Would he call me the things that driver called me? Would I like it coming from Karl’s mouth?
You do that on purpose, huh? Come to the door with no panties on?
I keep thinking about the things he said. Keep shivering like he’s beside me. Touching me.
Dirty girl, waiting for me…half-naked.
Would I like it from Karl’s mouth?
The answer’s in the way my body responds at just the notion. It’s all jittery and excited. I want dirty, I want crass. And yeah, I’d like all the bad words from Karl.
I’m the one who said the S word, after all. I burn up, just thinking about that. Probably blushing to high heaven.
I’m a dirty girl. Your dirty little slut.
Another wave of heat floods me, part embarrassment, part excitement. Strangely, the embarrassed thing almost makes the excitement…more. The two sensations, intertwined, are incendiary.
But then that other thing creeps in—worry or fear or whatever it is that swamped me after last night’s goodbye.
Another brand of embarrassment, only this one is painful rather than titillating. A little pathetic, if I’m being honest. Because this whole thing’s not dating or flirting or going out. It’s not two people working on a relationship, sexual or otherwise.
It’s my neighbor letting me use him to explore sex. And, sure, he’s gotten into it a time or two, but does he really want me?
Karl
Everything reminds me of Jerusha today. The bright oranges and reds and yellows of the leaves, someone whizzing by on a bicycle, the half-hard state of my own dick. In the coffee shop, I wait in line, wondering if she likes coffee, or if she’s more of a tea person. And then I try to guess what kind of tea she’d drink and if she’d like the hot toddies I’ve been working on at the bar, which reminds me of—
“Dad.”
“Hm?” I blink back to the present.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Harper joins me in the coffee shop line and snaps her blue-tipped fingers right in my face.
“Oh, hey! Harper!”
“Don’t Oh, hey, Harper me! I’ve been yelling for the last like seventeen minutes.” Which translates to maybe thirty seconds. She turns to take in the people sitting around inside, barely glancing my way as she goes on. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I’m good.”
Another look around and she sees someone she knows. “Oh. Hey! It’s Mikey! Grab me a pumpkin thingy, will you?”
“Wait, a muffin or a…”
She rolls her eyes. “A latte. Pumpkin spice.”
“With whip?”
A snort this time—I’m getting full-on teenage Harper and I kinda like it. I’ve missed my baby these past few months. “Does the pope shit in the woods?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes and shake my head. You’d think she was brought up by barbarians. I glance down at my ripped work clothes and filthy shitkickers, my hands sporting the homemade tats I gave myself as a kid. Maybe she was.
I step up and order my coffee and her mocha whatever with a couple muffins, turn and take in the room, which I can honestly say I hadn’t noticed in the slightest.
Even now, I barely register the faces I scan, until I reach Harper.
She’s talking to a couple people I don’t know. A few years older than her, maybe. One is slender, with long, dark hair and a long face. Pretty. The other is shorter and plumper and blonde with pink and red and purple streaks. They look like art students.
“Karl!” My name’s called. I grab the stuff and head over to my daughter, just as the door opens, letting a whirlwind inside. I swear the barometric pressure changes. All eyes swing to the front.
Jerusha.
A can’t help the grin that splits my face in half. She turns, looking for someone—not me, since we hadn’t planned to meet here, but a part of me wants her to light up the way I have. And she does. Just not at me.
She’s looking at Harper. No, the people with Harper.
“Hey, you guys!” she squeals from the across the room, then barrels towards us. Maybe five feet from where I’m standing, she sees me and comes to a dead stop.
If this were a movie, someone would drop a tray of glasses. The music would scratch to silence. All eyes would be on us.
She’s not smiling at me. Not the way she did for them. She’s watching me, wary.
“Morning, Jerusha.”
“Hi.” The smile she gives me is completely different. A little hesitant, a little shy. But it’s all for me, and I like it. “Karl.”
