Page 104 of No Saint
Twenty-Seven
Jade
Thursdays were the worst. I had class from eight until four, two classes of which I had exams. Then I had to work. Thankfully, my boss cut me early.
Squishy greeted me when I shuffled through the front door of the frat house, bags in hand. When I didn’t immediately bend to pet him, he shot off toward the kitchen on a screech.
Wolf was at the table with his algebra book open in front of him.
“Hey.” I kissed his cheek on my way past.
“Hey. How was work?”
I dropped the bags onto the counter. “About as good as roller skating in butt crack-chafing spandex for three hours can be.” I pulled the “best if used by” chicken from the bag, followed by the “best if used by” broccoli and shredded cheese. Seven bucks wasn’t a bad deal at all.
And seeing as Wolf had given me five hundred bucks for “my half” of the picture I didn’t take from the old serial killer’s trailer (he’d tried to give me all of it), I figured I could spare seven bucks and make him dinner.
I’d also insisted on giving him the money for my tires, as much as he’d argued. The rest, I’d used to pay off my parents’ mortgage debt. I never thought I’d see a day when that wasn’t hanging over my parents’ head, but it was looking possible. Only thanks to Wolf.
He was great. We were great. Almost like before but not quite. I guessed there was a new awareness from both of us. I sensed the hesitancy in him at times. He still hadn’t told me he loved me since that first drunken night, but I didn’t blame him. I blamed me. I was the one who had broken us first.
My mistakes do not define me.
Fear lit up his eyes as he scanned the groceries. “Chicken casserole?”
“Look, they had all the ingredients in the clearance aisle.” It wouldn’t have been my first choice of meal to cook for him. “I learned from my mistake, okay?” Last time, I hadn’t cooked the chickenbeforeputting it in the casserole. I called that growth.
He didn’t look convinced. “Oh, guess what?” He pulled a paper from underneath his book, proudly displaying it. “Eighty-nine.”
Pride swelled in my chest. I took the paper from him, glancing at the eighty-nine circled at the top of the paper before I grabbed his face and kissed him. “That’s so good.” Never did I think I would see Wolf Brookes looking so damn cute, actually proud of doing anything that wasn’t football. “I’m proud of you,” I said.
He pulled me onto his lap. “I might actually have a shot at avoiding academic suspension thanks to you.” He kissed my lips, then my forehead. “Thank you.”
I stroked the stubble of his jaw. “Anytime.” In the grand scheme of helping each other, he’d done far more for me, and he knew it, but he looked so happy. For a second, I wanted to just bask in his success.
I kissed him once more, then pushed to my feet and went to the stove to grab a skillet. When I took my phone from my pocket to look up the recipe, an unopened Lonely Fans notification ribbon danced on the screen.
ToesToesToes has sent you $500.
The same subscriber who’d sent me fifty last week.
I’d seen it earlier that morning but had refused to open it due to the anxious knot in my stomach. God only knew what someone would want me to do for five hundred bucks! And I dreaded telling Wolf. I couldn’t put it off forever, though. That was kind of a big deal, and the sort of thing he deserved to know about.
I turned my back to the stove, checking that Wolf was busy with his homework before I opened the message.
No request again. Just a tip.
Two tips. Fifty bucks, and five hundred bucks. Suspicion niggled at me. Those numbers were familiar. Specific. I glanced back at Wolf, who was focusing on his homework.
Could it be a coincidence that he had offered me an extra fifty bucks from the sale of that tractor? Or that he’d tried to give me the full thousand dollars for that picture. I was sure if I worked it out in my calendar, that first tip would have been sent right after he’d stolen that tractor.
I typed out a message to the Lonely Fans profile:
Thank you so much.
Then stared at Wolf as I pressed send. Sure enough, his phone vibrated on the table. Even from where I stood, I recognized the little pink ribbon that popped onto his screen.
He’d given me money via my legal attempt at sex work. Which I knew he hated. I wasn’t sure whether to melt or be mad. He’d probably just deny it if I asked, so I cut up the chicken and banked that information for later.
