Chapter 3

"O, my man! We've gotta talk to you," Tyler said, pushing my textbook aside so he could flop down on the couch next to me. He slung an arm around my shoulders, nodding toward Ryan and Jacob, who'd followed him into the room. "Hear us out."

My stomach tensed. This felt like an ambush.

"About what?" I asked cautiously, hoping they weren't going to complain about the weird way the water temperature kept changing when we showered, despite how many times I'd tried to adjust the setting on the hot water heater.

"We came up with a great idea," Jacob said, grinning at me while Ryan gave me a double thumbs up.

"Um," I started, not sure I had the time in my schedule for a great idea. At least, not until I caught up on my homework and figured out how to make the house budget stretch. Which would be a lot easier if Jacob and Tyler weren't both late on their parts of the rent again this month.

But somehow, I doubted this "great idea" had anything to do with that.

"We should get a dog!" Tyler announced, proving me right.

"Uh, no? We can't have pets here, you know that."

"Think of it like a house mascot," Ryan said, leaning forward eagerly. "Or, like, a service dog!"

"Um, but it's not? None of us need a service dog."

And pets were a hard no from my parents anyway. They always had been, which really sucked, since I'd love to have a dog.

Not that I had the time to take care of one.

Orthe budget to feed it.

"Bruh," Jacob said, giving me the same intense look he'd used to convince me to try J?germeister that one time. "We all need the service dog."

"For what service?"

He grinned. "To get us laid! You know girls go crazy over dogs! We could take it to the dog park. Start an Insta page for it. Put, like, bows in its hair or some shit. It will be great!"

"Except this house has a no-pets policy," I reminded him, my stomach clenching with nerves because I knew exactly what he was about to say. "So, um, we can't."

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down. "Then change the policy. It's your house."

"No, it's my parents' house."

He scoffed. "Then how come we pay you the rentmoney?"

I mean, technically, he hadn't paid this month, but there was no more point saying that than there was explaining, again, the answer to his question. Not because it was a secret or anything, but just because none of them really cared about the details.

None of them had to care. Unlike me.

When my parents had found out my "full ride" scholarship covered tuition but not housing, I'd been worried they'd make me stay in-state for college and keep living at home.

Instead, they decided they'd buy a whole freaking house for me to live in out here.

I was surprised at first, since they were all about me earning my own way through life, not getting a free ride. But then I realized that it definitely wasn't.

The house is an investment property for their retirement, which they said "made more sense than pouring money down the drain" by paying for me to live in the dorms.

And what better way to make good on that investment than to rent out all the bedrooms to other students, right?

Except instead of just, you know, letting me live here along with everyone else while I focused on school, they'd also decided that they didn't need the extra expense of hiring a property management company to handle things like collecting rent and fixing the hot water heater. Not when it would be "good for me" to get some "real-life experience" by being responsible for all of that myself.

All by myself.

My dad in particular has always believed in the "sink or swim" philosophy of parenting, so they left it up to me to figure out things like how to come up with a house maintenance schedule, how to make a budget to handle all that maintenance—plus, of course, the taxes and regular house bills and stuff—and what to do when those two things didn't exactly match up thanks to never getting the rent on time.

But even though all that was on me, it's still "their house, their rules." And no pets was one rule they emphasized big-time, as if they thought I'd run out and get myself the dog I'd always wanted the minute I was out on my own.

Which, to be fair, I totally would have if the idea of taking on one more responsibility didn't make me want to shrivel up and die right now.

"Um," I said, trying to shove my constant feelings of being overwhelmed back down where I could ignore them for a little longer, since all three of my roommates were staring at me expectantly. "I, uh, well, you know my parents put the house account in my name. That's why you pay the rent to me."

And then I bit my tongue, literally bit it, to keep from reminding them that it was way past due for this month already, and I had house expenses to cover, so they really, really needed to hurry up and pay it.

"Okay, yeah, that was rhetorical, bruh," Jacob said, waving my answer aside. "But the dog thing? Genius, right? You've gotta see that."

