Drake: Not ok. Need to talk.
Alexa: On my way now. Be there in 5 mins.
Drake’s text messages freaked the hell out of me. His tone was different than usual, and he sounded pissed off. I couldn’t imagine what had changed since I’d seen him last night. I changed out of my pajamas as quickly as possible and raced over to the frat house. I could hear the loud music that was blaring all the way from the bottom of the stairs. Not a good sign.
As I neared Drake’s door, the lyrics from Limp Bizkit’s My Way got even louder. I went into his room and found Drake sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. I turned the music off and walked over to him. He was staring at me with a blank look on his face, none of the usual twinkle or desire in his eyes.
Kneeling on the floor at his feet, I reached out to rest my hands on his legs. He flinched away from my touch and stood. Striding across the room, he slammed the door shut. I jumped at the sound. I might not know what had happened between now and last night, but it was clear that Drake was angry. I couldn’t have even done anything—I’d fallen asleep as soon as I’d texted him last night.
“Drake, what’s wrong?” I asked, worried by his silence.
Drake glared at me and crossed his arms over his chest. It was like he was putting up a wall between us. “I need you to tell me how you’re paying for school.”
“What do you mean how I’m paying for school? The usual way that people pay for college. I have a scholarship, loans, and my job with Dad. Why?”
“And that’s it? Because that’s not what I heard this morning,” Drake responded.
“You heard something about me and school this morning? You haven’t even left your room yet.” What could someone have possibly said to him that would have gotten him this angry at me?
“Is there a reason that people would think that you’re prostituting yourself to pay for school, Alexa?”
“What? Absolutely not! How could you even ask me a question like that?” I was horrified. Here I was, the morning after I’d finally admitted to myself that I had fallen in love with Drake, and he was asking me if I was a hooker.
“I need you to be completely honest with me. I heard from a very good source that something isn’t right with your financial situation and that you’ve resorted to selling sex to pay for school.”
“Drake, I haven’t even had sex with anyone other than you in like three years. Listen to what you are asking me. You know that’s just not possible.”
“You said it had been that long, but how do I know if you told me the truth? This information had to come from something you’re doing. Please, tell me there’s a good explanation, babe. Because I’m about to lose my shit thinking about you with other guys for money. Jesus, for any reason. What the fuck, Alexa?”
“You really believe this crap, Drake? You’re honestly asking me if I’m a frickin’ hooker? Is that what’s happening here right now?” My mind was blown. I couldn’t think straight. My heart was racing in my chest. This felt worse than when I’d found out Brad had cheated on me. Even worse than when I was scared to death when he wouldn’t leave me alone after we’d broken up.
He ran is hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want to believe it, babe. I just need you to explain to me why—”
I didn’t let him finish his thought as my temper flared. “You know what? No! You don’t just need anything from me. I don’t owe you any explanations about how I pay for school or what’s going on with my dad’s finances. This isn’t cool, Drake. You know me—or at least I thought you did. I can’t believe you would listen to someone say crap like this about me without beating the shit out of them, let alone decide to question my honesty and morals. What the hell?”
He looked shocked at my response, like I didn’t have the right to be angry here. “You don’t understand. The person who called me about this—”
I held up my hand, stopping him from saying anything more. “I’m not the one here who doesn’t understand. You are. I don’t care who the person was. You’re my boyfriend. You won’t even let other guys look at me without getting pissed. Anyone flirts with me and you get all growly and possessive. But someone tells you that I sleep with people for money to pay for school and your first thought is to order me over here by text to accuse me of prostituting myself?”
“Alexa, fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do here, not ask you about this?”