to have convinced everyone—including, at times, myself—that my feelings for him were something special.
Ridiculous.
Before I kicked my brother out of the country to take over as CEO, I’d never even been in a real relationship. Not that I ever wanted one.
This was getting boring. I stood up and left the coffee shop. As I pushed the door open, the little bell above it chimed.
From behind the counter, I thought I felt a pair of eyes on me.

3
That night, Eason arrived at my villa.
To my surprise, his medical report was spotless. Clean, healthy, not a single issue.
Unlike last time, he wasn’t covered in flashy, fake logos. He was dressed simply: a white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His hair, previously shellacked with gel, fell softly over his eyes. Ms. Evans had probably told him to copy Leo’s style.
I frowned, but before I could say anything, he'd pulled his shirt off.
A chiseled eight-pack, perfectly defined. I wondered if it was real.
He chuckled. "Boss, you don't like this look, do you?" he asked. "Me neither."
With a surprising familiarity, he stepped closer and plucked the hair tie from my wrist. I flinched, feeling for a second like I was being hit on by some street punk. But he just used it to pull his semi-long hair back into a small bun at the nape of his neck.

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