Her Possessive Daddies

1. Abbie

1

ABBIE

T he aroma of freshly ground coffee beans fills my nostrils as I push open the door to The Daily Grind. My boyfriend Chandler’s blowing up my phone, asking if I'm here yet. Three years together and I can count on one hand the number of times he's initiated meeting somewhere that wasn't a bar or his apartment for a quick lay.

I spot him at a corner table, scrolling through his phone. He hasn't noticed me yet, giving me a moment to study him. His perfectly styled hair and designer clothes scream "trust fund baby," but something's different today. His jaw is tighter than usual, his posture rigid.

"Hey," I say, sliding into the seat across from him. "What's going on? This is different."

"What do you mean?" He barely glances up from his phone.

"You. Here. Actually making plans." I shrug off my jacket. "Usually I'm the one dragging you to coffee shops or out for dinner."

"Can't a guy want to see his girlfriend?" His tone carries an edge I can't quite place.

"Of course." I fidget with the sleeve of my sweater. "Just unexpected, that's all."

The barista approaches with two drinks - my usual caramel latte and his black coffee. He must have ordered ahead.

"Thanks for ordering," I say, wrapping my hands around the warm cup. "Everything okay? You seem..."

"What? I seem what?" His eyes finally meet mine, challenging.

"I don't know. Tense." My stomach twists into a painful knot.

I take a long sip from my cup, sitting back in my chair. The caffeine does nothing to ease the growing anxiety between us.

"I need coffee through an IV after last night's study session," I say, feeling the fatigue of last night's late work. My psychology textbook had kept me company until three AM, and my brain feels like it's swimming through molasses. "That developmental psych exam is going to kill me."

Chandler runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, wincing at the movement. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his complexion is a little gray around the edges. "Try being me right now. The guys threw this rager at The Loon. Lost count of the shots after midnight."

"Sounds about right." I hide my disdain as I look out the window. Three years of watching him stumble through life on his father's dime, and nothing's changed. "Did you at least have fun?"

"Always do, babe." He pulls out his phone again, thumbs flying across the screen. "Dad's credit card took another hit though. VIP section, bottle service - you know how it goes."

My textbook receipt for three hundred dollars burns a hole in my wallet while he casually mentions dropping thousands on a single night. "Must be nice."

"You should've been there. Why weren't you there again?"

I suppress an eye roll. "Night class, remember? The ones I've been taking for the past year?" The ones I mention every time he asks me to drop everything for another party.

"Right, right. That psychology thing." He waves his hand dismissively, then grimaces and presses his fingers to his temples. "God, my head is killing me."

Same old Chandler. While I'm counting pennies and burning midnight oil for my degree, his biggest concern is nursing another hangover. But I swallow the words sitting on my tongue. What's the point?

The silence between us stretches like a rubber band ready to snap. Chandler keeps checking his phone, his thumb scrolling endlessly while I count the coffee rings on our table.

"Chan, let’s be real, why did you call me this morning? What's up?"

He sighs, looking more annoyed than anything else. "I think we need to talk."

My stomach drops. "About?"

"Us." He leans back, crossing his arms. "You've changed."

"Changed?" What the fuck is he talking about?

"Yeah. Remember when we first started dating? You were fun. Always up for anything. Now it's all 'I can't, I have class' or 'I need to study' or whatever."

I grip my coffee cup tighter. "Because I'm working toward something, Chandler. Not everyone has the luxury of-"

"See? That's exactly what I mean. The attitude." He rubs his temples. "Every time I want to do something fun, you've got some excuse."

"An education isn't an excuse. It's a plan for the future. When was the last time you thought about anything past the next party?"

"Whatever.” He balls his straw paper up and tosses it across the table. “The point is, you're not the same girl anymore. And I think..." He pauses, checking his phone again. "I think we should break up."

The words hit like a slap, but the sting comes more from his casual delivery than the message itself.

"So because I'm trying to better myself, and I can't party every night on daddy's dime, I'm not good enough anymore?"

"Don't be dramatic. It's just..." He shrugs. "We're in different places. You're all about your community college classes-"

"Psychology degree."

"-and I'm living my best life. Having fun. Being young." He runs his fingers through his hair. "You used to get that."

"I used to be broke and directionless." My voice stays steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Some of us have to grow up eventually, Chandler. Some of us don't have trust funds to fall back on."

"And there's the freaking attitude again." He stands, grabbing his jacket.

“At least I have a job.” I scowl.

"You call what you do a legitimate job?" Chandler scoffs, still standing but making no move to leave.

My shoulders tense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Abbie. Babysitting isn't exactly a career path." He waves his hand dismissively. "It's what teenagers do for pocket money."

"I'm a nanny, asshole," I correct him, my voice sharp. "There's a difference. I take care of three kids under five, manage their schedules, help with their development-"

"You watch cartoons and make PB&Js." He rolls his eyes. "Real impressive."

"At least I spend my own money." My words sound very bitter. "And anyway, I've been looking for something different. I only have one night class this semester, so my schedule's more flexible."

"Oh yeah?" His tone drips with condescension. "And what kind of job could you possibly get with your vast experience in finger painting?"

"I've had several interviews." I straighten my spine, refusing to let him make me feel small. "There's that new diner that's hiring. The hours would work perfectly with my class schedule."

"Hospitality? Food service?" He laughs, the sound sharp and mocking. "That's your big career move? From watching kids to slinging straws and menus?"

"It's a legitimate job with actual responsibilities." My fingers curl around my coffee cup. "Though I wouldn't expect you to understand the concept of responsibility."

"Whatever." He shakes his head. "Just proves my point. There will always be employment, Abbie. You’re only in college once. I'm out there making connections when I can and weighing my options-"

"You mean drinking daddy's money away?"

His jaw clenches. "At least I have prospects."

"Prospects you'll never do anything with, Chandler. As long as I've known you, you've been spoiled, directionless, and entitled. I'm so over it."

Heat rises in me at the sight of him lounging there, so smug and self-assured. Three years of my life wasted on someone who never saw past his own reflection.

"You know what?" I stand up, gathering my things. "This is actually perfect timing. I've been trying to work up the courage to tell you I'm done pretending you'll ever grow up."

"Pretending?" He scoffs. "That's rich coming from someone whose big career move is waitressing at the waffle house.”

"At least I'm doing something with my life." I sling my bag over my shoulder. "While you're mooching off people, I'm working toward actual goals. And you know what the funny thing is? I'm already over this."

His face reddens. "You're being dramatic-"

"No, I'm being honest. It’s been a long time." I push in my chair with more force than necessary. "Good luck Chandler. I hope one day you figure out that life isn't just one endless fuck fest. So glad I won't be around to see it."

"Whatever." He slumps back in his chair, already pulling out his phone. "Your loss."

"No," I say, turning away. "It's really not."

The bell above the door chimes as I walk through it, leaving behind wasted years of compromises and disappointments. The morning air hits my face, and I feel light. Ready for anything.