“You better eat it before his face melts. Not a pretty sight, trust me,” he said. I took a couple of packets of raw sugar and dumped the contents in my coffee as Bratt set down some cutlery next to my plate. I stirred my coffee with my fork before cutting through a wedge of the pancakes and taking a bite. “Mmm,” I moaned. They were perfectly fluffy, delicately sweet, with a slightly crispy edge. “How do you do that? How do you get them nice and crispy around the edges?” “Butter,” he said. “The low smoke point helps the sugars caramelize. Some people don’t like it, but I prefer it that way.” “I love it,” I said, shoveling another bite into my mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I actually was until the food started hitting my stomach. Wyatt had always made derogatory jabs when I ate too fast or too much. Little Piggy was a favorite of his. But Bratt didn’t seem to mind as I chowed down. He only leaned against the kitchen island and sipped from a travel mug. When I was nearly don
By the time the school day ended, I felt like a train had hit me. The day had been so long and chock-full of planning and talking. If I wasn’t telling Lana every single anti-climactic detail of my night with Bratt, then I was telling Paulette about the break-in. If I wasn’t doing that, then I was making arrangements with Bratt for the new equipment for the house—including him asking about colors for fixtures he supposedly already had. I didn’t like the idea of him spending money on me, but I tried my best to think of the numerous times he’d promised that he liked taking care of people. Still, Lana’s words—about him never working for free—made me nervous. I hoped I wasn’t writing a check I couldn’t cash. The kids were especially rowdy all day, too. It was a common thing after the first day of school. They’d gotten their nerves out of the way the previous day and were now fearless and confident that they had already learned everything. I’d always taken exception to the idea that teena
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whined. “Paulette, how could you let me forget?” “Me? You’re the one who is always reminding me of what needs to be done! I could have sworn you knew,” Paulette said. “I’ve been a little distracted,” I said as I frantically labeled multi-colored folders with the names of my students’ parents. “By a hot shifter daddy who wants your gams?” Paulette asked. “By a scary shifter stalker breaking into my house,” I snapped back. “Right,” Paulette said. “Makes sense. Here, tear the list in half, and I’ll do the other ones.” It was lunchtime at POSHA, and the kids were all sitting out on the picnic benches with either their lunch boxes or the trays of lunch the school provided. We had approximately twenty minutes to get all of these folders labeled, stuff them with hastily written teacher bios, come up with an icebreaker game, and figure out what refreshments to offer our parents. It was parents’ night, which usually happened three or four weeks into the school yea
BrattMarley had insisted on going through with parents’ night. Regardless of how much I could see her fear on her face, regardless of how we could all smell it seeping from her pores, she refused to cancel.“Marley,” I’d said, trying to appeal to her sense of reason. “This is a very clear and horrible threat. You need to take it seriously.”She’d only shaken her head. “No, it’s impossible. You beefed up the security. You said yourself that people can only get in with a special code, and I haven’t given that code to anyone, not even Lana. They probably just took the photo the first time they broke in and saved it to try and scare me.”“Do you really want to take that chance?” Paulette had asked, and for the first time, I was grateful for her. I nodded my agreement. “Why don’t you just stay with me or Lana tonight?”“I think that would be a good idea,” I’d said.“Bratt, you were the one who told me that if I cave into these sorts of threats, it’ll only get worse,” she said. “I can’t le
Bratt could go fuck himself.Okay, maybe that was a little strong. But who the hell did he think he was? We’d just had a heart-to-heart about boundaries the night before, and now he was commanding me to let his buddy take me to his house. Trying to force me into taking advantage of someone else’s hospitality? He had no right. I could take care of myself.As we watched Bratt streak into the darkness of the night, I looked over to Paulette. “Don’t call the cops,” I said.“But, the wolf toy,” Paulette said. “What if it’s something serious, Mar?”“The cops aren’t going to do anything, Paulette. Trust me. I have firsthand experience with this. And the last thing I want to hear right now is how this is just a stupid prank, or field questions about my past or my family, or anything like that.”“But—”“Paulette, I am asking you, as my friend, not to call the cops. I’m asking you to respect me enough to listen to what I want.”Paulette frowned at me and set her phone down. “Marley, if somethin
BRATT. “Marley, I’m fine,” I said, pressing a hand to my aching rib. “I’ve got some salve upstairs. I probably just got something lodged in there.” “Lodged in there?!” she cried, and I winced at the high pitch of her voice. An ache was growing in my head, pounding at my temples like a prisoner trying to escape. “Bratt, just how bad was this fight?” “I had to really chase after him, had to kinda barrel into him like a linebacker,” I said through gritted teeth. The second half of the stairs extending ahead of us felt more like a gauntlet than a little stride through my house. It wasn’t so much that I was in enormous amounts of pain, more that the adrenaline of the day was finally beginning to fade and emphasize my injuries. I could feel my lats trembling. Something was definitely stuck in there. Shit. With Marley’s help, I made it to my room. It still smelled of steam and soap from her shower. Even in my woozy haze, I couldn’t help but think of her as she rinsed the fear and trauma
I woke a few hours later to the theme song for Adventure Hour. It startled me. Everything felt too loud, too much.Groaning, I lifted my head from where I’d slumped down onto the couch. I tried to remember falling asleep, tried to remember how I’d gotten into Bratt’s house again. The details came back to me in a slow drip, my brain booting up after the stressful evening. I sat up fully and stretched my arms over my head.The remote was on the coffee table next to the abandoned bowls from the dinner Bratt had made for us. I turned off the television and grabbed up the bowls, carrying them into the kitchen and placing them in the sink. I checked the time on the stove’s digital clock—it was the early hours of the morning. I could still get a few hours of sleep before I had to get up for the day.I rubbed my forehead. I felt like I was forgetting something important.Then it dawned on me that it was Friday night—I wouldn’t have work the next day. The first week of school had put me throug
BrattI woke the next day thinking of Marley.Against my will, I might add.Every time I tried to divert my thoughts away from her, I somehow wound up wondering about her ex, or wanting to do some sort of sweet gesture, or wanting to kiss her…yeah, just kiss her.When I finally worked up the nerve to come out of my bedroom and look for her, I found the guest room empty. Noah was still fast asleep in his room, likely from whatever sleep he’d lost when he’d gone to find Marley and wound up conscripting her to put him back to bed. I felt oddly disappointed as I walked out to the kitchen, finding all the dishes washed and set in the drying rack.I thought she would have at least waited to say goodbye.Just when I was about to let her fleeing sour my mood for the day, however, I found a note written in her bubbly script on the counter.Thank you for everything you did for me last night. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I put your clothes in the washer—I just figured it would be e