67. Chapter 65
Emery
It’s not until I’m almost halfway home, and the embarrassment of being picked up by the rideshare in nothing but my panties and what is clearly a man’s shirt has started to burn off, that I remember I have messages to reply to.
Sorting through my things, I pull my phone out of the pile by its pom-pom, then open my messages. Dealing with them in order of easiest to most annoying, I start with Oakley.
A grin spreads over my face as I scroll through a series of pictures she sent me. I have no idea who anyone in the pictures is, but it’s her with different Barbies and Kens, and there are very few repeats, like Disco Barbie who she’d been talking to when Will found me.
The last one is of her with Vinnie. His eyes are glassy, and he has clearly had a few drinks, but the way he is grinning at her as he holds her bridal style is cute as fuck. She only has eyes for the camera, though.
Hopefully she made better choices than I did. Vinnie might be one-hundred-percent flirt, but he is a nice guy. If he isn’t careful, he is going to end up with a broken heart. Oakley is very committed to her lifestyle.
The only thing about that picture that makes me a little sad is that I can see Will. He’s staring at his phone, red Solo cup in his hand, face pulled tight with concentration.
Was he texting me? Checking to see if I responded?
Fuck.
I send her a red heart emoji and then go to Will’s messages.
The super frustrating thing about opening his messages is that the only feeling reading them elicits is an icky gross one of guilt. There are no butterflies, no electricity, no anticipation. Nope, just guilt that he is so into me and I’m so not into him.
Kissing him needs to move up my priority list. I need to know if a kiss will kick-start some more interesting feelings for him.
Will: Hey, where did you go?
Will: Ems, I’m so sorry for tonight. Can you tell me where you are? I’ll come find you.
*Missed call*
Will: I know you know Professor King outside of school, but could you please msg me when you get this? Just so I know you’re alright.
I close my eyes and tip my head back. He must have seen me leave.
Opening my eyes again, I type out my reply.
Me: Hey, sorry! I’m all good. I should have told you I was leaving. I wasn’t feeling well after beer pong. I don’t normally drink. I hope the rest of your night was fun.
I hit send but then stare at the message like it’s missing something. So, I send one more message.
Me: Xx.
When guilt surges, I shove it back down.
I’m going to kiss him, and then I’ll have butterflies, and then I’ll develop feelings for him.
Every relationship I have for the rest of my life isn’t going to be explosive like it was with my daddies.
That was all just a mix of kink, sex, and trust that I confused for more.
This is what normal relationships feel like. A slow development of feelings for each other.
The messages stay as delivered, and I figure he is probably still sleeping, so I go to check the last message from the unknown number.
Unknown: Good morning, Emery. This is Madam Devangeline, owner of Club Obsession. I am aware of the incident that occurred at my club involving you and several of my members. I would like to discuss this with you in further detail. Present yourself at my club before 5 p.m. today.
My mouth falls open, and an icy feeling rolls down my spine at her order.
I was really hoping to never go back to the club. Just mark it as a been there, done that on my life’s mental map.
However, even I, someone who has only just discovered submission, can see the implied or else in her order.
Present myself by five p.m. or else.
The question is, do I care what the or else is?