14
Sunday was Brandon’s only day off, and he never quite knew what to do with it.
Sure, he used the time to catch up on chores, scrub the place down, and meal-prep snacks for the week. But honestly, his apartment was tiny, which left him with most of the day stretching out empty before him.
He'd woken up early, which felt like a slap in the face after running late half the mornings the past week.
Now, three hours after rolling out of bed, the entire place was spotless and he was at loose ends.
He’d sold off his console and TV before moving out.
Video games had never really had their hooks in him anyway, which had made fitting in as a kid an uphill battle.
Sure, he'd played some when he was younger, but nothing had managed to hold his attention in recent years.
Of all his old hobbies, the only thing he’d kept was the digital camera he'd bought with his very first paycheck. He still vividly remembered his parents laying into him about it, calling it a complete waste of money. Well, if he’d listened to them, he never would have left home in the first place, never would have carved out a life of his own.
He pushed himself up from the bed and forced his mind to slam the brakes on that train of thought; it was a trap that would only send him spiraling.
He scraped together a meager meal from whatever scraps he had left in the pantry. The coffee dregs barely filled a single cup; he desperately needed groceries.
After that, he took his sweet time meticulously cleaning his camera and lenses. It was easily his most prized possession, both in cash value and sentimental value. He handled the gear with borderline obsessive care, and the routine ate up enough time to carry him right up to lunch.
More than once along the way, he caught himself wishing he had Amanda’s or Isabella’s number.
He'd given them his contact info, but neither had reached out yet, leaving him completely in the dark.
For a second, he wondered if the silence was some calculated test or a subtle form of torture. That was definitely Amanda's style.
Then again, hanging out on the weekend—outside the club—would make things way too real, wouldn't it?
At least that angle sat a little easier with him.
He tried to strangle the insecurity that still pricked at him every so often, laying bare the sheer gulf between him and those women.
They came from completely different worlds; maybe that was why they kept their arrangement strictly within the club's walls.
Jesus. What is wrong with me?
He walked out of the kitchen and grabbed his keys, needing to get out of the apartment before his second-guessing choked the life out of him. No. Deep down, he didn't actually believe they looked down on him for being broke. Their dominant dynamic never betrayed a trace of condescension like that.
The dynamic itself was another beast entirely; something that left room for doubt whenever he was away from them. In the heat of the moment, everything flowed between them so naturally it was almost terrifying. But standing there by the front door, his anxieties twisted it into ammunition.
Brandon had never been on the submissive side of any relationship before. With every girl he'd ever dated, there was an unspoken expectation for him to take charge in bed, call the shots, and play the standard boyfriend role. Sometimes, the sheer weight of that expectation had been exhausting.
Not with them, though. He forced his neurotic brain to see that it wasn't a flaw. They aren't going to hold that against you.
Reaching that realization finally quieted the nagging doubt, if only for a second.
He slipped down the hallway, still dodging Nancy. He went through the usual delicate ritual of coaxing the engine to life without drawing too much attention or stalling it out, pulled through the gate, and pointed the car toward the grocery store. He seriously needed to stock up on food.
But first, he had one stop to make.
"Oh, hell no. On a Sunday?" Janet’s voice echoed from beneath the chassis of the car she was wrenching on. Brandon had barely set foot inside the shop—hadn't even spotted her legs jutting out from under the lift.
"How’s you even know it was me?"
"You think I don't know the death rattle of that piece of junk by now?"
"Hey... show a little respect."
Janet let out a dry, scoffing chuckle, punctuated by the rhythmic, metallic clatter of her ratchet wrench.
"What broke this time?" she asked. "Or did you finally scrape together the cash for that fuel pump?"
"Why assume something's wrong? Can't a guy just swing by to say hi?"
"Nope. Because you never do."
"Fair enough."
She finally kicked herself back out on the creeper from under the car. There was a smear of grease across her cheek and a curious tilt to her brow. Must be in a decent mood since it's Sunday, Brandon thought. Fewer walk-ins giving her a headache.
With a faint grin, he lifted the box of donuts and the cardboard drink carrier holding a large coffee.
For the first time since he'd met Janet, Brandon watched her blush.
A flush of bright crimson spread across her cheeks as she darted her eyes away—a fleeting giveaway Brandon would have missed completely if he hadn't been watching closely.
She recovered fast, punching him lightly in the shoulder to play it cool.
Too late. Brandon had caught a glimpse of an entirely new side to her, and the image burned straight into his memory. It was far too entertaining to let slip.
"I was actually starving... didn't even get around to breakfast."
She scrubbed her hands at the grime-coated utility sink in the corner of the shop, took a grateful swig of the coffee, and sank her teeth into a donut. A spark of pure, unadulterated bliss lit up her eyes.
Who are you, and what did you do with Janet? Brandon thought, biting back a smile. He knew better than to embarrass her any further.
They shot the breeze while she ate, until Brandon pulled out his wallet and handed over what he owed her—plus a solid tip to make up for the late payment.
It wasn't like he was rolling in cash, but his first paycheck had at least bought back some of his dignity.
Twenty minutes later, Brandon was behind the wheel of his battered Ford on the way to the grocery store, his conscience lighter after settling his tab with Janet, who had bailed him out more times than he could count.
Now for the rent.