5. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Emery

I shuffle out of my bedroom in search of the amazing smell. A music video plays on the TV while Oakley shakes her blue-panties-covered ass in the kitchen as she waves a set of tongs above her head.

I squint for a second, glancing back at my bedroom, wondering if I'm actually still asleep.

I run through all the points for still being asleep.

Oakley is normally asleep until midday—a quick glance at the oven tells me it's seven thirty-six.

Oakley isn't wearing enough clothes—just her panties and a worn gray midriff T-shirt.

But I guess, after all the things I was scrolling through on my phone last night and the accompanying internet searches to learn what the odd phrases meant—thank you, Urban Dictionary—it shouldn't be surprising that I'm dreaming about Oakley in her underwear.

When she does a half turn of her upper body, now using the tongs as a microphone, she spots me over her shoulder. Instead of acting surprised or embarrassed at being caught, she leans into her microphone and really goes for that high note.

I wince and cover my ears in fake pain. "Please, no. My ears are going to bleed."

She just smirks and prances over to me, turns, and presses her back into my front, sliding down a little as she grinds against my body.

If I wasn't so amused, I'd shove her off me.

But I'm starting to like my roommate, which is totally not something I expected to happen.

I roll my eyes when she points her microphone in my direction over her shoulder, but I relent and sing. Thankfully, unlike my roomie, I can carry a tune.

Oakley's eyes widen, but then she grins and takes the mic back. She continues to use me like her personal pole until the end of the song, offering me the mic every now and then, until we're both laughing so hard we can barely get the words out.

I gasp, sucking in air as my stomach hurts. Oh my god, I can't remember the last time I laughed this hard. But the sudden scent of something burning hits me, and I sober up. "Ah, I think your breakfast is burning."

Oakley's face drops and she dashes toward the kitchen, an "oh shit" left in her wake.

I follow her in and see that the bacon she'd been cooking is slightly crispier than she had probably planned. Still edible, in my opinion.

She turns with a grimace. "We can go eat at the campus café, if you want? My treat, since I burned this?"

I frown at her, and wave at the pan she is pointing at me. "That is still totally edible."

She raises an eyebrow at me, then looks at the food.

I can see the moment she is going to protest, so I step in and take the pan. "Here, I'll take the crispier pieces, you can keep the ones on top."

I quickly scoop the bacon out of the still-sizzling pan and drop it onto the plate covered with a paper towel. "Eggs too?"

Oakley nods and points to the two eggs sitting on the counter. I turn the heat down on the stove and put the pan back on the element, cracking the eggs into the oil left behind by the bacon.

I notice that there is bread sitting in the toaster and push them down to start toasting—fun fact, the number on the toaster dial is the amount of time the bread is toasting for, not the amount of toastiness

One of my first foster sisters told me that fact and taught me how to cook this meal on my first morning with her. The parents in that house were amazing, mostly because they were barely ever home, working two jobs each, leaving the older kids to take care of the younger ones.

Once CPS had caught wind of that little tidbit, they shipped us off to group homes. If only they'd known that letting kids look after kids had been a better situation than the one I was placed in after that, my life may have turned out a little different.

"So, did you find anything interesting on SugarLife?"

I startle and almost burn myself. Reaching for the toast, I drop it onto two plates and carry them over to Oakley at the small four person table, doing my best to act like her words haven't set my heart to racing. "Not sure, to be honest. I scrolled through what felt like hundreds of invitations last night."

"Yeah, the filters are your friend," she replies as I turn back for the bacon and place it on the table as the eggs sizzle in the background. "Want a coffee?"

I nod and check on the eggs. Almost there. "That would be great, thanks. And, yeah, I did save a few, but I'm hoping to check out as many as possible, see what interests me."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Honestly, two or three dinner dates a week, with a kiss when they walk you back to the car, and you'll be making bank. Creamer, sugar?" I hear the thunks of two mugs being put on the counter.