My heart picks up speed at the sound of my name in her voice. I take an unconscious step toward her, she draws closer. The hum around us becomes nothing but a backdrop.
“You sleep okay?” It’s all I can think of to say. Here I am, the father of a practically full-grown human, and all I can do is grin and ask dumb questions.
“Yes.” She nods, mouth compressed, cheeks bright pink.
Her eyes slide down to the coffees and pastries in my arms and back up. I should put this stuff down so I can touch her.
No. No, I shouldn’t. My daughter’s here.
“You, uh, meeting someone? Or you want to…” I turn to the table where Harper and her friends have sat down.
“Well, that’s my date. Mikey.”
Date. I blink, feeling slow. “Mikey?”
“The person next to Harper. The other is Alba.”
Understanding dawns. “Oh. Okay.” Should I be jealous? Because I am.
From the table, their low voices carry.
“My dad,” I hear Harper say in her not-so-quiet secretive voice.
“Well, now. He is a stone cold—”
“Don’t say it.”
“He knows Jerusha?”
“You know Jerusha, Mikey?” Harper asks.
“The three of us do grad work together,” says the person named Mikey. Jerusha’s date.
“You gonna hand me that coffee, Dad, or do I need to stand up and get it?”
It’s my turn to blush, which is ridiculous. The whole thing’s ridiculous. I look at the little round table—my daughter, her friends, Jerusha hovering, the four of them half my age. I can’t do this. “Gotta go.” I nod, hand the shit over to Harper, mumble some kind of goodbye to Jerusha, and make a beeline for the door.
“Wait! Dad! Stop!”
Out on the sidewalk, I pause, breathing hard. A scalding sip of coffee does nothing to improve my mood.
“What the hell, Dad?”
“It’s… This place is too damn small.”
“This place?”
“Richmond.” My mouth closes, out of self-preservation more than anything else. I can’t tell my daughter what I’m doing. They’re the same generation. The same fucking friend group. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Dad.” Harper slaps my shoulder and holds it. “Seriously. If you’re gonna date her, you’re gonna have to get used to this.”
“We’re not dating,” is all I manage. It sounds immature and feels wrong. “We’re…”
“Way-way-way-way-wait. I can’t express the extent to which I need no information about what’s going on with you and my new mom.”
I get a snort out before she goes on, closer now, but still semi-shouting, like she’s trying to get her words through my thick, dumb skull. “I’ve never seen you into a woman, Dad. Like never ever ever, not in a million years ev—.”
“Good. No reason you should know anything about that.”
“But you like her. Don’t tell me you’re just hanging out, okay? Oh, no strings. Casual. Whatever. Don’t you dare be all cold, distant asshole, ’cause I’ll tell you that is not what you brought me up to—”
“Harper.” She stops. Thank God. “She’s the one who…” Asked me to teach her sex isn’t something I can exactly say to my daughter. I go with, “Requested a casual thing.”
She blinks and turns to look back through the big glass window, obviously offended. “Seriously?” My feisty daughter. Mad at m
e one second, mad for me the next. We were a mess when she was little, her mom and I, falling apart at the seams, but we must have done something right, because I admire this little woman, so damn much.
I shake my head with a smile and lean in. “You don’t have to tell me she’s special. Okay, kiddo? I know that.”
Her eyes go big. “So, you like her.”
I smile and squint, trying to see inside. There’s nothing but shadows, except for a splash of red and yellow that has got to be today’s sweater. “I do. I like her.”
Harper inhales, clearly satisfied. She hands me my muffin—which I don’t remember giving her—and nudges my arm. “Go do your thing at the bank.”
“You don’t want to—”
“I want to go in there and get the other side of the story.”
“You said you didn’t—”
“Go!” She nudges me away.
I should be worried about what’s going to be shared, but what I am is jealous.
Some weird proprietary urge makes me take out my phone and send Jerusha a text.
Sorry I ran out.
I understand. It was a lot.
Those dots appear, telling me she’s got more to say. I wait, anxious.
