Lily
Ispend the weekend in a state of panic, occasionally switching between anger, embarrassment, not to mention the few crying session.
Student loans might be an option, but they’ll ensure I’ll be in debt for the rest of my life, and beyond.
I’m studying marketing; the best job I could get won’t pay for Rothford-level tuition, the dorm, or even the meal plan.
As for supplementing my income with part-time jobs, there are a few in town, but none pay six figures; and I don’t have time for a serious job with all my classes.
If Cross can actually do what he said he could then—
I bite my lip. I can’t rely on him to save me from my stupidity; especially considering his price.
Instead, I inquire with the few colleges that accepted me, in order to know whether I still qualify for their scholarships.
I won’t receive a reply until next week, or maybe even next year.
The winter break starts on Monday at Rothford, and other colleges probably stop around the same time.
Even if I can no longer get a scholarship, I’ll have to transfer to a cheaper school.
I really don’t want to go to the same college as Jon, but maybe I should consider it.
I could commute, which should lower my expenses.
I’d have to pay rent, since Mom and Dad don’t make all that much money, and they didn’t expect to be saddled with their adult daughter, but it could be manageable.
I wake up on Sunday morning with a headache, my eyes red from the tears I shed overnight. I haven’t contacted my parents yet. I don’t know what to say to them. They’ll be so disappointed. They were proud of me, smugly told all the neighbors I was flying off to bigger and better things.
I booked a flight home on Monday as it was cheaper than Friday or the weekend. Might as well tell them in person.
I jump when I spot the email waiting for me in my inbox. I have others, some spam, an update from two authors and five fellow cosplayers, but they melt into nothing as my eyes focus on one line, with the simple title: “Update.”
The future I thought I’d have has sailed in time it took me to read one email from this Ruth Anne Guildford, and now there’s another waiting for me. My fingers shake as I click on it.
Dear Ms. Trueman,
Following a board review of your performance this term, the status of your scholarship has been amended. It is now granted for the next term, and the rest of your time at Rothford University, provided that you remain in the top 30% in the future.
Wishing you a lovely holiday,
Ms. Ruth Anne Guilford
Secretary
I can’t believe my eyes.
He’s done it. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is Cross’s doing. The previous email was clear. I’d lost the scholarship. Now I have it again. The only that that could have changed that is Cross.
That means I owe him three blowjobs.
To my shame and surprise, I actually…don’t mind? That knowledge comes at a complete surprise, and no small amount of shame. I should mind. I should hate it.
The simple truth is, he managed to get me out of this mess and I want to thank him for helping me. If sucking his cock is the way he can accept a thank-you, that’s what I’ll do. He could have demanded far more.
I find myself flushing. Maybe I should be angrier, or ashamed. Perhaps if he looked like a troll, or stank of sweaty ass, I’d feel different.
But, well, I have eyes. The guy’s pretty hot. I should hate him, or at least be repulsed by him for demanding sexual favors, but I’m too busy being relieved and grateful.
Besides, I meant it when I asked him why he asked for blowjobs when he can clearly get that and more from just about any straight single—and some taken—women in town.
“Because I can, darling.”
I know that kind of man. He gets off on power more than actual sex. The fact he demanded what lipstick I wear shows he’s a control freak. And his desire to show his power has saved my scholarship, my future.
I take the longest shower, crying harder than I have for the last three days, letting myself feel all the fear and shame now it’s over.
Well, almost over.
After those three blowjobs.
I don’t see Cross before it’s time to head back home to Michigan on Monday. Part of me expects him behind every corner, hiding in the shadows, but I don’t see him at all until the New Year.
When I do, my body tenses as I blush. He’s with his friends, who don’t even acknowledge my existence while laughing at a joke I didn’t hear in the library’s café.
It takes all my courage, but I make myself walk up to him. “Thank you.”
Several pairs of curious eyes focus on me, but I ignore them all, keeping my attention on Cross.
“For what you did last semester. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t have your phone number.” I clear my throat. “Thanks so much.”
Cross smiles, his amber eyes melting my resolve. “You’re very welcome, nerd. And believe it or not, that’s not the most obvious way a chick’s ever asked for my number.”
His friends chuckle.
I’m about to turn tail and scamper, but Cross hands me his phone, open on a QR code. I scan it, saving his details before making my way to the counter for my caffeine fix.
“You all right?” the girl behind the counter asks, frowning in concern.
It takes me a second to recognize her. Wasn’t she blonde and preppy last term? I remember even seeing her wearing a headband, like a Gossip Girl character. Now, she’s in a black band T-shirt, her hair is dyed pink, and heavy black kohl lines her eyes.
She can pull off either style.
“Yeah—” I clear my throat. “You know. One of them did me a favor. That doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
She nods, eyes widening in comprehension. “Oh, I get you, sister. Same. And word of advice? They don’t do favors. Not for free.”
I take it she truly has encountered someone in Cross’s group, then. “Don’t worry—we agreed on the price already. It’s pretty cheap, considering.”
Three blowjobs. A hundred and seventy thousand dollars per annum. There is no denying that I am the winning party here.
“Hey, I also got a croissant,” I remind her when she rings up my total.
It’s far less than it should be.
“You get my employee discount. You, me, and anyone who has to put up with Heritage bullshit. We deserve all the caffeine, carbs, sugar, and fat in the world.”
I smile gratefully, though I’m a little confused. “Heritage? Is that another word for legacies?”
She shrugs. “Technically, yes, I guess. Legacy means that their parents were part of the Heritage, a big international private club for the well-to-do. The main location’s in New York, but there’s a gold club in the hills here. The Heritage folk own about ninety-seven percent of Thorn Falls.”
I whistle. “No wonder they have such big egos.” I glance at her nametag, and tell her, “Thank you, Daisy. For the fellow nobody discount.”
“Call me Dez, darling. The whole cute flower vibe was so last year. And you’re welcome.”
I grin. “Dez, then. I wish Lily could also be shortened in a badass name like yours.”
“Lily, huh? Let me know if any of the legacies cause you issues, yeah? We flowers have to stick together.”