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After that, Gram told me it wasn’t important that I have a job and I should just focus on my education. I didn’t exactly need the money. I had plenty of it. My biologics dumped a whole bunch into an account for Gram to take care of me. Made me feel like I was sold, but I tried not to think like that because, honestly, it was only fair that Gram be compensated for raising someone else’s kid.
Turns out, though, Gram never touched it. I found out when I left for Westbrook that she’d put it all into a bank account with my name on it and used her own money to raise me. That meant more to me than the bank book and debit card she handed me with a large balance all in my name. As if she didn’t want compensation for raising me. As if she did it because she wanted to.
She told me that. More than once. Said I was the son she always wanted and had never been able to have. Said I was more hers than anyone else’s, and it was that day I finally unpacked the suitcase that lived under my bed.
I should probably add that she never hurt for money and didn’t actually need the paycheck I came with. She was the second ex-wife of my mother’s father, and she walked away from the marriage with enough bank to last her two lifetimes.
She told me once that she didn’t feel bad about taking him to the cleaners because it was reparation for putting up with him as long as she did.
I was getting sidetracked, my thoughts like a slip-n-slide inside my brain. Adjusting the messenger bag strap across my chest, I pivoted off the sidewalk toward the coffee cart parked nearby. After an intense workout this morning and classes all afternoon, I needed a pick-me-up.
In the form of a mocha. I like chocolate. Sue me.
And maybe I did like extra whipped cream, but I never ordered that. Now I just waited for Arsen to order it for me so I could pretend I hated it when, really, I was secretly thrilled. Made me feel spoiled. Everything he did made me feel that way. His entire glove box was filled with snacks and “necessities” I didn’t actually need. His back seat had a blanket. And in the last week, he’d helped me completely unpack my room and make it the most comfortable space I’d ever had.
Mostly, he unpacked my room. I sat on the bed and watched him. I did help hang the strands of fairy lights he showed up with, though. Not only did they hang in long, vertical strips behind the sheer curtains on the window, but he’d strung them along the ceiling.
At night, the entire room glowed with warm, dim light.
He’d also tossed so many pillows on the bed, all of them covered with soft fur. They went with the UGG brand comforter that also showed up at the door. And right beside the bougie bed he’d piled with soft fabric and pillows, he parked a pair of slippers (yep, those were UGG too) so my feet would never touch the carpet.
I’d never had anyone think so much about me. Hell, I never thought about me as much as he did.
Don’t tell Kruger what I’m about to confess, but, bro, I think Arsen might be husband of the year. *giggle emoji*
Actually, husband of a lifetime.
A paper cup with a weirdly textured lid plunked down in front of me, reminding me that I was once again slip-n-sliding through my own damn brain. I was supposed to be pondering if I could handle a job. I supposed I could go back to mowing lawns and pulling weeds. I was sure the people around here might need that. That was what I did after my three-day stint at the burger joint turned into an episode of Fight Club. I spent the summer doing yard work for people in Gram’s neighborhood.
The pay was decent, and it was something I could do alone with earbuds in. Plus, I liked the physical exertion. Helped keep me in shape.
I guess that meant, technically, I’d had two jobs in my lifetime. Did yard work count?
You’re probably wondering about my major, right? I mean, if I can’t really handle a job, what the heck am I studying at Westbrook? I’m an English major. I like books. They’re quiet. And when you read, you can think about other people’s problems instead of your own. I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with my degree yet. Just add that to the list of things I should be pondering.
After swiping my card, I popped the lid off and tossed it in the nearby can. I wanted to actually enjoy this latte, not grimace over the lid at every sip. Whipped cream with a drizzle of chocolate sauce greeted me, and I leaned down to swipe some of it up with my tongue.
Sugar exploded across my tastebuds, and I groaned a little in appreciation.
“That good?” an amused voice asked from behind.
Shoulders tensing, I glanced over my shoulder.
Recognition slid through me at the sight of his sandy-brown hair and blue eyes. He was around my height but slimmer, without the muscle definition I got from working out. Even though I knew I’d seen him around, his name escaped me. Or maybe I didn’t even know it in the first place.
“Hey,” I said nervously, not even attempting to remember his name. His unexpected arrival had already jumbled my system and made me a little anxious. Reaching across my body, I fidgeted with the three bracelets Arsen had given me while gripping the mocha.
“Theo.” He reminded me, gesturing to himself. “We met last semester when I invited you and your friends to the blackout rave.”
“Oh, right,” I said, recalling the event. “The LGBT thing.” The guy who hit on Wes and turned Max feral. I kept that part to myself.
Theo smiled and bobbed his head. “You remember! Yeah, I’m part of the LGBTQIA+ club here on campus, and we sponsor that party.”
“Right,” I said, scratching at my wrist. Why is he talking to me? No one ever approached me, not usually. If they did, I was usually with Kruger and he did most of the talking. I mean, sure, everyone knew me because everyone knew Elite, but it was kinda some unspoken thing that I was quieter than everyone else. Because of that, most people just waved or left me alone completely.
That was the way I preferred it.
“Well, ah, nice to see you,” I said, completely awkward, actually saluting him with my mocha. What is this, the Marine Corps? I’d never survive in the military.
