We haven’t said a word to each other since I got in his car on campus, and I don’t plan on cracking now. He is nothing but my chauffeur. I stupidly checked The Monarch Instagram feed, and yep, there was a photo of me with Derek standing by his car not even fifteen minutes into the drive.
And fifteen minutes after that is when I started to get messages from Will, asking if I was coming to class. Asking if I was okay. Did I need anything? To let him know how the appointment went. The guy is…way too sweet. At least, for me.
I know that something inside of me must be fundamentally broken for my reaction to his genuine kindness and open generosity to be the ick. I really wish it wasn’t, and I’m working on accepting it better, but the entire time I was texting with him, I was forcing myself to be okay with his gentle style of flirting.
My brain needs rewiring.
I head over to the receptionist, who is what I suspect an alt-girl would look like, and wait for her to call on me.
“Hi, all done?” she asks, her big brown eyes blinking behind bright green cat-eye-rimmed glasses.
I nod and hold up the papers for her to see. “She gave me all of these, not sure if one is for you?”
She smiles, the ring pierced through the side of her lower lip moving the tiniest bit. “Nope, those are all for you. I get mine through the computer.”
“Oh, okay, cool,” I reply, feeling awkwardness creep up my neck. “Ah, do I need to pay or…? Dr. Everett said I don’t need to rebook.”
Her vibrant green and black curls barely even shift as she shakes her head. “Nope, it’s all taken care of. You’re good to go.”
All taken care of?
I narrow my gaze and turn to look at Derek, who has apparently noticed that I’ve finished my appointment, since he is watching me from his seat.
“Ready to go?” he asks, like he isn’t put off by the harsh glare I’m aiming at him.
When he isn’t suitably cowed into submission by my anger, I huff an annoyed breath and head toward the door, intent on leaving without him.
What a fucking arrogant prick. I’m not even sure why I’m shocked, to be honest. Being shocked right now is like being shocked when a bank robber actually robs a bank. He’s a bank robber—of course he is going to rob a fucking bank.
Derek is an arrogant, caregiving, assholey daddy who I am a thousand percent sure is used to being in complete control of everything, having everyone organized, sorted out, and looked after so they can just turn up, be in his presence, and get the experience they were hoping for.
So, really, who is the asshole here? Me for thinking I was controlling my own situation, or him for being who he is?
I should have paid before I went in.
I should have made it clear to everyone involved that my medical treatment is my own responsibility and that I don’t need assistance to look after myself. Which, to be fair, is a basic human right, so I never thought I would ever have to expressly dictate it to the people around me.
In my huff, I’ve made it all the way to the entrance of the outpatient clinic and am only mildly startled that the early fall sun is caressing my skin. I glance around and almost groan when I remember that I can’t leave—Derek is my ride.
Knowing there is no point in trying to get myself a rideshare, I head in the direction of Derek’s parked car. As I approach the car, I hear thewhooshingof the clinic’s automatic glass doors opening and force myself not to look back to confirm that it’s Derek.
I take myself around to the back passenger side of the car, to where I sat on the way here, and as I place my hand on the handle, the doors unlock with a quick beep. Yanking open the door, I get into the car before Derek can arrive to help me, quickly slamming the door behind me.
I’m buckled in, with my headphones on, before he even settles in his seat. Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror, and he tries to talk, but I hit play on my music and drown out his words before sliding his sunglasses on. His jaw clenches and he looks away. It’s killing him to not know what happened in the appointment and whether I’m healing properly.
Am I being childish? Fuck, yeah, I am. Do I give a shit? Nope.
A smug warmth fills my stomach at having won this round.
As Derek starts the car and backs out of the spot, I open the SugarLife app and select the private chat with EyesOnYou.
Me:I’ll be online tonight at 7. Do you want me to go public or private?
Chapter 36
Hudson
Opening the door to my office, I gesture toward the hallway. “Seniors first.”
