Page 24 of Sugar Daddies

Chapter Seven

Pepper

I don’t remember turning on the heat so high. In fact, I don’t remember one time I turn the heat on during the summer.

That is crazy people’s behavior.

I must be crazy then because I’m under heavy blankets and good-smelling pillows that are stones under my head. Though, I can’t deny that it’s quite comfortable to snuggle deeper into the familiar warmth that I have loved since day one.

My head is foggy, and my body is sore.

Yesterday’s date with Mr. Stephan comes back with some vivid scenes and some blacked out fragments. I remember the whole day, but after the fireworks, I’m totally lost as to how I got back home.

I had a lot of fun with him; he isn’t like what I thought he would be since technically, I had no idea what he did for work. All I know is that he is rich and well-connected with people who also have power and money, and he is neither hiding nor flaunting his status on the internet like some of the younger entrepreneurs are.

It’s honestly awkward to have some form of connection with them through age, and I never want to be associated with them for looking down on people who don’t make as much as they do.

I know some of the younger rich people work hard to get what they earned, but it’s those who use negativity to fuel their image on the internet that rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like how they make money, but I really don’t care either since it doesn’t concern me.

They have their life, and I have mine.

Wait, what was I thinking about again?

My disoriented brain rewinds slower than a snail as I nuzzle into the stiff pillow. I need to remember to change it before I give myself a neck cramp.

The most I can remember about yesterday before the complete blankness is the flashes of me being in a car with street lights flickering as we sped speed down a street. Considering the speed, I assume it’s the freeway, and it only makes sense that Mr. Stephan took me home as he is the one that took me on a date.

Thinking of it as a date stirs me awake a little bit more.

I admitted that I loved him last night, but he doesn’t know that, and I prefer to keep it in my heart for a while longer. I’m not quite sure where all three of us stand in this, dare I say, relationship.

Polyamory is not a conventional thing in society, and nearly everyone is disapproving of it.

Would they get all kinds of judgment from people they work with and their families too? I don’t want to be the catalyst that breaks these two men apart; I can see their friendship runs deeper than family roots.

They are brothers from another mother is the saying, and I can see why they are friends with brotherly ties to each other. Daddy and Mr. Stephan are molded from the same mold and structured in nitty crafting.

The amount of similarity and differences are uncanny in a way that I get scared that they are actual brothers.

I shudder at the thought of their childhood. I got this gut feeling that they are rebellious children who wreaked mayhem in the neighborhood if they lived near each other. I wouldn’t even blink an eye if they have juvenile records longer than my hair, but I’ll let them tell me if they want.

I don’t want to pry into their personal matters if they would rather not share it.

I should ask them how they met. It’ll give me some background as to how Daddy is willing to let another man put his hands on me and not say a word about it.

It’s freaky.

Yes, I need to talk to him, but my body needs to cooperate with me for that plan to work.

I struggle mentally first, fighting off the sleepiness by pulling in random thoughts and beating up the tiredness with air fists. The worst part comes, my body has to connect to my brain cells, so it can give commands to move.

My eyes take the initiative, and my lashes flutter open.

It’s like opening my eyes under ocean water; it hurts, and it’s blurry, and it’s too fuzzy to make out that blob of black and some tan color. It’s such an odd combination that my mind can’t come up with anything remotely close to it.

I sluggishly take my hand out of the blanket to pat the hard surface. It’s warm and moving. I rub it and furrow my brows when it rumbles.

Whatever it is, it’s too hot, and it’s moving.

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