Page 31 of Brat Baby
Maybe it was just the fact that I was slowly sweating to death beneath my blankets? Which is weird, though, because I typically run cool, even with all the blankets.
Am I getting sick?
Pressing the backs of my fingers to my cheeks and then my forehead, I don’t find any suspicious heat pouring from my skin. And I don’t feel unwell. Huh. Maybe I dreamed that I was running a marathon?
I struggle the rest of the way out of the blanket sushi roll I somehow made in my sleep, fish out Teddy and Rocky, and then lie on top of the comforter, staring at the crack in the ceiling. The will to get started with my day hasn’t arrived yet, and I don’t plan on rushing it.
All the money has arrived from SugarLife. Two of the eleven rewards have arrived. I’ve spent a total of six classroom hours being ignored, and my messages have been left onreadthe entire week.
Besides that one moment with Xavier, I’ve literally heard from none of them.
How long is this going to last? How long will they be apathetic to my existence? Is it going to be forever, or will Hudson and Derek eventually accept that I’m in their classes?
Not to mention that today I am—was—supposed to be going to the apartment. Our first weekend together under the new contract. Did they have a plan for the weekend? Would they have all been there? Or would they have taken turns, coming and going?
Would we have had more conversations? Talked about our personal lives? Or is this just a kink thing for them? Theydidmention that this six-month contract would most likely beextended. It was just supposed to be time to let us get to know each other, make sure we fit together.
And to confirm that I could handle however deep they wanted to go with the cravings.
But nope. That’s all gone now. My weekends are my own, and for the first time in my life, I have the cash to do whatever I want with my free time. Not that I plan to spend it on crap. Nope.
I have a fairly decent wardrobe now. I have access to free food twenty-four-seven. My textbooks are from the library. My laptop is amazing—oh shit.
Bolting upright with a touch of panic, I glance around at my bed and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see the mess from my study session last night. But…I should. I don’t remember falling asleep, let alone packing everything away. The last hazy memory I have is of reading through the first chapter of my macro textbook.
Glancing around, heart still pounding, I spy a stack of books on my desk, and right next to it is my laptop, plugged in and charging. Thank fuck.
But who did that? Had Oakley come looking for me last night and tidied up? She was turning out to be pretty amazing, but not that amazing.
So, maybe I did it but just don’t remember?
Honestly, it’s too much mystery for before seven a.m. One thing I am sure of is that I’m definitely not going back to sleep, and I’m not one for lounging around.
Shoving up out of bed, I resolve to order myself some new sheets and blankets. And bath towels. No need to keep the thrift shop stuff anymore. I’m living my new life now, which means letting go of my old life. Besides, if I buy some better quality things and I take care of them, then they should last me until the end of college.
I use the bathroom, and since there is plenty of time until Oakley will want the bathroom, I do an everything shower. Even then, it only takes me fifteen minutes, and that included several minutes of shower thoughts. Probably need to buy myself a few more girlie things, like that leave-in conditioner stuff.
And one of those fluffy but rough sponge ball things.
When I get out of the bathroom, I can hear the TV. With one towel wrapped around my body and my hair in the other, I stick my head into the kitchen. Oakley is there, blurry eyed, hair askew, steaming coffee in a mug directly under her chin.
“You’re up early,” I comment.
She jolts in place, apparently lost to another world, then shrugs one shoulder. “I need to go do a breakfast date.”
“Ah,” I reply with a nod and then remember about my books. “Listen, thanks for tidying up my room for me last night. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
She frowns and tips her head to the side. “I didn’t tidy up.”
Before I can rebut, there is a knock at our door. We both turn to stare at it.
“Is your date picking you up here?” I ask, feet rooted to the spot.
“Nope,” she replies, popping the P.
“Hello?” I call out, because that seems logical. Besides, you need a security fob to get into the building. There is absolutely no reason for my heart to be racing the way it is.
“Uh, hi. Sorry. There was a delivery guy out front of the building, and I offered to bring it to your door,” a female voice calls back, her words muffled through the door.
