Page 11 of Chaining Daisy
He grunts, his fingers digging into me for just a second before he releases me. “Then go change.”
I immediately scramble forward to do what he asks.
The smack on my ass is unexpected—it stings and makes me gasp in shock. But as I hurry up the stairs, the sting fades to a prickle that morphs into a longing throb.
I imagine him spanking me for real … fuck. Now it’s not just my shirt I need to change. My panties have to go too.
* * *
“I didn’t thinkmath could be more boring. But add a Russian accent that makes it unintelligible and boom! I couldn’t even pretend to concentrate.” Rose rolls her dark brown eyes as she sets down her tray at one of the outdoor picnic tables surrounding the Student Union building. The big, ugly block structure behind us is a cesspit full of shallow chit-chat and diabetes-inducing scents. It’s way too crowded for me. I’m used to quiet hospital hallways and lots of time at the house. But I slap on a smile because this is going to be my new normal. And it will be fine.
Though there are plenty of tables in the shade, and some open near the grassy knolls surrounding the campus duck pond, Rosie picks one in the sun, because she’s a Vitamin D addict. Give that girl sunshine and a dirty book and she’s set for hours.
She’s lucky the weather is cooperating with her preferences today. Even though it’s mid-January, Albuquerque is going through a strange wave of decent weather. The wind is non-existent and it’s sixty degrees, though it feels warmer when the sun soaks into your shoulders for a bit, which I’m certain is Rose’s plan. The other Wild Flowers and I follow her to a square table.
Only elementary school girls could think that having floral names was a solid reason for starting up a lifelong friendship. But stranger things have happened. Our little foursome has been together since we were seven years old.
We’ve seen each other through Rose’s parents’ divorce, Violet’s discovery that her family is a little, tiny bit tied to the Irish mob (as in majorly tied—hogtied), and of course, my mom’s—I can’t even think the word.
Other than Gunnar, these girls are my family. My loud, chatty,opinionatedfamily.
“I thought the T.A. was hot,” Lily disagrees, flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulder. She’s the loudest and most beautiful of the group. She even had a stalker in high school, some guy who traced her social media and showed up at her door. She had to get a restraining order and everything, and he eventually got sent to jail—which made her a bit of a high school celebrity.
“You think everyone’s hot.” Violet sets a dish of cold handmade pasta salad on the table next to me as she slings her backpack over the back of the seat. Conservative, an excellent cook who taught me everything I know, and completely fluent in both Spanish and Italian—Violet looks like a girl who has her life all put together. But the four of us know things aren’t always what they seem. Violet actually has zero control over her own destiny. In a way, that makes me sad. But, in another way, I long for the comfort of knowing what’s coming next, of my family solving my problems for me, someone else taking care of me. She’s lucky, and she doesn’t know it.
“Did anyone think that T.A. had a weird nose?” I ask as I sit.
“Could you even see his nose? He was looking at the board most of the time,” Rose comments as she digs into some chicken nuggets she snagged inside. She pushes a black curl behind her ear, revealing a gold heart-shaped earring as she dips a nugget into sauce.
Gunnar would get so pissed if I was eating that.I sit down across from Rose and set my backpack on my lap and unzip it to find the lunch he packed me. I used to resist him on this stuff. Takeout was all I had in high school when Mom was sick. But somewhere along the way … it just got easier to submit. And then … one day, I started to like eating healthy and then even cooking healthy.
I yank out an icepack and dig underneath it to find a fresh fruit salad, crackers, and tuna fish sandwich … s he out to sabotage me? Seriously? He’s giving me tuna breath on day one?
I purse my lips and consider texting him something snarky. But he had a surgery scheduled for midday, so he won’t even have his phone on him. Jerk.
I can hear all his arguments about omega-threes inside my head but part of me wonders—the same part of me that wondered about changing clothes this morning—if something else is going on.
His behavior is weird. But it’s also weirdly possessive. Why is it that the former is a big fat nope from me, but the latter …? Well, I wouldn’t mind the latter. If Gunnar wants me to change out of hot clothes and give me wildly bad breath to keep college guys away because he wants me for himself—
But what if I’m just making things up? Overthinking? I mean, other than Mom’s live-in nurses and my girls here, I haven’t seen anyone but the other animal shelter volunteers in months. My humaning is not necessarily on point right now and my imagination might be a little too fine-tuned.
The only person I could possibly ask about all of this is Rose—because we’re closest, but also because I know she has a crush on someone who would piss her brother off.
But there’s zero chance I’ll get her alone before her English class in half an hour. Not when Lily and I have World History in forty-five minutes. Shit.
I bite down on my lip as I stare at a couple of students carrying tennis rackets walking across campus. How am I supposed to decide if I’m pissed about this sandwich situation or thrilled? If Gunnar is trying to sabotage my chances with guys on campus, does it even mean he’s interested? Or is it just another aspect of his overprotective, controlling nature?
If he’s interested … which is a fucking long shot…what does that even mean? What about Mom? Is it a betrayal? Is it bad?
Rose has told me repeatedly that we can’t help who we’re drawn to—it’s written in the stars. She likes to be all die-hard romantic about it.
But if it was written in the stars, why did he marry my mother?
I reach over and steal one of Rose’s nuggies, ignoring the way her big brown eyes widen at the theft as she swats at my hand. I need some diabetes-inducing caloric relief for all the heavy mental processing I’m doing here.
“I’ve already taken Algebra I in high school, so at least the class is easy,” Lily continues the conversation from where she sits catty-corner to me. Her auburn hair is up in a French twist, her nails are perfectly manicured, and she’s eyeing my pink tank top skeptically. “What happened to that shirt I bought you?”
“Spilled coffee on it,” I lie, making an apologetic face.
