Good Girl (Sugar Life #2)

3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Emery

Twenty. Motherfucking. Thousand. Dollars.

I sit—emotionally numb—in the back seat of the cab as it pulls into the parking lot for the on-campus student housing at Newton University.

Who the hell are these bastards that they have thirty K—including the ten from tonight—to blow on a living sex doll for the weekend? They don’t give off gang vibes. Well, Xavier tips the scale the smallest amount with the blood thing, but no. You don’t see gang members wandering around in tailored suit pants.

The mob, maybe? Is that even still a thing? Even then, the thought of them being criminals doesn’t sit right. I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by the slime of Chicago; Derek, Hudson, Darcy, and Xavier don’t give off the same vibe.

Daddy.

Viper.

Angel.

Hunter.

I mentally run through the names that I gave the men I just spent the last two hours with, letting them use my body in ways I’ve never even thought about. And now they want me to give myself to them for the entire weekend.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I startle at the cab driver’s heavily accented voice as it pierces the void that has surrounded us for the entire trip from the hotel to here.

Our eyes connect in his mirror, then he turns to look at me, concern written all over his face. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

I choke on my laughter because, yes? No? I have no fucking clue.

If he asked me that after any other sexual encounter I’ve had, I probably would have answered with a no , when I should have said yes.

But this time? I want to answer with yes , but I should say no .

I feel like I’m fracturing from the inside out. They tore me apart at the seams, rearranged the pieces, and put me back together in a jumbled-up mess that somehow feels right.

More right than just a few hours ago.

“I’m . . . fine,” I reply, because what else can I say?

Sorry I’m a touch spacy right now. I just let four strange men, double my age, rail me into the mattress until my soul was wrenched from my body?

He actually turns around and looks at me through the plastic divider, dark eyebrows pulled together over dark eyes. “Are you sure?”

Am I sure?

Not really, no. But I also don’t think that I’m not fine. So...

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thank you for the ride.” I gather my things and get out of the cab.

When I glance back in, I can tell he wants to say more, so I just wave and shut the door before heading toward the gate that opens to the student apartments.

Black lampposts line the way, the golden glow from the old-school lantern-like fixtures lighting my way down what would otherwise be a very dark path because of the thick trees that create a canopy against the wall of the buildings.

I dash up the outer staircase and swipe my security token against the black panel screwed into the wall. The little light above the handle flicks to green, and I pull the door open and launch myself up the two flights of carpeted stairs to my apartment door.

Swiping the token again, I wait for the door to engage, then push into the room. For some reason, I’m shocked when I find the lights and TV on. I expected Oakley to be asleep. But, really, it’s barely even ten on a Friday night.

Speak of the devil—I spot her sitting on the couch, a scoop of ice cream inches from her mouth as she stares back at me. An ad for toothpaste plays on the TV as her face twists in confusion. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” I reply as I drop my shit right there in the doorway and march into the kitchen. Snatching up a spoon from the drawer, I head over to the couch, drop onto the cushion next to Oakley, and steal the ice cream tub from her.

I ignore the way my vagina is twitching with all the movement. And not in a good way.

Oakley’s gaze bores into the side of my face as I scoop up some...oh, yum, cookies and cream. With my eyes closed, I relish in the frozen dessert, using my tongue to search out the chunks of chocolate cookie.

I’m on my third scoop before she loses her patience.

“You’re going to have to give me a little more than yeah ,” she demands as she retrieves her ice cream from me and takes her own scoop. “Did they not turn up or something?”

I snort. “They definitely turned up.”

Her nose scrunches. “Didn’t match their pictures? That is always a deal-breaker for me.”

She offers me the tub, and I take another scoop. “Uh, no, they definitely matched.”

She tips her head to the side, and the topknot of blonde curls tips precariously to the side. “Then why...”

I suck the ice cream from my spoon and eye her warily. She’d been supportive earlier today.

Holy fuck. The discussion about check-in times and being murdered had only been a few hours ago.

Apparently sensing my hesitation, she adjusts to face me fully and reiterates her words from earlier. “This is a judgment-free zone. We barely know each other. I’m hoping we’ll end up bosom buddies and drink wine together until we are old, but the only way that is going to happen is if we both spill our guts to each other and promise to never, ever judge. Even if one of us admits to having a crush on Anakin Skywalker.”

