no control

• thirteen •

gladys

Yawning, I slowly roused from my sleep. A sweet smell lifted into my nostrils, beckoning me to get up. I sat up and pushed the covers down. My jeans were all tangled down around my ankles. I frowned as last night returned to the forefront of my mind.

Elijah!

I jumped and looked around but there was no evidence of him or his presence.

No note or anything.

Oh shit. He wasn't out there . . . in the kitchen . . . was he?

I sprang out of the bed and instantly tripped over my jeans. Huffing, I kicked them off and yanked on a pair of shorts. I moved the chair from the door knob and hurried out.

Bernice smiled at me from the stove. I glanced around the kitchen but it was empty.

She chuckled. "Good morning to you, too, sleepyhead. Looking for someone?"

"I—" I swallowed. "Oh, I just wondered if, uh, Alyssa was still here."

"Yeah, she's worse than you. Still in bed."

I relaxed and padded over to her. When my eyes locked sight on the golden pancakes in her pan, I gasped.

"Please god, tell my cousin I've been good and deserve a pancake," I murmured.

She laughed. "Oh, yeah. We heard just how good you were last night."

My face washed red. I gaped at her, mortified. "I, uh—what?"

She snorted and then tilted her head back. Her eyes squeezed shut and she fake moaned.

"Jesus, fine!" I yelped. "But i-it's not what you think."

Which, of course, it probably was.

Glimpsing my facial expression, Bernice laughed. "Chill out, dude. There's nothing wrong with a little self-love. Just be quieter next time, okay?" she said, puckering her top lip. "I don't need my girlfriend getting curious about my baby cousin."

I chuckled but it sounded pitchy and hollow.

What the fuck. Elijah was covering my mouth. How?!

At least she didn't realize there was a grown ass man in my bed. I could only imagine what kind of conversation we'd be having if that were the case.

"Understood," I said, scratching my cheek. "Sorry about that."

She flashed me a smirk. "So, were you dreaming about a certain hunky football player?"

I turned pink again. Hunky?

"Oh, come on. You've never been into sports, Gladdie," Bernice teased me. "I know this has something to do with a boy . . . or a cheerleader?"

She arched a devilish brow.

"No!" I squeaked. "I'm friends with a player but it's not romantic. I swear."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. You don't have to tell me. But don't think I haven't noticed you've been acting different lately."

"What do you mean?"

She passed me a plate with pancake and bacon. "Syrup's in the fridge."

I nodded but insisted: "Berns, what do you mean I've been acting different?"

"I don't know. You're just gone all the time."

Did I hurt her feelings? I blinked guiltily at her.