Page 40 of Brat Baby
Dropping my phone, I raise Blue up to my face and scream into his stomach. He doesn’t muffle the sound very well, but I kind of feel better. Not really. Not at all, actually.
They are goddamn assholes.
Big hairy ones, with pieces of shit stuck to the side.
What the hell is their problem?
They are the ones who ended this. Why the hell are they continuing with this bullshit?
What game are they playing at? And why the hell can’t they tell me the damn rules? I don’t even care what they are. Just knowing them would level the playing field.
I stare at Blue, then drop my gaze to the bracelet and reach up to the necklace, toying with the key. It’s like they are saying they want me but don’t want me at the same time. Keeping me on the hook, so to speak.
Well, if they want to play games with me, then maybe I will play my own game with them. If they aren’t going to let me in on the rules of their game, then I am going to make up my own.
The churning in my stomach turns into a nervous flutter at the thought.
Sparks of energy flow through my veins, lighting me back up to a level that I haven’t felt since last weekend. Ideas form in my head, and I turn to scan my wardrobe until I spot the outfit I’m thinking of. A grin crosses my face that I’m pretty sure looks unhinged, but I don’t care if I look crazy.
They made me crazy.
Now they can deal with the consequences.
Chapter 23
Emery
My heart is beating so hard, I can feel my chest moving beneath my shirt. I think I might be having an actual heart attack. I can barely breathe as a tingling sensation races up and down my spine. And I am way to fucking hot, my insides feel like they are boiling.
I can do this. It’s just a fucking outfit and a bit of attention. Once I make it to my seat, only Derek will be looking.
And it’s not like I have the shirt tied up under my boobs like last time. Everything is all tucked in, and I even put on a pair of pantyhose to make the pleated skirt less of an issue. I don’t remember purchasing those, but whatever, happy to have them now. It was probably something added by the shop assistant after my daddies dropped all that cash on me.
Because that’s what they are, my daddies. I’m no longer allowing myself to float around in limbo, unsure what to call them. They are mine. No more of this half-in, half-out bullshit.
When I’d told Oaks about the weekend and my plan for today, she was enraged on my behalf, then backed me up with a little too much support. She helped me primp and preen this morning, until I had nothing left to primp or preen. Not to mention the extras, like the massive white ribbon she tied around the half-updo ponytail she pulled my hair into before curling the bottom of my hair in huge, flowing ringlets.
Or the shoes. This campus was not made for the black pumps she lent me to wear today. I almost broke my ankle walking here. Twice.
It was all a bit much, if you asked me.
But whatever. This is just the beginning of everything I plan to put them through. They spent the last week punishing me for something I didn’t even know I was supposed to tell them. My theory is that, if I’m in trouble, I may as well be in trouble for something fun and that I actually did on purpose.
A quick check through the window of the dark study room I’m hiding in makes my breath catch. Fucking finally.
Derek and Justin come down the hall, both staring at something Justin is holding, discussing whatever the hell it is. Honestly, my eyes are stuck on Derek, and I can’t force myself to look away.
I’m frozen in place, lost to the view of him as he slowly approaches. The undone brown jacket revealing a blue-and-white-patterned dress shirt is really working for him. And fuck, the beginnings of a beard he has going? Somehow, it’s making his features harder, which causes my insides to settle their trembling, even though I’m still nervous as fuck.
My grip on the straps of my backpack is tight enough that the firm fabric cuts into my palms. I track him with my eyes as he passes the windows, not daring to move in case he catches the movement.
The thing that I don’t expect is how fucking hard it is to not rip open the door and throw myself into his arms.
But nope. That is not the plan.
That would, in fact, ruin the plan.
I shuffle to the other side of the window and watch as they make it to the classroom door, disappearing through it. My eyelashes flutter shut as I try to get the electricity running through my system under control. There are sparks flying in all directions, and nausea is trying to take me down.
