7. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Emery

With music streaming from the loudspeaker on my phone, I wash the breakfast dishes while ignoring the heavy feeling in my stomach. It's been over an hour since I sent my message. I've showered, cleaned up my room, and now I'm stress cleaning the fucking kitchen.

This is so far from my norm, it's ridiculous.

I feel like one of those stupid women in a rom-com who is pinning after some dirtbag guy.

I don't even know their fucking names, for god's sake.

Urgh.

I throw the sponge into the last of the soapy water, the lack of dramatic splash only worsening my irritation.

A distraction is in order. Maybe I can look at more invitations?

The idea holds little appeal.

I need a resolution on this situation first.

Okay, time to set a boundary. If I don't have a reply from them, either way, by the time I go to bed tonight, I'll remove my interest from their invitation. Then they won't have access to me anymore.

Feeling moderately more in control of the situation, I yank the plug out and start drying everything. Just as I pick up the last of the coffee mugs, I hear Oakley's bedroom door open.

"Hey, sorry about that," she offers as she comes into the kitchen, carrying her dirty dishes.

I gesture with the towel. "No worries. Sugar baby duties come first."

She grins. "Totally. Anyway, want to go for a walk on campus? We can check things out and see what's what before the semester starts next week. We've got today until all the other students start arriving on the weekend."

"Sounds good," I reply, happy to have found my distraction. "Can we swing past Alderidge Hall? I want to find a good study spot, and the freshman forums all say that Alderidge has some of the best rooms."

Oakley nods, her blonde locks swaying with the motion. "We must have been reading the same forums. Let me go get ready, and I'll meet you back here in twenty minutes."

She's gone in a blink, disappearing back into her room, and I'm left with her dirty dishes. I stare at them, trying to decide if leaving them in the sink is too passive aggressive. The last thing I want is to let her get away with shit like this after only having lived together for a few days.

If there is one thing I have learned, it's that once someone gets something from you one time, they will expect it for the rest of their lives.

Deciding to rinse them, so they aren't a pain in the ass later, I leave them sitting mostly dirty in the sink. It's the thought that counts, right? Hopefully, it'll appear that way.

My music goes quiet, and then there is a ding from the table.

I grit my teeth and force myself not to pounce. Nope. Instead, I gently fold the towel and hang it from the oven handle. Only then do I calmly walk over to the phone.

SugarLife.

Brat4Us has sent you a new message.

With a deep breath, I tap the notification, and the app opens up into the message thread.

Brat4Us: We're sorry, Emmy.

My stomach sinks. Well, that's that, I guess. I hover my finger over the X to close the message thread, but another message appears, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Brat4Us: You're right, we don't know you. Our only excuse is that, even though we have only exchanged a handful of messages, we are all feeling a small amount of protectiveness toward you. We would like to continue talking with you, if you are willing. Trust is a hard thing to manage, but we are willing to give it a try, as long as you promise to tell us if things become uncomfortable or you don't like what is happening.

Brat4Us: We can't promise not to show our concern when we think you might be doing something that is not in your best interests, but we'll do our best to let you make your own decisions. Unless you want us to do that for you. We tend to care for our baby girls if they allow us to.

My chest feels tight and I'm so confused.

Care for their baby girls?

But . . . isn't this whole thing just an exchange of their "gift" for a few hours of my time while I call them Daddy and they use my body however they want? Why would they need to care for baby girls?

And besides, their invitation said one night only . That's a hit-it-and-quit-it type situation. No feelings need get involved.

Maybe . . .

Maybe if I make this thing between us happen soon, like tonight, we can leave the emotional shit for someone else to deal with. They can have their night, and I can get my cash. Then we can all go our separate ways.

I mull the thought over for a minute, my screen going dark as I take the time to truly think about it all, but my mind keeps getting stuck on what it will be like to have ten thousand dollars in my bank account.

I'm not sure I've ever had four digits in my bank account before, let alone five. In fact, I'm confident I've never had three.

Am I really going to let the fact that they may, potentially, care about me stop me from taking their money?

