Lily
I’m miserable when I wake up, and that doesn’t improve until Dez discounts my order once again, letting me have a latte and a croissant for the price of my last e-book.
“You’re an angel,” I declare, making her chuckle.
“An avenging angel, maybe. Speaking of. How is it going with the legacies?” She tilts her head toward a group of them laughing at one of the bigger corner tables by the window.
Cross isn’t one of them, but I can feel myself blush all the same.
Were they there yesterday? Do they know what I did?
I keep expecting people to come up to me and call me a whore, imagining lingering glances, but when I actually look, people seem to be minding their own affairs, completely ignoring my existence.
Like that botched embarrassment never happened.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I…” I clear my throat. “I fucked up a bit. Made a deal, didn’t really bother to do my part well.”
“Ha.” She winces on my behalf. “They do like their deals, legacies. Been there. We live and learn. Hang on—I have something for you, so long as you keep it between you and me.”
By the way her voice drops, I half expect her to give me something highly illegal—drugs, a gun, you name it—but I gasp when she reveals the most gorgeous thing I’ve even seen.
The pie she retrieves from the lower shelf and places on the counter isn’t just a pie; it’s art, each tiny slice of apple forming a design that makes me think of spring and happiness. I would never dare cut into it. It’s far too pretty to even think of eating it.
Dez has no such compunction. “You know, I just felt like I had to bake some extra this morning. Now I know why. You needed pie.”
“You made this?” I say reverently as she slides a generous helping next to my croissant.
She shrugs. “I stress-bake. I happy-bake. I bake to express my feelings, whether they’re ‘fuck you,’ or ‘fucking awesome.’”
“But that’s so gorgeous! How do you even do that?”
She grins. “You’re making me blush.”
“How much do I owe you?”
Dez rolls her eyes. “Nothing. They’re not part of the café’s stock. Just don’t show it around, yeah? There’s an idiot who believes everything I bake belongs to him, and trust me, you don’t want to deal with him.”
I glance behind my shoulder, finding the café mostly quiet, and no one in the queue. “Maybe I should just eat it here.” I bring the slice to my mouth and I die a little.
I don’t understand how anything can taste that good. Crisp and buttery and spicy and perfect.
“Are you human?” I check. “Is this like eating a forbidden fruit that claims my soul, like in the Garden of Eden or in the underworld? Not that I care,” I clarify, taking a second and third bite. “I’m just checking.”
She gratifies my nonsense with a bigger smile. “You can keep your soul. I’m giving women who need it pie because there was a time I would very much have loved someone to see me struggle and give me, well—anything. It makes me feel good to be able to do something, you know?”
Maybe she’s not an angel, a whispering serpent, or a fairy making deals, but there’s something unique about Dez.
“I wanna be you when I grow up. And Dez? If you do need something—maybe not pie, but whatever. It goes both ways, yeah? This helped tons.” I lift what’s left of the slice, though I don’t mean just the pie, but her warmth.
“It would make me feel good to be able to help, too.”
She grins. “You’re too sweet. And you’ll totally help some girl, some day. Doesn’t have to be me.”
A barely awake student joins the line, and Dez greets him with her winning smile, so I stuff the crust in my mouth and make my way to the farthest table from the legacies, though they’re still paying me no mind.
The first thing I do as I sip my coffee is order red lipstick. I’ll keep the damn stick in my purse to be ready next time. Let him pick the where, the when, and I’ll wear the damn lipstick.
After checking my surroundings, I type how to give a good blowjob.
Not that I’m incapable of it. I simply didn’t try yesterday.
I wanted to do the bare minimum and consider my part of the bargain over—at least a third of it—which Cross called me out on.
He got me my scholarship, my life, my future back, and I’d made a deal.
A depraved one, but I consented to it. I had to, well, suck it up.
There are several articles from tons of magazines giving plenty of advice. I also grab bananas and fruity condoms at the grocery store, practicing my methods for ten minutes every night.
A week later, I’m confident I’ll be ready when Cross messages me again.
Except he doesn’t. Not until the end of the second term, in May. The only time I interact with him is when our stupid teacher sees fit to team us up for an ethic group project, and I have the displeasure of witnessing firsthand that he’s not stealing his valedictorian spot. The guy’s smart.
I rank twenty-two in our year, and I manage to breathe a little. I have my scholarship for another term, without Cross’s interference.
I’m not about to forget what I owe him, though.
The fact that he didn’t ask for a blowjob between December and March—until I goaded him—tells me his summons could come at any moment. He’s not the kind of man who forgets that kind of favor. I resolve to blow his mind at the first occasion.
Cross watches me with a knowing smirk whenever our gazes meet, like he knows he’s driving me insane, holding on to his three blowjobs like a sword of Damocles over my head.
I think about it all summer. I even blow some buff guy with a Kylo Ren mask at Comic Con, taking pride in the fact that I make him lose it.
I’m ready.
And Cross is still ignoring me next fucking September.
I don’t know what makes me do it, one day, when I’m in the bathroom, rifling through my bag for my usual lip gloss. I spot the red lipstick I’ve only used once to check the color.
I apply it before heading to the counter for my latte and croissant fix. When I pass by his table, I smile at him as though I’m not actively provoking him, reminding him of our deal.
For once, Cross doesn’t smile, or ignore me to chat with his friends. I feel his amber eyes follow me all the way to Dez.
Game on, asshole.