I’d always been independent. I’d gotten my driver’s license as soon as I was legally allowed to, and before I got the BMW, I’d been driving around my mom’s old Jetta. No longer having to rely on my parents or boyfriend for rides had been a relief. I never had to ask for permission or wait around for anyone else.

So texting the group chat, Hey, can I get a quick ride to the coffee shop? felt like going back in time. I hated to ask. Besides, this surely had to be annoying to them. I was supposed to be paying them, not getting chauffeured around.

But it had been their idea in the first place.

I can. Manson was the first one to text me back. Give me fifteen minutes, I’ll be over.

I immediately hurried into the bathroom to touch up my makeup. It took several minutes of obsessive preening before I recognized the jittery feeling in my stomach as nervous excitement, like that sensation of anxiety before a first date. But Manson was just picking me up for coffee. It was nothing serious, nothing to get all worked up over.

I put down my mascara, staring at my reflection. I looked different than I had a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure how or why. It was like my face had relaxed, as if I’d been holding tension there and hadn’t even known it.

It was relaxing to finally be getting fucked right; that was for sure. No one else I’d been with had ever satisfied me like these men did. It was more than merely their casual dominance, their filthy words.

They made my life exciting. I never knew what to expect. I no longer knew if I was facing a regular day or if one of them would call, text, or come by and pick me up for a debauched adventure. It took my mind off work and buried all my petty day-to-day stressors.

I enjoyed spending time with them far more than I’d ever thought I would. I liked being in their company, conversing with them, learning from them. And they seemed to genuinely enjoy being around me too — except maybe Lucas, but he was impossible to get a read on.

My cell buzzed, and I picked it up, frowning when I saw a notification from Danielle. It was a Facebook invite to a party at her house this weekend, with nearly a hundred people on the invite list.

A few weeks ago, I would have RSVPed without hesitation. I’d always been a party girl; I loved going out. I loved the laughter and antics of being in a big group of people, all looking to have a good time. Even now, as I shoved my phone into my bag without responding to the invite, I feared I was missing out on something important.