When’s lesson 2?
Relief floods me.
It occurs to me that I should probably be teaching her how to play hard to get. Give her insight into all the rules and the games people play to torture each other. The hellish misery of going out with people in the modern world.
Ignoring all that, I respond with what I actually want.
Tonight?
I’d like that. What’s Lesson 2?
My mind races.
Heavy petting. But isn’t this lesson 3?
Let’s see. Kissing, dirty talk, heavy petting. You’re right! My place at 6?
Sure.
I can’t wait.
I slide my phone into my pocket, trying to concentrate on my upcoming meeting with the bank.
After less than a minute, I pull it out again.
Me neither, I type out, grinning wide.
12
Scenario
Jerusha
Heavy petting. What is that? What have I just agreed to? I look up, smile still plastered on my face, wondering if I’ve got time to look it up before going back to the table.
It takes a sec for me to realize that Mikey, Alba, and Harper are all staring from our corner table. “What?”
“Is my dad texting you?”
I open my mouth and shut it. Mikey rolls their eyes and smacks Harper on the hand. “Don’t make me regret letting you sit at our table.”
“It’s fine,” I say, though I’d really been looking forward to some time alone with my friends. There’s a lot to talk about.
I settle in my seat, facing the room. We love this table with its semi-private feel, even when the place is packed. My friends and I have spilled a lot of secrets in this spot. At least they have. I mostly listen. I have a feeling that’s about to change.
“Sure?” Harper asks. “I can go.”
“No. No, it’s truly fine.”
“Good.” She smiles. “Because my dad really likes you.”
My face goes up in flames and, rather than stammer out something silly, I take a too-big sip of scalding tea.
Once I’m done coughing, they lean in. “Is this Hot Neighbor?” Mikey asks. “Did you finally ask him out?”
I glance at Harper. “I mean, not in so many words, but…”
“Hot neighbor is a big ole Daddy,” sings Alba.
My insides go wild at that word.
“Hey! That’s my father you’re—”
Mikey exchanges a look with Alba and then turns to Harper with their signature get with it expression. Harper shuts her mouth. “Your father is hot fucking stuff, Harper.” Mikey smiles and the expression’s pure delight. “Shoulda known, though. You’re tall and gorgeous. Got hot genes.”
Harper rolls her eyes and looks away.
“You are hot. You know that, right?” Mikey laughs. “Hell, I’d date you if you were my age.”
Harper’s quick to recover. “Oh, ahem.” Her eyes flick to me and back to Mikey. “However old you are, Mikey, I’m guessing we’re closer in age than this one and my cradle-robbing father.” She points a thumb at me.
“Cradle-robbing? This was my idea!” My protests go unheard.
Mikey leans close to Harper, full of sharp intent. “How old are you?”
Wait. Am I watching a flirtation here? My attention goes back and forth between them, fascinated. When I finally cross gazes with Alba, her expression mirrors my curiosity.
“Eighteen,” says Harper. “You?”
“Twenty-four.”
“See? Six years.” Harper turns to me. “How much of a gap between you and my dad?”
“Oh. Uh…seventeen.”
“So fucking sexy,” Alba says.
Harper grimaces.
I stand. “I’d better go.”
“No way,” Mikey says.
“We want details.”
My eyes fly to Harper. “I don’t think this is—”
It’s Harper’s turn to stand. “I get it. Fine.”
“Wait up, Harper. I’ll walk you out.” Mikey throws me a smirk and follows Harper out onto the sidewalk while I sit down, shaking my head.
“Is Mikey picking her up?”
“Yep,” replies Alba, shaking her head with a grin. She’s got these big, innocent-looking brown eyes—the perfect foil for her deeply kinky soul. I’ve learned more about sex in the months since I met these two than I’d heard in my entire life. Or imagined.
My brows wrinkle as Mikey returns to their seat, smirk still in place.
“You’re not messing around with her, are you?” Alba asks.
