Page 86 of Plaything

My jaw about unhinged the more he spoke, knowing that even with how unlike myself that sounded, it was entirely true. “Oh my God,” I grabbed the blanket and covered my face before lying back down. I physically felt like I did exactly that. It was funny or would be in a few weeks, but mostly embarrassing. “I’m so sorry,” I apologized.

Niko grabbed my ankle under the comforter and gave me a small tug, “Hey,” he said more seriously than I was prepared for. The tone of his voice made me peek my eyes out from under the blanket to meet his gaze. “No more apologizing,” he ordered, a strong tremble in his voice that left me no room to question him.

“Okay,” I agreed quickly.

Niko’s serious expression disappeared in two seconds as he tapped my ankle. “Good,” he stood up, groaning as he held his lower back, which was probably sore from sleeping on the hardwood floor all night. “I’m going to make breakfast. Any special requests?” he asked.

I cringed; the thought of food made my stomach turn. “Nothing.”

He and Aiden gave me a firm look. “You need to eat something, Babydoll,” Aiden advised. “You’re running on empty.”

I shook my head. Nothing sounded worse than food.

Niko sighed, “Pancakes? Eggs? Toast? I can make soup—”

I was running to Aiden’s bathroom before he could continue. I dry heaved over the toilet, wishing the Grim Reaper would take me. As much as my body tried to expel anything that was in my stomach, nothing came up, making the experience nothing but painful.

“You know what? Actually, let’s rain check breakfast—”

“Get out,” I heard Aiden’s agitated voice demand.

My hair was in two braids, and I was impressed with myself for braiding last night. Aiden was by my side, sitting on the ledge of his bathtub. He grabbed the braids with one hand and rubbed my back with the other. “I don’t miss being twenty-one,” he tried to joke.

I groaned, my body over its fit as I leaned against his legs. “I’m twenty.”

He sighed, “I don’t miss that either.”

“I’m never drinking again,” I swore. I meant it, too; this was worse than any sickness I’d ever had.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he gestured to the door.

As lovely as that sounded, “I have homework,” I sighed. It was Sunday, and I needed to complete next week’s assignments. I usually finished them by Saturday, but I wouldn’t trade yesterday.

“You don’t want to do it later today?” He questioned.

I shook my head, not wanting to explain to a Professor how long it took me to retain information. I had to read a single page at least five times to understand something. I wasn’t smart; I really studied hard.

Aiden didn’t push any further on the subject, which I was thankful for. If he did, I would’ve let myself stay in bed all day and get nothing done.

He helped me stand up again, and I noted the baggy sweatpants and sweater I was wearing. I could tell I had nothing underneath, and my hair was slightly damp. I glanced at Aiden, “I couldn’t make it down the stairs last night, but I survived in a shower?” I questioned. With the slipperiness of the stone floor, I was sure I would discover a bruise on me somewhere later from falling.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, “You probably wouldn’t have on your own,” he teased as he walked out of the bathroom.

Widening my eyes, I had so many more questions. Mostly, I was just sad our unspoken game was over. He saw my tattoo, and I didn’t even remember his expression. Dang, I was really looking forward to basking in my own triumph. At least he didn’t let me slip and die in the shower.

Seeing my toothbrush already in his bathroom, I brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face. My eyes had massive purple circles under them, my looks reflecting how I felt. Like shit. I didn’t even change out of Aiden’s clothes or take my hair out of its loose braids as I went downstairs.

The fireplace was on, giving the room a warm glow. Outside, it was gloomy and rainy—my preferred weather. Dominic and Wyatt sat on the sofas around the large living room, coffee on the side tables beside them. They were both utterly engrossed in whatever paperwork they had in front of them. I could only assume they were grading; the red pens in their hands were a telltale sign.

An incredibly old black-and-white horror movie was playing on the TV at a low volume. To avoid disturbing them, I quietly went to the front door, where my backpack with schoolwork was.

“She lives,” Wyatt joked, his eyes following me as I sat beside him.

“Barely,” I assured, pulling my homework out. I sat with my legs crossed, a giant workbook—courtesy of Niko—in my lap. Niko’s class had always been less difficult than the others I’d taken. He taught in a way that simplified the work. Still, he assigned a lot of homework and studying.

Wyatt chuckled, “You’re hungover and decided to do homework?” He questioned as if the idea was strange to him.

I held an amused expression. He was a Professorat a prestigious college—he, of all people, should know just how much homework got assigned. I didn’t want to comment on the amount of work I had to do, not with four of them in the room—I may strike a nerve.

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