Page 30 of Good Girl

Why is she calling themMaster? And what event?

“Hello, Dylan,” Derek replies. “We had a prior engagement last weekend.”

Dylan’s eyes clash with mine, her smile dipping the smallest amount, before returning her attention back to Derek, a question clearly written all over her face. “That’s okay. Will you be there tonight?”

A very fine film of discomfort has fallen over our group. I try not to seem too interested in their conversation, but come on. This girl practically has hearts falling out of her eyes for Derek.

“No, not tonight. We already have plans,” Derek states in a voice that says the conversation is over. “How about we order our drinks?”

“Oh, okay. Um, yes. What can I get you?” She scrambles to pull a pad of paper and a pen out of her apron pocket.

Disappointment is written all over Dylan’s face, and I’m surprised by the tiniest bubble of sympathy that forms for her. But, at the same time, I’m insanely confused by this whole thing.

“Emmy?” Derek asks, and I ping-pong between his face and Dylan’s.

I blink a few times. “Uh, I’d like a Coke?”

Derek raises his eyebrow at me, and I glance at Dylan, her gaze also ping-ponging between Derek and myself. My cheeks burn, but I do as implied.

“Please, Daddy, may I have a Coke?”

Dylan’s eyes are wide. “Daddy—”

“Dylan.” Xavier cuts off whatever she was about to say.

She turns to look at him, her face going a little pale as Xavier glares at her. “S-sorry.”

“Yes, baby, you can. I’ll take a Coke as well,” Derek responds, pretending like the last few seconds didn’t happen. The others place their orders before the girl disappears.

Silence falls. I feel like I should be asking questions about what just happened, but why? I’m not whatever Dylan thinks I am.I’m temporary, only here for the weekend. And even though my stomach feels tight, it’s a good reminder that the information isn’t something I need to know.

“So, Emmy, tell us a little bit about yourself,” Hudson says, breaking the silence. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and then shuffles the place setting in front of him closer to the center before bracing his elbows on the table.

Stomach suddenly doing an internal belly dance, I lean back and pretend to discreetly fan out my skirt a little more, giving me a moment to think about how I want to answer this. Is there really any need to tell them about me, if what we are doing ends tomorrow? I learned a long time ago to not hand out too many pieces of myself. So, I decide to go with a flirty, if a little bratty, response.

“I’m not very interesting. I’d actually like to know more about the four of you. How did you become friends? And how did you get from friends to friends who fuck in a group?”

Darcy grins but looks away.

Hudson leans closer. “I highly doubt you are uninteresting. Tell us about your family. Where do they think you are this weekend?”

I grit my teeth and mask it as a smile. Fuck, came out swinging with that first question, didn’t they? “There’s nothing to tell.”

Hudson quirks an eyebrow before reaching for his phone and opening an app. “How about this? For every answer you give us, I’ll turn on your vibrator for one minute.”

I swallow heavily, my tummy growing warm as I dart my eyes around the almost full restaurant. “Here?”

He hums and leans back, taking his phone with him. “Well, that is entirely up to you. You can choose to say no, and we can sit here and discuss the weather, no getting to know you and no orgasms. Then, when we are back in the apartment, you’ll be on restriction until the end of our time together. You’ll spend therest of the weekend being used by the four of us, whenever we want, however we want, with your orgasms few and far between. If any.”

We stare at each other for long enough that a waiter—not Dylan—comes back with our drinks. They all ordered sodas as well, which is kind of strange for grown-ass men, but whatever. Maybe it's a solidarity thing, since I’m too young to legally drink. Not that drinking is going to be a thing I waste my money on.

How much can I tell them before it’s too much? Telling them I’m an orphan and there isn’t a living soul on the planet who gives a fuck if I live or die—well, maybe Oakley—is definitely too much for weekend fuck partners. But that’s my answer to the question they’re asking.

Apparently, I’m taking too long to answer, because a very gentle internal vibe begins inside of me.

“How about a little incentive to start?”

My chest raises on a sharp breath, and I really want to rock my pelvis to get the little toy to press deeper inside of me. I’m a slave for this toy. Holy fuck, with how fast it pushed me over the edge in the fitting room, I’m seriously considering spending some of the thirty K on one for myself.

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