“Who, moi?” Mikey’s eyes land on me.
“Seriously, Mikey, that’s the daughter of my…”
They lean forward. “Yes? Please finish that sentence.”
I let my face fall into my palms. “I don’t know what he is, you guys.”
“He’s a fucking daddy, I told you. Big Daddy Karl.”
“Mikey’s right. Stone cold daddy.”
My innards squish again at that word. I dare to look at them through my fingers. “What’s that mean, exactly? Can you two explain? ’Cause he’s not my father.”
“Hell, no, but he could be your daddy. Is he? Is that what this is?”
My mouth drops open. Nothing comes out, which I can tell they both love. Talking sex is kind of their thing. And talking sex with me—whom they call an innocent slut—is their absolute favorite. Shocking and titillating in equal measures.
It’s probably as far from my old life as I can get and it’s wonderful—free, open communication about something that’s always been painfully taboo.
Slut. I get red, just remembering how I used that word last night.
“Look. Can you explain, please? The daddy references?” And tell me why I like it so much?
“It’s a real thing. More or less kinky, depending.”
“On what?”
“Okay.” Alba takes over. “So, you know how we’ve talked about Dominance?”
“Right, you think I’m a secret submissive.”
“Not that secret.”
“Do you agree?” I turn to Mikey, who just shrugs.
I deadpan. “Go on.”
“We haven’t discussed role play, but…” Alba widens her eyes at me, batting those lashes. “Family play is a thing.”
Family play. I mouth the words, then stop, mouth open.
“Methinks she likes it.” Mikey’s voice is low, secretive.
“See?” Alba meets their eyes before looking at me again “So that’s one version of it. But that’s not what I mean about this guy—unless, hey, maybe it’s your thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Alba says with a matter-of-fact confidence that I adore. “What we’re talking about is when
an older man, you know, maybe tells you what to do? Maybe takes care of you? There’s a lot of potential there. So many ways a daddy kink can pan out. A lot can happen.”
“Oh!” Mikey’s fingers dance at all the possibilities. “Sugar daddies, for example. They take care of their partner, give them money, gifts, in exchange for sex.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “No, no, no. Not my thing.”
Alba’s high-pitched giggle draws people’s attention. “Not a sugar daddy, then.”
Mikey tilts their head, eyes narrowed. “That’s not his vibe, anyway.”
“What kind of da—” I lower my voice, casting a glance around us. “Daddy does he seem like?”
Mikey gets that bright, avid look in their dark eyes. They lean way in, put their forehead on my shoulder, and whisper, “He looks like a take-no-shit-boss of a daddy, who’ll tell you what to do and make you like it.” Pulling back to give me a long, squinty stare, they go on. “Am I right?”
Alba nods, knowingly.
My mouth drops open. “How did you know?”
“Is that a yes?” Mikey asks.
“Maybe.” I draw out the word, holding my smile inside. It’s embarrassed, excited, and a little secret.
“Oh, thank you God.” Alba’s eyes flick heavenward, then back to me. “This is gonna be so good. You don’t do shit halfway, do you, Jerusha? Straight into the deep end.”
“We need details. You asked him out and now you’re, what?” Mikey squints. “A thing? Dating? Fuck buddies? I mean, you’ve got chemistry out the butthole. Saw it from a mile off. He didn’t kiss you, though, so—”
“I asked him to teach me.”
Alba’s eyes get huge. “Teach you.”
“How to kiss and do other…sex things.”
“He’s teaching you how to sex?” At my nod, Mikey’s jaw drops. They go completely still, throw a look at Alba, and let out a slow, audible breath. “Fuck. Me. Holy shit, honey. This is the hottest thing.”
“Seriously.” I’ve never seen Alba this excited. “Do you have any idea? You probably blundered right into his big daddy kink. Look at you, all innocent with those baby blues and freckles and he gets to show you the ropes.”
Daddy Crush Page 8
