13. Chapter 13 Staley
Chapter 13 Staley
W hile Dad sleeps, I crack open my studies and go over my workload for poetry class. The group project details loom before me, and I daydream about leaving college now. Life hasn’t left much time to explore career options.
It’s easy to daydream about what I would do instead. Professional cuddling is work I love, but what else could I do?
This is the road, do not go all Robert Frost up in this bitch. Stick to the grassy path!
Sigh, groan, and repeat. I never called Gabby back after the debacle at Theo’s house the other day, and since I’m trying to get ahead on this project, I might as well touch base with her now while Dad’s sleeping.
I expect a classic ringtone as I dial her number. Instead, I get a ringback tone to the sound of “I’m Just a Girl . ”
“Staley, it’s about time. You’re hard to nail down.”
“Ringback tones are still a thing? I can’t say I’ve heard one on anyone’s phone in, ever.”
“Staley Monroe, I am a unicorn among donkeys. So, our group project. I’m so glad we don’t have to join our brain cells with one of those boat-rowers. Can you imagine doing research and writing with one of them?”
“You’re willing, and no way could you make me write with those guys.”
Gabby laughs, and I hear her roll her eyes through the phone line.
“Gee, Staley, is this how you treat all your first dates?”
“Only the cute ones. Okay, so what’s our plan? It says we must research a poet and their style and then write our piece emulating them in our own words ...”
“Then we have to present it to the entire class. Barf! I’ll get started finding a poet for us to copy or whatever. Do you think the hot TA will be good if we choose a modern-day poet? Tupac or some Rage Against the Machine–style lyrical sonnets? What do you think? You read, and I bust out my grandma’s boombox and play some background music?”
Through laughter, I say, “I think we can consider doing something outside the box, sure.”
“Then we can reconvene over coffee after class next week?”
We’ve only known each other for two weeks, and Gabby has my vice pegged.
“Coffee sounds great. See you then.”
When I hang up with Gabby, cuddle icons load across my screen.
I lose count after the ninth cuddle notification pops up.
What in the actual fuckery is this?
A system glitch? The most bookings I’ve received at one time was three, and it was during a very depressing breakup season, one sad and lonely winter break where students were snowed in and unable to fly back to their respective family holiday festivities. Even then, I only had to trudge through five feet of snow to one building where the three cuddles were.
Opening up the first cuddle notification drives my blood to a halt. My heart stops, and I’m confident hell hath frozeth over, and Liam and Noel Gallagher are somewhere hugging and calling each other the best of mates because nothing else would explain why Theodore- mixed messages- Sullivan has the nerve to book so many sessions with me. Teenage girl angst slips past my lips in the sound of short, exaggerated grumbles.
I dial up Cuddle Like You Mean It and wait for management to get an earful from me.
The on-hold music is maddening.
But why the hell am I so agitated, huh? Do I have six hundred and forty-two dollars lying around? No, I didn’t think so.
“Cuddle Like You Mean It, this is Denise.”
“Hey, Denise. It’s Staley. Listen, you gotta—”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“You do?”
“You booked sixteen sessions, each with a hefty tip. Folks must be sharing the good word about you!”
Liquid shoots out of my mouth as I cough in surprise, covering my textbooks. Who needs Human Biology anyway?
“Did you say sixteen? Jesus, John, Paul, and Ringo! Are you sure?”
“Staley, are you okay?” Denise laughs in amusement. “I said sixteen.”
“No, Denise, I cannot do these shifts. I assured this client I’d find a cuddler to replace me with.”
“Did you not read the cuddling form?”
“No, I didn’t get a chance to.”
“Staley, the reality is, you’re the only cuddler I have willing to do this many shifts. What’s the big deal? Is the guy into toe cuddling or what?”
Oh, no. I cannot. I won’t ever cuddle my toes betwixt someone else’s toes.
“I wish.”
Silence hangs between us, and I now know I’ve given way too much away about my predicament.
“Ohhh. He’s good-looking. Yeah, I’ve been there. But I want you to remember the contract you signed. What you do outside the client’s home is yours and their business.”
I sigh because, of course, I remember. I know what is at risk here. I’ve never, not even once, crossed the professional cuddling line.
“Unless this guy is a creep or breaking any of the contractual obligations he signed off on, your best bet is to picture an angry, rabid raccoon in place of his face and pray the attraction goes away.”
Theo would make an adorable raccoon. Picture him serving you a hot drink with his tiny little paws.
“Dammit. You’re sure there aren’t any other cuddlers?”
“No, sorry.”
Denise doesn’t let me off easy; she tells me to buck up and then hangs up. How do I rally when there’s a familiarity about Theo I am attracted to mixed with a heavy dose of frustration?
The only thing quelling my irritation these days is the assertive sound of Luca counting me off to sleep. Luca is the last thing I hear as I nod off while picturing Theo and his curly hair.
Time to rest, sweet girl. Let me take care of you.