"I mean, sure?" I said, feeling like I might be sick. "But we still can't?"

The uptick in my voice instantly made me think of Gay Daddy, and how he'd teased me about making things come out like questions whenever I got nervous. Although to be fair, an embarrassing number of things had made me think of Gay Daddy ever since our two text convos.

Unfortunately, Ryan must have been able to tell I wasn't saying no with confidence, because he grinned at me, waggling his eyebrows. "We can't, huh? You sure about that? Because it's not like your parents have to know."

"I'm sure," I said, shaking my head quickly. "I can't lie to them."

"Aw, sure you can, O! You just need a little practice," Tyler said, squeezing my shoulders in what I guessed was supposed to be encouragement.

"No, I really can't."

All three of them gave me disappointed looks, making my stomach clench up so tight with nerves that I tasted bile in the back of my throat.

I swallowed fast, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs to get the clammy sweat off as I gave them a weak smile. "Um, sorry, guys."

"Well, just think about it," Jacob mumbled after a minute, giving me one last wounded look. "House mascot that's also a chick magnet? It would be sick."

No, I was definitely going to be sick.

And it's not like I hadn't thought about it—I'd wanted a dog since forever—but I kind of wondered if they'd thought about it. At least, about anything beyond how many girls it might attract.

Even if my parents hadn't had the no-pets rule in place, a dog was a commitment, and it really didn't feel like any of my roommates were considering what it would take to properly train it, or walk it regularly, or the cost of feeding it, or the shots it would need or investing in pet insurance or how to manage regular check-ups at the vet when none of us had a car.

"Pizza?" Jacob said, thankfully dropping it.

"Hell yeah," Tyler agreed, bouncing to his feet. "Let's split an Uber and go out to the new artisan place."

"The one with the hot waitresses?" Ryan grinned. "I'm in. Owen?"

"Thanks, but, um, not this time," I said, waving them off and ignoring the way my stomach grumbled at me for it.

But I had ramen in the cupboards, too much homework waiting to get done tonight, and too many bills to be eating out and paying for Ubers all the time… plus a gnawing worry worse than being hungry, that maybe I'd never be able to dig myself out of what felt like the sinkhole of my life.

Which was so dumb. I had a full scholarship, a free place to live, and nothing to complain about.

But still, what if I was never in a position to have the dog I wanted?

I mean, at least I'd get to work with them someday.

Unless, as my grades seemed to reflect lately, maybe I wasn't cut out to be a veterinarian after all?

I grabbed a pillow and smooshed it over my face, muffling my frustrated groan. I honestly had no idea what else I'd even do if I couldn't be a vet, but if I did flunk out—which I couldn't, I would die—but if I did, well, I might have to figure it out.

Settle for a job I hated.

My heart started to race, my anxiety starting to peak, so I quickly dropped the pillow and ignored my textbook, snatching up my phone instead.

And then, just like an addict, I opened the text thread with Gay Daddy again.

I knew it was dumb—and beyond weird—that I kept re-reading it. That I kept thinking about him even though he was a total stranger, and a guy, and way older than me.

Andhad probably forgotten all about me by now.

Because yes, he'd been super nice. And also yes, when he'd messaged me out of the blueagain, days after our first accidental, embarrassing-but-also-kind-of-great conversation, just to make sure I'd gotten home alright, I'd felt fluttery and excited and weirdly happy to hear from him. Happy that someone cared.

But clearly he'd either just been being polite… or else, after he'd been nice enough to check up on me, I'd scared him off by the absolute dumpster fire of spammy messages I'd assaulted him with in response.

Either way, that had been the end of it.

I hadn't heard from him since.

So I should really delete the whole thread and just forget about it all, not constantly look at the part where he'd called me a "good boy" whenever I started to feel too overwhelmed by things, like right now. Not let his praise over my good manners soothe away some of the anxiety I felt about whether or not I could handle all this adulting. And definitely not pretend that all his laughing emojis meant he'd actually enjoyed chatting with me, because I had written evidence right in front of me of just how cringeworthy I'd been, even if at least some of that had been thanks to all the pricey drinks I'd had the first time we'd talked.

