Chapter 4 Daisy - One time thing. Never gonna happen again.
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Thirteen years ago
That boy from the other day? His name is August.
Not that he told me.
Every time he steps foot in this office—which is daily, by the way— it’s like he’s purposely doing everything in his power to not look in my direction. I want to be insulted. I want to stomp my foot and yell in his face that I’m a person who deserves to be acknowledged.
But I don’t because that would be wild behavior. And the Stileses do not partake in wild behavior.
Anyway, turns out August is my age. Well, he’s in the same grade as me. His actual age is still up for debate, given his size and the tattoos and all. I can’t imagine being a sophomore and starting at a new school where I know absolutely no one. That’s brave.
I don’t have much else to say.
Oh. My mom’s pregnant with twins. Boys. Exactly what my parents hoped for the first time around, so I’m sure they’re elated. I wouldn’t know, given the fact that they don’t particularly enjoy speaking to me.
It’s fine, though. It’s better this way.
Nothing looks right. The arrangements are a mess, and I can’t find a single angle, no matter which way I turn the vases, to jump in and fix things.
This isn’t like me. I’m a professional when it comes to my floral work.
Everything is practically perfect in every fucking way, damn it. Why is this the one time it’s not?
Because it matters to you and everything that matters to you turns to dust in your hands, I remind myself. My mother’s voice rings in my ears about years of disappointment and her inability to understand where she went wrong.
Margot and Sawyer are about to find out they’re bringing two perfect little girls into this world, and I want their first impression to be equally as perfect. But with the way the blush peonies are drooping because it’s not exactly their season has me questioning every move that led me here.
I let out a frustrated sigh and run my fingers through my hair for the eighty-seventh time today. I jump when I hear the clearing of a throat behind me. I turn and see Gus in all of his annoying-ass, large glory leaning against the doorway that leads into Red’s kitchen, where I’m standing.
I’ve been holed up at the flower shop all week with an influx of orders, chauffeuring my brothers to and from summer camp, and trying to make these two giant vases look more than just presentable for Margot and Sawyer. I haven’t seen a lick of August in that time. I guess my luck has run out.
“What?” I bark. For once, even I can admit he doesn’t deserve what I’m throwing his way, but I can’t exactly take out my anger on the two bundles of pink flowers in front of me.
“You good?”
“Can you use a full sentence, Gus? Or did your pea-shaped brain stop developing in the first grade?”
“You know what? Fuck off.” Gus pushes off the doorway and storms past me towards the French doors that lead out the backyard where everyone is waiting.
He opens the fridge on his way out and grabs a beer from the shelf on the door.
I say nothing as his arm brushes my own when he reaches across the kitchen island to grab the bottle opener.
For some reason, I then decide I need to break my silence. “I’m having a bad day.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” Gus grumbles in between swallowing the handfuls of blueberries he’s grabbing out of the fruit platter.
“Ugh! Nothing!”
“Jesus, you’re testy today.”
“Yeah, well, it must be nice to not have a single responsibility, therefore never worrying about a goddamn thing except where to stick your limp dick later.”
“My dick gets rave reviews, I’ll have you know.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
I smack my hands down on the island. Gus is making everything worse. I need him out of this kitchen so I can continue flipping out about ruining my closest friends’ gender reveals in peace. “I didn’t mean—I don’t—Can you just go? I’ll even throw a please in there.”
“Daisy Stiles remembering the magic word? What manners you’ve developed.”
“You’re still here. Why’re you still here?” I ask the ceiling.
“Because despite my body telling me to run for the hills, I don’t trust you in here alone with the knives.” I think he’s joking, but it also feels like there’s a little truth in there, and I hate it. I don’t need his pity, or anyone’s for that matter.
“I’m fine. I’m just frustrated—”
“Sexually?”
I let the truth fall out. “Sexually, mentally—you name it, the frustration is there.”
A beat of stunned silence passes and my brain catches up with the rest of me to realize I just told Gus I was sexually frustrated. I’m gonna hope with all that I am that this is a nightmare.
Gus pretends to cough on the last few blueberries, giving me another moment to somehow recover. I come up with nothing.
“That’s uh, well. I get that. That…sucks,” is what he manages to land on.
