Page 19 of Good Girl

His lips twitch, and his gaze flickers up to Hudson before returning to me. I follow his gaze and see Hudson watching me. I place the bag on the table, get up, and walk around the table to Hudson.

He turns to face me, and I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. At first, he doesn’t return the hug, but then I feel him shift and his arms wrap around me.

“I love it,” I whisper into his neck.

His arms tighten around me. “Anything for my kitten.”

Chapter 10

Emery

“Go sit down and finish your breakfast. Then you need to get ready to go out.”

I pull back from the hug and look up at Hudson. “Go out?”

Excitement bubbles in my stomach, and clearly Hudson can see that my thoughts have gone straight to the gutter, because his eyes light up when he sees my interest.

Well, what did they expect after talking about having sex in public-but-not-public? I’m intrigued, sue me.

“We want to take you shopping and then out for lunch,” he replies as he leads me back to my seat on Darcy’s lap. “So, be good and eat your breakfast. No breakfast, no shopping.”

Darcy hasn’t moved from his spot in front of my plate, so I resume my earlier position. My new bag has been moved to the side, and I glance at it as I start to eat. It takes all my self-control not to snatch it back into my lap.

They bought me a backpack.

I completely forgot about the rewards and gifts. To be completely honest, I thought it was just something they said during sex, with zero intention of following through. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made me promises to get what they wanted and then left me hanging.

While the other guys turn on the TV and clean, Darcy and I stay at the table while I work my way through my breakfast. He captures my hair and unwinds both braids, then twirls and tugs on it as I eat. It’s not until I’m full to bursting and I put my fork down that he places the small Dutch braid over my shoulder.

My mouth pops open and I gently touch the ends with my fingers, not wanting to accidentally ruin it. I’ve never been able to manage a Dutch one before.

Darcy presses his lips into the exposed skin of my shoulder blade. “Go get ready, princess. We have five more rewards to buy for you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” My hands tremble slightly as I stand and reach for my bag, cradling it to my chest. I make it all the way to the bedroom before I turn back and look at the four of them.

None of them are looking at me and, fuck, I’m thankful for that. I can feel myself unwinding at the edges, and I just need a fucking moment to get it together. I shut the door and lean backagainst it as hysterical laughter threatens. When my gaze lands on the ridiculously large bed, I can’t hold it in.

Throwing myself at the bed, I pick up Darcy’s pillow and laugh into it until my stomach aches and my lungs burn.

Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. I’ve gone from a broke college student—and I don’t mean the kind of broke where I can still afford bread and milk—to spending the weekend in an apartment that I’m sure costs more than my entire life to date.

The bed has a fucking duvet and what are easily the softest sheets I’ve ever felt, for fuck’s sake. My bed in my student housing with Oakley is the nicest one I’ve ever had, and it only has the set of sheets I took with me from my last group home and a blanket I got from Goodwill for two dollars. I’m lucky the place came with a pillow, or I would have been sleeping head to mattress.

Lowering Darcy’s pillow, I place it back on the bed and smooth it out. The faint woodsy scent of him lingers, and I inhale deeply to keep it with me. My throat is burning and my chest aches, tears threatening.

The whiplash of my circumstances finally catches up with me.

Not wanting them to hear me cry—especially if this turns into an ugly sobbing situation—I take my brand-new backpack, swipe my phone and Oakley’s bag from the end table, lament the fact that my teddy is out in the kitchen, quickly skirt around the bed, and head straight to my borrowed suitcase. I don’t bother to sort through it to find what I need, instead grabbing the handle and taking the entire thing into the bathroom.

I flick the polished bronze lock closed and feel the first tear roll down my cheek. This might be a little too much, even for me. I’m used to having to adapt to new situations at the drop of a hat, since foster care didn’t make for the stablest of environments.

But this . . . The massive upswing . . .

A tear rolls down my other cheek, and I use the backs of my hands to wipe the tears away. I stare at the floor because I can’t handle looking at all the extra-ness that surrounds me. This entire thing is just . . .

I press the back of my hand to my open mouth, trying to stifle the sob that desperately wants to escape. How am I supposed to map this to any version of my reality? It’s too surreal.

Too much.

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