Not that I had that excuse the second time.

I rubbed my forehead, dropping the phone. That drink tab I'd run up at the club was another reason I'd be stuck with ramen for the rest of the month. Or at least until the guys caught up on their rent.

"No whining," I whispered out loud, repeating one of my dad's favorite phrases as I slumped down and hugged the pillow to my chest.

The reminder didn't really help though, and my eyes strayed to my phone again.

I didn't know why reading all of Gay Daddy's messages did seem to help when it all started to feel too much, but did I have to understand it, when it worked? And really, what would the point in deleting the thread be when, embarrassingly, I'd already read through the whole conversation so many times that I'd basically memorized it?

Like the part where he said he had a job he liked.

Heobviously hadn't settled.

Maybe he'd have some tips?

I sat up and grabbed my phone again, getting a sudden surge of energy. And before I could talk myself out of it, I did what I'd been stopping myself from doing all week and sent off a new message.

MONDAY 4:49 PM

Hi! It's me. Um, Owen?

Oh, but I'm not sure I gave you my name before? So in case you've already deleted me, I'm the one who accidentally messaged you last week.

My knee jiggled, but he hadn't read any of that yet, so I waited. Except, what if he'd blocked me?

No, he was too nice for that.

But what if he didn't remember me?

I quickly shot off another one.

MONDAY 4:52 PM

In case you don't remember me, you told me to call you Daddy?

"Owen, you are so cringe," I mumbled to myself, blushing hard even though there was no one around to see when I remembered that, actually, Gay Daddy had said the daddy thing in the context of someone sucking his…

Yeah, okay. That. Which was why I'd been calling him Gay Daddy.

Oh God. Whyyyyyyyy didn't texting have an unsend feature like regular chatting did?

I tried to do some quick damage control anyway.

MONDAY 4:56 PM

I mean, sorry, you didn't tell me to call you Daddy, obviously. But you did say you liked it.

Oh my God, sorry, that was weird.

I mean, not you! You're not weird. I'm not judging. It was just weird for me to say that.

Oh. My. God. What was wrong with me?

MONDAY 4:57 PM

Don't worry, I won't call you Daddy.

I flung my phone across the couch and shoved the pillow over my face again, screaming into it. Why was I like this? If he didn't already have me blocked from last week, then surely he would do it now.

Then my phone buzzed with a reply and my heart shot into my throat as I dropped the pillow and snatched it back up.

MONDAY 4:59 PM

Hi, sweetheart. Of course I remember you, and you can call me Daddy if you want to. ;)

*Owen. (Now it's my turn to apologize.)

MONDAY 5:00 PM

No! You don't have to! You can call me sweetheart!

I mean, obviously you don't have to. My name is fine.

I'm still not flirting!

I mean, I'm not gay?

In case you were wondering.

I just don't mind nicknames, is all I'm saying. You're only the second person to give me one, and it's

My finger slipped, sending it off again, and I took a deep breath and tried to get my heart to stop beating so fast, then sent off what was hopefully a much saner-sounding text.

MONDAY 5:02 PM

Um, I don't mind it. That's all I'm trying to say.

MONDAY 5:03 PM

Good to know. :) What's your other nickname?

MONDAY 5:03 PM

My roommate Tyler calls me "O."

I'm not actually sure if that counts as a nickname, or if he's just being lazy, tbh.

*To be honest.

Um, in case you didn't know what that meant.

Was that rude to assume he didn't? Because my parents would throw a fit if I used any acronyms or slang when texting them, and Gay Daddy was old too, right?

Well, not that old. He'd said he was only thirty-five. And sure, that was older than me—like, way older—but I'd Googled some thirty-five-year-old celebrities just for like, some context, and none of them looked old.

