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Brandon’s punctuated grunts fill the line. “You’re touching yourself. Aren’t you, little artist? You’re pretending it’s me.”
My hand freezes. I snap out of it and open my eyes. “Goodnight, Brandon. I’m hanging up.”
He huffs and tells me, “Fine. See you in the morning.”
I stall, actually not wanting to end the call just yet.
But it seems neither does Brandon because he’s still on the line.
We’re both not speaking. Instead, we’re inhaling and exhaling intensely.
Pushing myself to regain control, I move the phone from my ear and hang up.
What the hell was that?
Energetic and I don’t go together in the middle of the week. But somehow, my brief yet dirty conversation with Brandon has me facing Wednesday morning with a burst of glee.
I even ready for school with excitement, knowing he’s on the way.
Dad’s making breakfast. Momma already left for her shift at the hospital.
“Morning, Dad.” I walk over to him at the stove.
“Morning, baby girl.” He pecks my forehead, brown eyes gleaming with pride. “I made blueberry pancakes.”
“Mm. Yummy.”
I fill two glasses with orange juice and bring them to the table. I check my phone while sitting. Brandon will be here in ten minutes.
Dad comes over with the pancakes and sits across from me. “Brandon on his way?”
“Yeah.”
He pours syrup over his pancakes. “Is he the same boy who bought that easel?”
“Momma told you,” I groan before taking a bite.
“Mm-hm.” He chuckles under his breath and picks up his orange juice. “He doesn’t need to be buying you stuff so soon. Take it easy.”
“It’s the life he’s used to; I’ll stress it to him.”
Dad nods.
We continue eating.
Soon after, someone knocks on the front door.
“That’s probably Brandon.” I chug the rest of my juice and jump up, grabbing my backpack. “See you later, Dad.”
“See you. Have a good day.”
Brandon flashes a skin-tingling smile when I open the door. Instantly, last night’s hot text and phonecall flood my mind, causing my eyes to flutter awkwardly.
“Morning, little artist,” he greets.
“Morning.”
We walk to his car.
