I returned to the livingroom after a long shower. Chance was asleep at the other end, curled up with my blanket. Since it belonged to me, I snatched it off him and got comfortable on my end of the couch.
When I awoke, I was in a different position, and we were sharing my small blanket. Chance was behind me. His face curled in the crook of my neck, and his warm breath was comforting. I let out a ragged puff, confused by our impromptu snuggle, and tugged from his embrace.
Chance tightened his hold around my waist, stirring from his nap. With force, I pushed at his arm, dragged away, and tumbled to the floor.
"Are you okay?" Chance groggily asked, wiping his eyes, "What are you doing on the floor?"
Avoiding his question, I focused on my escape from Chad's offensive family, "I've got to go home but my mom is out of town.... and I was hoping you could take me home."
"Maybe later. Get back up here."
I turned up my nose at the thought of cuddling with him and headed out of the living room to change out of my night clothes and find Tara.
After dressing in a cotton skirt, tank top, and cardigan, I searched the first few rooms for Tara before I looked into the bathroom. She was nowhere to be found. I didnt find her outside. I hurried back into the living room. Chance was sitting up, watching a movie.
"I can't find Tara!" I blurted.
"That's because she's not here. I took her to my grandma's this morning." Chance informed me as the color drained from my cheeks.
"Um, Well, you should take me home."
"I don't want to," he smirked, patting the cushion beside him, "Just sit down and relax."
Sitting at the far end of the couch, I focused on the movie, taking minor glances at Chance. He was shirtless, wearing only his boxers and socks. His pale legs were long and lean, stretched out on the ottoman.
His voice sounded over the surround speakers, "Want me to order pizza?" he asked, rubbing his hard stomach.
"No," I sneered, "I want you to take me home."
"Sushi?" Chance asked, "Let me guess, you want a burrito, huh?"
"No," I frowned, focusing on the large flat screen.
"Are you on one of those diets or something?"
"I just don't want to eat."
"Uh-huh, you don't want to eat, but you're obviously hungry."
"You are deranged."
"Why? Cause I won't take you home?"
"Bingo."
"You said yourself that your mom isn't home. Why would you sit at home alone when you can sit here with me."
I ignored him and pouted, wishing I could escape this hell. We had established our dislike of each other, and I had not forgotten the assault by his hands at church--the way he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. I never thought I would be his victim or end up being his fathers.
"America." Chance chuckled.
"What?"
I saw his features soften and his hand spread out on the gap, "Truce, okay, let's just be friends. You and my brother are good for each other, and I might have gotten jealous. I mean, come on, you're hot."
"I'm not hot," I creased my brows.
Chance leaned back and chuckled, observing me, and his gaze made me nervous. His opinion that I was good-looking didn't change how he had treated me.
"You're very hot," he continued as I scoffed, rolling my eyes toward the television, "I think others would agree. And would find it weird you are losing these good years to a gay guy."
"Fuck you."
His eyes widened from my use of profanity, but I was growing angry at his games.
Chance stood and waved, "Come on. I want to show you something."
I gave him a yeah, right, and made myself more comfortable on the couch.
"Seriously, America. No funny business."
Why I followed him into his room is a question that I often ask myself to this day.
His room was huge, more prominent than the living room in my mom's double-wide. It was dark with blackout curtains, but the various screens illuminated the room with light. I had the creeps from his vibe before, but entering his layer gave me chills.
Chance flipped around his mouse and brightened the screen with a camera view of him and me standing in front of the screen. There was a blurry pixel over his face and mine, but the quality of our frames was excellent.
"What's this?" I asked, "Live streaming?"
Chance nodded and pointed toward the open chat box. The messages poured through by the dozens and I couldn't barely keep up.
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Grandmaster04: Who is this girl?
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DnDposterchild: Holy shit? She looks like a doll I have. Is she Mexican?
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WickedArmor187: Cute. Let's see those tits.
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PolarPoverty: Beautiful!
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HamsterMindcraft: Damn, she's hot.
-
"I wasn't lying," Chance smiled.
The messages flooded in droves. I could glimpse only a few that didn't make me gag. Most of them were asking for my number, and some were asking that I take my clothes off.
I heard a chime before a huge memo appeared, filling the screen with a neon green light.
-- Grandmaster04 sent a 15 tip: Beautiful woman. Single?
"No," I turned my nose up, "I-"
"She's my brother's girlfriend, guys. Relax. Cool off. You guys will wet your keyboards over a piece of pussy."
I chuckled at his joke and glared at the screen, happy my face was blurred.
"They can't see my face, right?"
"Nah. But GM sent you some money."
"Thanks," I blushed, trying to keep up with the hectic chat, "Thank you, Ken745. I got it at Old Navy."
-- WildManWanted66 sent you a $10 tip.
"Come on, wild man, ten dollars! Mexico here is worth at least another few zeros," Chance chuckled, then peered toward me, "Wanna make some money?"
I knew what he wanted and said, "No thanks."
"It's legit," Chance urged, giving me a sincere look, "Give me your bank card."
"No, I am broke."
"No shit. I can set it up so the tips go into your account." Chance changed his voice into a hushed whisper, "They will pay a lot just to talk to you. I don't mind sharing."
At that moment, another neon sticker popped on the screen with a dollar sign.
-- WickedArmor187 sent a $5 tip: Take her top off!
I rolled my eyes, "Disgusting."
"Come on, yeah, some are pervs, others are cool. They can't see your face. Just play along. Tell him thanks. Be flirty."
I scoffed, "Thanks a lot, Wicked Armor, but my top is staying on."
Chance frowned, "America, seriously? Just play along and give me your card. They aren't sending tips to me. They are for you. You deserve them."