Chapter 8: Kinda, Not Really, But Whatever
Four days, seven job applications, two Craigslist scams, and one existential spiral so dramatic I should’ve gotten an Oscar for the performance.
I’m officially broke.
Rationing ketchup packets, eating cereal with water broke.
My bank account wheezes every time I open it. Even my landlord, who manages to look both decaying and constipated, has started giving me the you better not be skipping rent again side-eye whenever I walk past.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is... I can’t stop thinking about them.
I cannot take that job.
Corrian, with that terrifying calm and voice like sin. Leo, all rage and sweat and thighs thick enough to crush a sinner’s resolve. Ezra, who I know would make me cum then buy me a house to say thank you. Jax, whose mouth should be declared a weapon of mass flirtation. River, whose one line of dialogue has been haunting my nipples.
Every night since that moment in the woods has been a sleep-deprived festival of what the actual fuck. My dreams are all sweat and snarls and teeth grazing skin. I’ve tried everything. Cold showers. Hot showers. Crying into soup. Nothing works.
I’ve tried ignoring them. Like maybe if I deleted the job ad and ghosted the whole damn thing, I could get my life back.
Spoiler; I cannot.
Now I’m here, on the edge of my crusty mattress, thumb hovered over the text thread I swore I’d never open again.
I don’t overthink it. (Lies. I overthink everything. But I act fast, so it feels impulsive and sexy.)
Text to Corrian;
’If I hypothetically wanted to un-quit, would the ’pack’ of freakishly hot, sex on legs still want me? Asking for a friend. She’s poor, emotionally unstable and weirdly good with children.’
I fling the phone and curl into myself like a dead spider.
Thirty seconds later my phone dings.
Corrian;
’Come home.’
Okay, I’m panicking.
He replied so fast, too fast. Has he been sitting there staring at the phone, hoping I’d text?
I clutch the phone to my chest, allow one full minute for the panic to rule, and then I start packing. It only takes minutes, all my worldly possessions fit in one overstuffed duffel bag.
There’s no plan, just a feeling. A pull. And maybe a little voice whispering go back go back go back on a loop in my head like a horny siren.
I scribble a half-assed note to my landlord about breaking the lease and promise to Venmo him once I have the cash. Will I follow through? Probably. I’m not a leech. Just poor.
Bam bam bam.
I freeze, bag half-zipped, heart crawling into my throat.
Three more knocks.
With one deep breath, I fling the door wide and blink up into the coldest, cleanest, most infuriatingly smug face I’ve ever seen.
Ezra’s still in all black, hair slicked, sleeves rolled, frame taut with quiet superiority.
"Is that all you’re bringing?" he asks, nodding at my sad little duffel.
I shrug.
"It’s all I’ve got. We aren’t all blessed with a trust fund."
He smirks. I’m a child holding up a macaroni painting, and he’s deciding whether to hang it on the fridge or set it on fire.
Still, he takes the bag.
A hand, not quite pushy but definitely assertive, finds the small of my back and guides me toward the street where his car is parked. Not just any car. A sleek black thing that is probably called Phantom Widowmaker or something equally pretentious.
He opens the door for me. A gentleman, or a predator luring me into a stylish trap.
I slide in, trying to act cool while my insides are doing gymnastics. The interior smells like leather and money.
"Comfy?" he asks once we’re off the curb.
"Emotionally? No. Physically? Yes, thank you for asking."
A beat of silence.
Then he says, way too casually,
"I leave you alone for five minutes and come back to find Leo in a blood rage, River a feral beast, Jax hard as a rock, and Corrian looking like a kicked puppy."
"Typical Friday," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest like that’ll keep my hormones from bursting into flames. "Maybe don’t let your sexy frat bros loose around unsupervised women."
He chuckles and it strikes me I didn’t think Ezra could chuckle. It’s a rich, velvet sound that turns my flaps to jelly.
We travel in silence after that, not in a bad way. Heavy with questions I don’t have the guts to ask yet, such as; Who even are you people? and, Why the hell do I want to climb every single one of you like a jungle gym?
We pull up to the property and my heart lurches.
I’m back.
"Still don’t know what this job is by the way," I say as I unbuckle my seatbelt and mentally prepare to re-enter the Twilight Zone.
"That’s a Corrian conversation," Ezra replies smoothly, stepping around to open my door. "Get settled first."
And just as I’m about to thank him like a functioning adult, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a card.
A matte black one.
"What the hell’s this?"
"For you," he says. "Use it for whatever you need."
"Absolutely not," I snap. "I’m not a sugar baby."
Leaning in close, his voice drops low and deep.
"Take it now," he says, eyes burning into mine, "or I’ll force you to have it later."
Holy fuck. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise and every cell in my body is doing inappropriate things in reaction. I’m pretty sure my uterus just saluted.
I snatch the card, cheeks blazing, "You’re insufferable."
He grins with full teeth. The same elongated canines as Jax, must be the same dentist?
"Welcome back, Frankie."