"Yes to both. Is that how many you do?" I keep my voice nonchalant. If I get that brat gig, then I'll only need to do the one. Which means I'll need to come up with a cover story about why I'm not using the app but suddenly have a bunch of cash. I'll just tell Oakley that I couldn't go through with additional dates.

And I'll definitely need to get a job to cover up my spending.

Easy peasy.

Or I could just tell her what I'm looking at.

Before I can entertain the idea, a coffee appears by my hand. "Yeah. Friday and Saturday nights are the easiest. But I usually do one on either a Monday or Tuesday. And I have my regulars as well, so I only really use the app if something interests me or I want the extra cash for the week."

I take a sip of the hot beverage. Mmmm. "Nice. Okay, well, I'll take another look today. Maybe pick a few. What are the chances that the gu—daddy will accept me?" I trip over the title, because it's still weird.

Daddy.

Will I have to call them that?

Brat4Us had the only invitation that I applied for. The rest, while all intriguing, were just . . . meh. Yeah, if I don't hear back from the four daddies, I'll reach out to a few of the other invitations I pinned, but I'm honestly putting all my eggs in the one basket. Eggs.

Crap.

I quickly check the eggs. Phew. Not burned.

I turn off the stove and pick up the frying pan, carrying the entire thing over to the table. Oakley sits clear of the hot pan, and I scoop up one of the fried eggs, placing it on top of her toast and doing the same to mine.

"Very likely. The ratio of sugar babies and daddies-slash-mommies appears to be heavily slanted in our favor. There are bots out there—fake accounts. But I've been to a couple of Sugar Baby brunches and by all accounts, there aren't more than fifty of us in the area, so we service quite a few of the local mummies and daddies. I haven't been turned down yet." Oakley uses a fork to pierce some bacon and put it on her plate.

I toss the pan in the sink and run some water over it so it's not a bitch to get clean later. "So, what you're saying is that I shouldn't ask a daddy to pick me if I'm not one-hundred-percent into what they want?"

Oakley shrugs one shoulder as she holds her coffee cup in front of her. "Pretty much."

Well, fuck.

I really wish I'd remembered to bring my phone out here with me. But, in my defense, I barely had a need for the thing, normally. Tray is the only person who ever contacts me, and I haven't heard from him in a few weeks. Not since I told him I was getting out.

Other than that, I occasionally scroll social media, but not really. My last few years have been consumed by my need to get into college, get my degree, and get myself into a stable situation.

While numbers really fucking bore me, I'm good at them. And if there is one thing I learned in the foster system, money is the motivating factor for just about everything.

So, my life goal is to become a tax accountant. It's stable and dependable. Taxes are never going to disappear, and the job is in high demand.

"You don't have to use the app," Oakley says, her voice softer than I'm used to hearing. "I could always help you find a regular job."

I snap my gaze to hers and see worry written all over her face. Ah, fuck. My silence must have sent her scurrying down a bunch of self-doubt rabbit holes. "No, thank you. I might change my mind on that in a few days, but right now, I think I'll try the whole sugar baby thing. See if I can manage it."

The lie sits heavy on my tongue, which is a strange sensation. I've lied a million times, a million different ways. Usually, I lie to keep myself out of hot water, and a solid nine times out of ten, it has kept me out of that hot water.

So, why does this lie make me want to squirm in my chair?

I should just tell her I'm interested in letting four men rail me for a few hours in exchange for a shit ton of money. Surely, she wouldn't judge me. She's on SugarLife herself. She knows what's on there, even if she does filter it out.

Oakley seems to accept my words. Her phone lights up on the table next to her and, after checking out what it is, she shoots me an apologetic smile before picking it up and answering the call. "Hey, Daddy."

She pins her phone between her shoulder and ear, picks up her plate and coffee, and disappears into her room. I'm beyond grateful, because now I can dash to my room and get my own phone.

As soon as the screen lights up in front of me, I see the notification from SugarLife.

SugarLife

Brat4Us invites you to chat.