“Bosom buddies?” I can’t help but chuckle. “What are you, fucking eighty?”

She shrugs and turns back to the TV, taking the ice cream with her, ever so nonchalantly. “If you don’t want to be my bosom buddy, then you don’t need to tell me why you are walking with a limp.”

“Oh my god. I do not have a fucking limp.” I drop my head onto the back of the couch. As I stare at the white ceiling with vague stains here and there, I decide to just blurt it out. “Fine. Anakin Skywalker, it is. And you better mean it, because shit is going to be hella awkward for the next year if you don’t.”

When nothing but silence greets my statement, I figure that’s a green light.

“It was gang bang central, Oaks. At one point, I had three dicks inside of me.” The couch creaks as she readjusts to look at me, and I roll my head on the cushion so that I can see her. “And one of them liked to watch and hold me still, so the others could use me. They used my own fucking lingerie to tie my hands up.”

Oakley’s eyes are as wide as saucers, and her spoon is hanging limply from her fingertips. “Three? At once?”

I hum. “Yeah, and I don’t do anal, so you do the math on that.”

Her mouth pops open, and I snicker when her gaze darts down to my crotch for half a second before returning to my face.

I point a finger at her. “Anakin Skywalker.”

Oakley’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click, then her entire bottom lip disappears into her mouth. Seemingly remembering the spoon and ice cream, she places them both on the coffee table before rearranging herself into a weird leg pretzel, pulling the scrunchie from her blonde hair, gathering it over her shoulder and then resettling into the corner of the couch. Then she stares at me. “I mean this with the least amount of judgment possible, but wow, girl. Jumped straight into the deep end with that one, didn’t you? Can I get you anything? Ice, maybe?”

I huff out a laugh and wave her off. “I know, right? And no, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Was it good, at least? Did they, you know... Did everyone get an orgasm?” She doesn’t quite stumble over the words, but she isn’t comfortable saying them.

“I think it might have been the best sex of my life,” I reply, but then I call myself on the lie as memories fling themselves from the locked closet in the back of my mind. “No, scratch that. I don’t think it, I know it. It was the best sexual experience of my life. And the not having permission to come was—”

“Wow, hold on. You didn’t have permission to c-come? What does that even mean?”

I stare at Oakley, because isn’t that self-explanatory? Taking a serious moment, I look at her. I hadn’t really noticed anything beyond all the designer labels and perfectly styled blonde hair, but now that I’m looking at her, I’m thinking she might be a little more innocent than I’d originally thought.

“Oaks, are you a virgin?”

She sputters at my question, cheeks glowing red. “No, nope. Definitely not. I’ve had sex, plenty of sex. Long-term high school boyfriend.”

Okay, so not a total virgin. I raise an eyebrow. “And?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “And, what?”

“And who else?”

Somehow, she looks even more confused. “Who else...have I had sex with? No one. Just him.”

My other eyebrow joins the first.

She mimics my expression. “Why, how many men—people—have you slept with?”

“Men, boys,” I confirm, and without thinking, I blurt out my answer. “More than fifty, less than one hundred.” Oakley’s mouth falls open again, and I jab a finger in her direction. “Anakin Skywalker. You promised.”

A squeak escapes her, and she darts off the couch. “Okay, just, ah. Give me a minute. I need a minute.”

She scoops up the tub of ice cream and the spoon and disappears into the kitchen.

Fuck, did I say too much?

I’ve never done the chick best friend thing before. It was always Tray and me against the world. We were each other’s everything. He did his best to protect me when he could, and I was always there to bail him out of whatever situation he’d gotten himself into. Hence, the high body count. I was usually all he had to pay his debts with.

Oakley is gone long enough that I turn to look into the kitchen. She’s gripping two glasses of water as she comes back and retakes her seat, offering me one of the glasses.

“So, let me get this straight. I signed you up to SugarLife, you cherry-picked a red box invitation, met four men at a hotel, had a gang bang, you’re home way earlier than expected because they double stuffed your taco, and now you’re walking with a limp?”