The answer comes swiftly: No.

Nothing is going to get between me and that kind of cash.

I reopen the app and type my response. I'm glad I was serious with them, but at the same time, I want to bring the flirty tone back.

SugarBB_Emmy: Thank you. And I promise to speak up if I am feeling uncomfortable at any stage. Limits, right? I read about those last night.

SugarBB_Emmy: Hypothetically, if a sugar baby would like the daddy of an invitation to actually make the described date happen, what would the sugar baby need to do? Asking for a friend *smirky face*

My message turns to read instantly, and I imagine four grown-ass men, sitting nervously while waiting for a response from an eighteen-year-old girl. The image makes me smile. I wonder if any of their baby girls have ever managed to wrap them around their fingers.

Brat4Us: Yes, those are limits. And hypothetically, if a sugar baby was interested in meeting up with a daddy from an invitation, they would definitely need to discuss limits. Any daddy who doesn't set boundaries for his baby girl is a daddy asking for trouble.

Brat4Us: If a sugar baby wanted to have a date with us, all she would need to do is tell us that she wants to play together in person. We would make arrangements for a hotel room for the evening and provide her with the details.

I don't even hesitate. I want this. I want to have this one night with them. In the back of my mind, a voice screams that I don't even know their names. We haven't shared pictures of our faces. What if they hit every branch on their way down the ugly tree?

But I slam the door on that voice. Most of the men who have used my body in the past haven't exactly been walking Gucci advertisements. Usually, severely underweight from more than recreational use of drugs or the complete opposite, with beer guts that hang over the buckle of their pants so badly that I wondered how they would actually get it in. Not to mention the complete and utter lack of hygiene. Fucking, ew.

With effort, I shove those memories from my mind and focus on my current situation.

SugarBB_Emmy: Daddies, I would like to play in person.

Again, instantly read. I kind of wish I could just give them my number and we could talk over the phone.

I pause. Why can't we do that? In all seriousness, I'm not tied to this phone number. The only person who has it is Tray. And Oakley, but she can be easily updated. And to be honest, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to cut off Tray.

Brat4Us: Thank you, Emmy. We will get something organized and let you know the details. Are there any nights you are not free?

Brat4Us: We would also like to continue to chat with you, is that okay? Limits, boundaries. They are there to protect us as much as they are there to protect you.

I slip back onto the chair that I'd sat at while eating my breakfast. Limits and boundaries. I didn't lie earlier. Limits are something I looked up on Urban Dictionary. Apparently, there are two kinds of limits: hard and soft.

Soft limits appear to be the kind that you aren't one-hundred-percent excited about, but given the right person and situation, you could be persuaded to give it a try.

Compared to a hard limit, which is a firm no, end scene.

SugarBB_Emmy: Tonight works best for me.

I bite my lip. Blatant, sure. But also, I don't really want to admit to being free every night for the rest of my life. That sounds ten out of ten lame.

SugarBB_Emmy: Definitely happy to discuss limits. I'm not sure that I have any.

I want to ask for their names, even if they are fake names, just so that I have a way to differentiate between them. Not that I know which one I'm chatting with right now. Is asking for their names okay?

No one has ever called me Emmy before, so it's as good as a fake one for now.

Okay, so what? Photos. Names. Limits.

My phone vibrates in my hand and I jolt, almost dropping it.

Brat4Us: Everyone has limits, Emmy. You just haven't found yours yet.

I raise an eyebrow. I suppose that could be true.

SugarBB_Emmy: Do you think you can help me find out what my limits are?

Brat4Us: We're counting on it.

Their answer is so swift, I'm wondering if they knew what I was going to say. And if that's the case, that is kind of . . . fun. A giddy thrill runs down my spine at the idea that they might be able to help me figure out what I like, rather than just taking what they want.

SugarBB_Emmy: *Angel face* Am I allowed to ask for more photos of you? Also . . . what do I call you? Are you all Daddy?

Instead of a response, I receive a notification that Brat4Us would like to share a private album. I quickly click accept and my mouth drops open.

Holy shit.