Page 44 of Baby Girl
“San Diego,” Xavier mutters, working to bring all the cards into a messy pile so he can shuffle for the next hand.
The grin that splits Darcy’s face is huge. “Ah, right. Yep, that will do it.”
Smiling, I put my small blind out next to Darcy’s and settle in for the next hand.
All there is left to do is wait and see what hand the kink gods deal us.
For all our sakes, I hope we get our queen.
Chapter 23
Emery
Where the fuck is it?
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I survey my room. There is shit everywhere. Well, not actual shit. But I’ve stripped my bags, wardrobe, and bed bare because, for some stupid reason, I thought that my sketchpad and graphite could have possibly made it in between my sheets.
Now all I have is a room that is even worse off than yesterday, since I didn’t bother cleaning up the original search mess, and still no goddamn art supplies. Even my trashy sketchbook is missing. I just really want to fucking draw. And sure, yeah, I could totally do that with a regular pencil and paper, or heck, I could use my gift card and go to the store Darcy took me to, but I want my things, the things I followed all the rules to receive.
The things I deserve.
So, I repeat, where the fuck are they?
Because they clearly aren’t fucking here.
They should have been in the bag that Xavier brought home from the apartment, which Derek said he was packing up my things and having delivered to the dorm. So, does that mean he packed up my things from the apartment? If yes, then there is no way he left any of them at their place. The man is the most detail-oriented person I have ever met.
I’m fairly confident that he has his entire life completely planned out, with a list of checkboxes next to each major milestone. They probably all have a pros-and-cons list too. Maybe even a project timeline to make sure they are completed perfectly on schedule.
Okay. Assuming Derek packed my things, then gave them to Xavier to bring to the dorm, maybe they are in Xavier’s car? And, of course, when I actually want him to be here, he isn’t. I have zero idea where he is right now, but he’s probably in a class or maybe his office, if I’m lucky.
It takes a minute to unearth my phone from the mess of clothes on my bed, but once I do, I shoot off a text to him, then proceed to stare at the screen, chewing on the side of my thumb while I wait for a reply. If he isn’t teaching, then I should know within a few seconds. Otherwise, I guess I’ll have to wait.
Me:Are my sketchbooks and graphite case in your car?
It only takes a few seconds for the message to turn toread.
Xavier:No.
If the universe was even a little bit on my side, it would allow the glare I’m glaring at my screen to digitally transfer through the ether and come out of Xavier’s phone as laser beams that burn his stupid gorgeous face off.
With maybe a little too much force for the glass screen of my phone, I type out my reply.
Me:Were they with my things when you picked them up?
Xavier:No.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
The scream explodes out of me like a high-pitched whistle. He is so fucking annoying. And immature. And ridiculous. And irritating. Oh my fucking god. Clearly, I want to know where my things are. He must have some fucking clue. Why the hell is he like this?
How the hell did I think his aloofness was attractive? Mysterious, even? Like he has some sort of dark, hidden secret that only his true love could unravel? Is it the cat-and-mouse game? Like he knows the secrets to life but isn’t willing to share unless you ask the exact right question.
No, the guy is just a fuckface who likes to torment people. Fucking asshole.
Fine. Let’s say I believe him, when the more likely scenario is that he has stolen my things and is going to hold them for ransom. The next logical conclusion is that Derek did not pack them, which, while highly unbelievable, is the most likely option.
Well, maybe. Xavier could have dropped them at some point and not noticed. But like Derek not packing them, I just can’t see Xavier dropping something unnoticed.