MONDAY 5:05 PM

I do know what it means, but thank you for explaining anyway. That's very thoughtful, sweetheart.

MONDAY 5:05 PM

Thank you, Daddy.

I blinked hard after hitting send. I mean, yes, he'd said I could call him Daddy, and I'd already been calling him Daddy in my head—well, Gay Daddy—and he still hadn't actually told me his real name, so… so it wasn't weird?

I bit my lip. Okay, it was weird.

But really, was it any weirder than me just texting him all of a sudden like this?

Oh, I'd had a reason for doing that. I'd almost forgotten about it, but maybe if I just quickly sent him my actual question, he'd sort of skip over the weirdness of me calling him "Daddy."

MONDAY 5:07 PM

Actually, um, not to bother you anymore but I just had a quick question because you said you liked your job and I wondered what it was?

But I'm not asking to be nosy! And obviously you don't have to tell me if you'd rather not. I just… I think I might fail out of my classes. I want to be a vet, but if I can't because I fail college, then I'll, um, I'll need to find something else that I like to do and I'm not sure how to do that.

My heart was suddenly pounding, my throat feeling weirdly tight. I had no idea why I'd thought this would be a good idea. If I'd said any of that to my roommates, they would have just told me I needed to get laid. If I'd dumped it all on Hannah, you know, back when we were still dating, she would have gone off about how tough her classes were, like it was some kind of contest. And there was no way I could ever mention to my parents that I might be failing. After "no whining," my dad's other favorite phrase was "real men handle their own problems".

So why on earth did I think it was a good idea to unload it all on a stranger?

I rubbed my chest. He'd read the messages, but wasn't typing back yet. And shit, he was a stranger. Just because I'd turned his other messages into some kind of weird emotional security blanket didn't mean he wanted to hear all about my problems.

MONDAY 5:11 PM

I'm sorry. Obviously, none of that is your problem. I'm not trying to whine about it. I just thought, since you have a job you like, that maybe you'd have some tips on, um, figuring out, like, everything.

But if not, that's fine! Or just, if you're busy.

It's fine.

Sorry.

I won't bother you again.

MONDAY 5:16 PM

Hold on, sweetheart. You're not a bother. Not ever. But I am busy for a few more minutes. I'm wrapping up on a job site. I'm in construction, and we've got a new foreman who needs to run some things by me before I can give you my full attention. Can you wait a bit for me?

His full attention? My heart was suddenly pounding again, but it felt entirely different than a few minutes ago. I rubbed my clammy hands on my thighs again, not sure what to do with myself.

Oh, ramen?

Ramen!

I hopped up, then spun back around after taking two steps and grabbed my phone. Checking it five dozen times on the walk between the living room and the kitchen, just in case Daddy replied again.

But he'd said to wait, and I could do that.

I groaned, jerking my phone up to re-read it. He'd asked me to wait. And I hadn't answered.

But that, at least, I could fix.

MONDAY 5:20 PM

Yes! I can wait. Sorry I didn't reply right away.

I bit my lip. Should I say why I hadn't replied? Except the only reason I could think to give him was because I was a hot mess, and that was something he'd probably already figured out.

I hesitated for another second, then sent one more message, typing it out fast and then putting my phone face down on the counter while I started boiling water for ramen.

MONDAY 5:22 PM

Thank you, Daddy.

Not that hiding my screen made calling him Daddy any less weird. But he'd said I could, and he did like it when I was polite, so I had to call him something, right?

Besides, if he wanted me to use his name, he'd tell me that. But once my ramen was ready and he got done with the foreman thing he'd mentioned and messaged me again, he didn't seem weirded out or ask me to call him anything different. But he did ask me all about why I wanted to become a vet, and which classes I was taking, and why I seemed to be struggling with them.

And by the time the guys got back from getting pizza, I'd started to feel like maybe I'd actually be able to stick it out in school after all.

Especially when Daddy said it would be okay to tell him if I started feeling overwhelmed again.

That maybe he could even help with that.