But out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand move to adjust his jeans and the dumbest idea on the planet—no, in the universe—pops into my head, and I don’t think better of it before I’m confessing this plan to the last person—again, in the universe—I should be cluing in. “When’s the last time you were tested?”
This is clinically insane of me.
“Probably finals? High school? The year we graduated?”
I can’t even lob out an insult about his intelligence because what I’ve come up with is even stupider. “No, Gus. STDs. Sexually transmitted diseases. You do get tested, right?”
He looks insulted that I would even have to ask, but answers nonetheless, “Obviously. After any time someone new gets a ride on the Magic Carpet.”
“Please don’t tell me you named your dick.”
Looking insulted again, Gus says, “Every guy names their dick. If they say they don’t, they’re lying. Mine just happens to be accurate as fuck.”
“I don’t get it,” I admit.
“The carpet. Most magical ride of your life. Come on, Daisy, even someone as heartless as you must have seen the movie a time or two.”
I scrunch my face in disgust to hide the hurt.
Heartless. It stings, but it’s not unexpected.
It’s better that everyone thinks that instead of knowing the truth.
There’s no room in my heart for anything else.
I brush it off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen it.
Whatever, okay so your test…the results… the last time was…?”
Gus bristles. “None of your business.”
I’m regretting this already. There’s no point. I need to just back out now and cut my losses because this is so painful. I’d rather die from celibacy than this. “Never mind.”
“No, wait. Now I’m curious. Why do you care so much about what I got going on down there?”
“Because I want you to fuck me, Gus.” I press my forehead into the island with the admission.
Gus laughs, a disbelieving kind of laugh that sounds a whole lot nervous. “You wanna run that by me again?”
“Sex. No strings attached. One time. Just one good, old-fashioned fuck to clear my head that means absolutely nothing so I can continue on with my life.”
“Why me?”
“Will you be mad if I said it’s because you’re standing there, and you’re not the worst thing I’ve ever had to look at?”
I’m absolutely not thinking this through and there are probably—definitely—about thirteen thousand reasons this is a bad idea, but I’m committed now.
It’s been…too long since I’ve spent any sort of intimate time with anyone.
I think my last hook up was with some guy who tried to get me off in a club bathroom by saying weird shit in my ear about the way my hair smelled while finger-fucking me with no rhythm.
It left…just about everything to be desired.
Some people keep others at arm’s length. The distance I keep with others is more along the lines of an entire football field.
I use this rule of thumb for every piece of my life, including sex.
When I want to get off, I either handle it myself or find a man to use.
It sounds bad, but I know they’re using me for the same thing: a good time.
And I’m okay with that—more than okay, actually.
I get to be in control and call the shots and make the final decisions.
When I think my next playing partner isn’t someone who will follow the rules, I leave them high and dry without a second thought.
It works.
“Careful, Daze. That almost sounded like a compliment.” He brushes his knuckles against my arm, and I don’t shy away at the touch. It’s old and familiar in a way only two people with too much history have.
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”
“I’m in.”
“What?” I ask. Even though I obviously very well know what he means.
“I mean, this is ideal for me. I get off and don’t have to worry about kicking you out of my bed after.”
“I’m not going near your bed,” I add.
Gus laughs in a low tone. It practically vibrates, and I feel my pussy hum with anticipation. The dry spell I’m in has me acting dumber than rocks.
“Where does a princess like you let this type of thing happen? Do you need sweet nothings whispered in your ear? Rose petals laid out in the shape of a heart?” He leans into me, invading all of my space, and I suck in a breath.
Just when his lips are about to connect with mine, I swerve and duck out of the way. “Rules,” I state. “We need rules. We need to establish parameters if this ever has a chance of working. Number one, no kissing.”
He doesn’t hide the surprise on his face and backs up half a step. “No…kissing?”
“No. That’s entirely too personal.”
Gus takes a moment before responding. “Alright. I can do that.”
“Two, this is a one-time thing. A break from the current Sahara Desert status of my sex life to snap me back into Daisy Stiles normalcy.”
“You’ll be back for more. Most are,” he chimes in.
I turn up my nose and choose to ignore that remark. “Finally, number three, absolutely not a soul is to ever know about this.”
Gus nods once. “More than amenable to that one. So…later?”