Page 3 of Her Possessive Daddies

His face reddens. "You're being dramatic-"

"No, I'm being honest. It’s been a long time." I push in my chair with more force than necessary. "Good luck Chandler. I hope one day you figure out that life isn't just one endless fuck fest. So glad I won't be around to see it."

"Whatever." He slumps back in his chair, already pulling out his phone. "Your loss."

"No," I say, turning away. "It's really not."

The bell above the door chimes as I walk through it, leaving behind wasted years of compromises and disappointments. The morning air hits my face, and I feel light. Ready for anything.

2

ABBIE

Islam our apartment door so hard the decorative dreamcatcher Tessa hung last week swings wildly. My keys clatter against the entry table, missing the little ceramic dish and skidding across the surface.

"Holy shit!" Tessa's head pops up from behind our secondhand couch, her pixie cut sticking up in all directions. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?"

"Chandler." My bag hits the floor with a thud. "Or should I say, my ex-boyfriend Chandler."

"Ex?" She vaults over the couch, nearly knocking over her half-empty cereal bowl. "Hold up. What the hell happened?"

"He dumped me. Because apparently, I'm not fun anymore." I kick off my shoes, sending them flying toward the wall. "Because getting an education and having actual goals isn't his idea of a good time."

"That idiotic trust fund baby?" Tessa snorts, crossing her arms. "Girl, I've been waiting sooo long to tell you this - he's about as deep as a kiddie pool. Good riddance."

"He called nannying a teenager job." My voice rises with each word. "Like I haven't been supporting myself since I was eighteen while he's been living off daddy's credit line."

"Honey." Tessa grabs my shoulders, her green eyes sparkling. "This is the best thing that could've happened to you. That boy was holding you back like a pair of too-tight spanx."

"I know, I just-"

"No, no 'I just.' You're smart, you're driven, and you're way too good for some frat boy who peaked in high school." She gives me a little shake. "It's time for Abbie 2.0. The one who doesn't compromise her dreams for some dude who thinks a keg stand is a life achievement."

A laugh bubbles up despite myself. "You never did like him, did you?"

"Like him? I'd rather lick a subway seat." She grins. "Now it's time for you to do you. No more scheduling your life around his parties or pretending to care about his golf scores."

"God, the golf." I collapse onto the couch. "I won't miss hearing about his putting average. What a freaking putz."

"See? Already winning." Tessa flops down beside me. “Now moving right along with Abbie 2.0, ditch the crotch goblins like you’ve wanted to for months. Let’s look for something new, exciting. Something that you’ve never tried before.”

"I just… I just need a minute," I say, squeezing Tessa in a quick hug. Her lavender essential oil tickles my nose. "Process everything, you know?"

"Take your time. I'll be here when you're ready to plot revenge or burn his stuff." She winks. "Or both. Or maybe we'll get right down to business and kick him in the balls, huh?"

I smile a wry grin as I walk toward my room, grateful for her unconditional support.

My room welcomes me with its familiar comfort - fairy lights strung across the walls, psychology textbooks stacked on my desk, and the soft purple comforter my mom gave me when I moved out. The bed creaks as I sink into it, pulling my laptop close.

The screen's glow illuminates my face as I type: "jobs in my area." No more ubering around rich brats or scheduling my life around Chandler's party schedule.

The first page of listings comes up dry. Kennel attendant at the local animal rescue? No thank you, I’m done cleaning up shit….. Baby shit, dog shit, or any shit, for that matter. The next listing for custodial engineer is out too. Really? Putting ‘engineer’ at the end of a title does nothing to spruce up the job itself. The third listing catches my eye - Barentender needed at The Velvet Room, a new speakeasy.

"No experience necessary," I read aloud, scrolling through the description. "Training provided. Shifts start at 9 PM." My finger traces the schedule requirements on the screen. "Perfect timing after psych class."

The more I read, the more it feels right. Late nights mixing drinks, meeting new people, listening to their stories - it's practically field research for my degree. Plus, the tips have to be better than what I make watching the Smithfield's kids.

"Hey Tess?" I call out, already filling out the application.

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