I put my number in your phone, and I have yours. Sorry, I didn’t ask. I’m better at asking forgiveness than permission.
Help yourself to anything in the house. Fridge is full because I really do know how to cook. If you don’t, don’t. Insurance is a bitch to deal with.
I’ll be back around five, and we can deal with your stuff. I also had some clothes delivered, so you don’t have to go back home alone. It’s not safe until we figure out how they got in.
My nose scrunches at that last paragraph. What does he expect me to do? Stay here? He has to know how bad an idea thatis. Even if it wasn’t, I’m not letting anyone chase me away. Everything is a mess right now, and I have no clue what’s going on, but I’m not abandoning my apartment.
Determination fuels my steps as I move from the bedroom to the bathroom. Irritation glares at the package sitting on the marble vanity. The urge to toss it lasts for a second before I remind myself I didn’t ask for this, and it’s wasteful to throw away perfectly good clothes.
I rip open the packages, my eyes rolling dramatically at the designer labels and matching price tags. It’s no less than I expected from him, and I am not immune to nice things.
If you want to call me a gold digger, fine. But anyone who lets their pride interfere with Balenciaga is a fool. Besides, it’s just leggings and T-shirts. In multiple colors. And hoodies and shoes.
Okay, a small fortune in clothes that I don’t really need, but he offered. I can always sell them and put the money toward my endless debt.
I just won’t acknowledge the tightness gripping my throat or the traitorous flutter behind my ribs.
After a record-speed shower—which sucks because now I smell like him and my body, the ungrateful slut, is throbbing from the scent—and getting dressed, I toss the rest of my stuff into my bag he brought with us, and make a run for the door. A little worried he’ll reappear earlier than he said.
While the elevator makes its towering descent, my phone rings. Casey’s name flashes at me, and I’m instantly drowning in guilt. Illogical, useless guilt because I’ve done nothing wrong.
“Hi, love, what’s up?” I answer.
“So, I was wondering if you might want to have lunch with me. Lily is busy with some promo, and Ashleigh has her kids. My dad is busy, and Graham and Jagger have a meeting at their lawyer’s office today. Not that you’re my last resort or anything. I mean, I guess you kind of are, but I don’t mean it like that. It’s just…”
“Casey,” I chuckle, “breathe, baby, breathe. I would love to have lunch with you, but I have a lot to do today. Plus, I really can’t afford to eat out.”
My phone buzzes with a text. I pull it away from my ear to look.
THMIK: My sister wants to spend time with her friend. Don’t reject her.
The hell kind of name is that?
But I don’t dwell because it’s obviously Jagger, and he must be with her. Which means he can see how disappointed she looks. Or maybe upset. At this point, I wouldn’t blame her if she was pissed and wrote me off. I’ve turned her down so much lately, I feel like scum, but the fact remains….
Me: I’m not rejecting her. I can’t afford it.
My phone buzzes again, this time from my money app, alerting me I’ve just been paid. The clicking of my tongue echoes off the metal walls.
Me: I’m not taking that.
THMIK: Are you wearing the clothes?
Me. Yes
THMIK: Then what’s another $100?
THMIK: Have lunch with your friend.
THMIK: You know. Your entire argument for why I can’t bury my cock in your cunt when we both know you want it as badly as I do.
My cheeks flame with a combination of embarrassment, anger, and arousal. The nerve on him is something else, but my reaction to it is shameful. I can’t help but shake my head, chuckling at myself.
Me: Stop projecting what you want on me.
THMIK: Oh, sweetheart, you just fucked up.
The elevator dings, and Casey’s voice calls out. “Hello? Poppy? Are you still there?”
