Page 47 of Brat Baby
My bed dips, and I startle back to the present. Oakley is staring at me from the corner of my bed. “How did today go? Did the outfit work?”
I have to mentally shift gears, but I jump into the conversation headfirst. “It went perfectly. I don’t think it could have gone better. I thought Derek’s head was going to explode by the end of the class. And Hudson, he asked me to stay after class to discuss ‘coursework’”—I use my fingers to make air quotes—“and then he asked me if he could take me shopping for my remaining rewards.”
Oakley grins. “Amazing. And you said yes, of course. When are you going, tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m letting him sweat a little. Next Tuesday.”
Her mouth pops open in horror. “Aren’t you worried he’ll get annoyed? Or lose interest?”
That is my biggest fear, but in the spirit of believing that this is all going to work itself out, I give a one-shoulder shrug. “If he does either of those things, then he isn’t a daddy I want to keep. I can’t just roll over and be available to him whenever he wants. That’s not how this is going to work. We are playing by my rules now.”
Oakley stares at me for a moment before the grin returns, her cheeks going slightly pink. “I’m not sure I’m going to get used to the way you actually call them your daddies. Like, I mean, I callthe men I seeDaddy, if that’s what they want, but they aren’tmydaddies.”
“Maybe you should give it a go,” I reply with a smirk. “You never know, you might like it.”
Her blush deepens and she looks away.
Since discussing everything with Oakley and hatching our plan, I’ve stopped referring to my daddies as “them” or “the men,” both out loud and in my head. They are my daddies, until they are one hundred percent not. And that is how I plan on referring to them.
At first, I thought all of Oakley’s blushing was because my relationship with four older men was making her a little uncomfortable, but I’m honestly starting to think that she might actually be into it too. I know she is fine with the sugar dating thing and having a sugar daddy, but I guess that is pretty different from how my daddies look after me.
I’m not going to push her. She’ll have to take her own journey to figure herself out. But if I happen to meet any of my daddies’ friends who are looking for a young lady to share, I definitely won’t hesitate to mention Oaks to them.
Reaching across the space between us, I cover her hand with mine. “Thank you for all your help.”
She shrugs and has a small smile. “It’s my fault you’re in this situation. I could have just shared my food with you that day and waited for your meal card to kick in. Now, you’ve got more man trouble than most women deal with in a decade.”
I mentally bite my tongue; I much prefer this kind of man trouble over the Tray kind. Just thinking his name makes his pinpoint, soulless black eyes appear in my mind.
I’m cut off from replying when her phone starts ringing. Oakley shoots me an apologetic smile and reaches for her phone. Seeing the number, she glances up at me. “Mexican or Chinese for dinner?”
I frown at her. “What?”
She shakes her still ringing phone at me. “Payment for this call is going to be our dinner. Text me your preference.”
Oakley answers the call as she exits the room. “Hi, Andrew, how was your day?”
I stare at the empty doorway for a minute, then look back at the sheet of paper in my hand.
Life art model.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to be a student in that class.
The model will have to be good enough for now.
I put the paper to the side, grab my phone, and quickly text my Chinese order to Oakley. I’ve always wanted to try Szechuan beef. Hopefully it isn’ttoospicy.
Then I open my student inbox on my laptop and start typing the email. There are several minutes of messing with my phone to get a picture of me, and then several more minutes of me trying to figure out how to get it off my phone and onto my laptop. But I get there in the end.
I hit send on the email before I can think too hard about it.
Chapter 27
Emery
Pitch black greets me when I snap my eyes open. There was definitely a noise this time. A quietschnick, like a doorknob latching. Metal on metal. It is a noise that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I stay completely still, unease paralyzing my limbs. Is someone in my fucking room? Or was it a ghost noise from my subconscious?
Terrified flutters of everything I have tried to forget slither through my veins. My body is locked in a state so rigid, my muscles ache with the tension. I remind myself a million times that I’m safe, that I’m not in the system anymore, that I’m an adult, that I don’t have to let people touch me if I don’t want them to.
