Daddy Boss (A Boss Romance Love Story)

by Bishop, Claire

“Okay,” he whispers. “Where—”

  I lift myself off of him and put both legs on the ground before lowering myself between his knees and taking him into my mouth.

  I’m looking up at him and his eyes are wide open as he matches my gaze for what feels like almost no time at all before his eyes close and, with a stifled grunt, his salty warmth spreads throughout my mouth.

  I swallow as he comes, and his body shudders as the orgasm begins to recede.

  A few seconds later, and we’re embracing each other, breathing heavily.

  “Tell me,” he says, kissing my forehead.

  “Tell you what?” I whisper back, blindly wrapping my arms around the back of his neck.

  “What changed your mind?” he asks.

  “I got the point,” I tell him. “When I asked you earlier what your point was, what you were trying to prove by arguing with me,” I breathe, “I know what you were trying to say.”

  “You do?” he asks.

  “I think so,” I tell him. “Otherwise, I may have just made a huge mistake.”

  He’s quiet for a moment.

  Maybe I misread what he was saying. Maybe he wasn’t trying to say anything at all. Maybe he was just stalling while he tried to think of something clever to say.

  I should have known.

  That’s what I’m thinking right until he says it. “The point is,” he tells me, “that I think I’m in love with you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Street

  Ian

  I’m leaning against a wall in the janitor’s closet, just trying to catch my breath.

  There’s a lot more that I want to say, but Mia hasn’t responded to the bomb I just dropped. She said she knew what I meant, but the silence is suggesting otherwise.

  The silence doesn’t last, though, as outside the door to this room that smells like bleach and now, sex, comes the heavy thud of music over the sound system.

  I look down at Mia. She looks up at me.

  “You should go,” she says. “It sounds like they’re letting people in.”

  “Yeah,” I answer, but I hesitate. “Should we…?”

  “Just go,” she says. “We suck at talking.”

  I wheeze a bit of nervous laughter and ask, “When exactly did I lose my shirt?”

  “I couldn’t even tell you,” she answers, wiping a forearm across the sweat on her brow.

  I find the shirt dangling from the handle of a mop and I grab it, sticking my head through the neck hole and pulling up my pants.

  “Are you coming?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be out in a minute. I’m going to try to freshen up a little so maybe I can look a touch less I just made it with a guy in a janitor’s closet.”

  “You know,” I start again, “you never responded to what I—”

  “I love you too, dummy,” she says, patting me on the cheek. “Now go before I change my mind again. You know how fickle I can be.”

  I’m smiling, although I’m not a hundred percent sure she’s joking, and I leave the janitor’s closet, still adjusting my shirt as I close the door behind me.

  I can’t really say I come out of the room unnoticed, but the people who spot me either don’t seem to know what just happened in there or they just don’t care. There’s no way to tell, and I’m sure as hell not going to bother asking.

  People are still filing in through the front doors, but the place is already pretty packed.

  A few people are starting to skate around the street course, but they don’t seem to be competitors.

  I should be rather pleased with myself at the moment, and I would be if it weren’t for the fact that I have no idea where the hell my board ended up.

  I ditched it after what happened with Abby, when I was trying to catch up to Mia. From there, who knows?

  It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything. Even if I can’t find my board, I’m sure I could borrow one from Rob—he’s always got one in the trunk—it’d just be nice to have my own.

  As I make my way toward the first bright pink shirt I see in the distance, I take a quick look back in the direction of the janitor’s closet. The door’s closed. I can’t see whether there’s light coming from under the door or not—there are too many people between me and there—but I guess I’ll see her when this thing gets started.

  I track down Nick, but he hasn’t seen my board. I ask him where Rob and Marci are, but he just shrugs, saying, “How the hell should I know?”

  “Hey shit brick, forget something?” Rob’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn around to find him standing on my board.

  “Do me a favor?” I ask and Rob rolls his eyes as he steps off of my skateboard and kicks it in my direction.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “I think you’ve got about an hour,” Nate says. “If you’re going to get some practice time in, though, you’d better do it. I think the break between street and vert is only like ten minutes.”

  “Can’t even drop a deuce in ten minutes,” Rob says, pretending like someone would actually care to hear it.

  “All right, I’ll see you guys in a bit?” I ask.

  I get affirmative responses across the board and I stomp the tail of my board, catching the nose in my hand when it comes up, and I walk through the crowds toward the vert ramp.

  There are a few people up top and one guy’s doing a practice run, but as I start to get closer, I’m gripped by cold fear. This is too real. It’s just too real.

  I know it’s probably a mistake, but I take a left turn before I get to the vert ramp and head for the nearest portion of the street course. After finding the obligatory woman with a clipboard, I’m let through and I skate over to the roll-in ramp.

  Over the next hour or so, I spend almost every second I’m not riding to look over at the vert ramp. Every time, I tell myself, “All right, just one more line and I’ll head over there,” but I keep finding ways to talk myself out of it and it just doesn’t happen.

  I’m still trying to talk myself into taking at least one practice run now, as I may not have time between disciplines, but when a woman comes over the sound system—I could almost swear it’s Nick’s mom, although that would certainly be a surprise—I know it’s too late.

  The street competition is about to begin.

  I make my way down to the edge of the crowd and find Rob, who has my duffel bag complete with my pads, a beer, and the obligatory victory joint.

  By the time I’m back to the starting area, unzipping the bag, the first guy is already rolling in to start off the competition.

  I haven’t met everyone I’ll be competing against today, but I know all of them, at least by reputation. I’ve got a solid edge in the street competition, but I’m not going to be pulling any cute tricks like I did back at the demo. Here, that could really backfire.

  My turn comes and I start off with a more relaxed run, still pulling enough tricks, hitting enough gaps, but I can tell before my time’s out that it’s not going to be a first place attempt.

  The scoring for today’s competition is simple. Best two out of three runs from each discipline will be counted, highest score wins.

  By the time my turn comes around again, I’m in third place: Not bad, but I’m going to have to turn it up if I’m going to cancel out that first run.

  I roll in and this time, I head straight for the pyramid, coming fast up the bank and launch into a 540 hospital flip to roast beef.

  Landing fakie, I push hard toward the euro gap, kicking a 180 sigma flip over the gap, landing in a manual and I big flip off the ledge onto the flat.

  Approaching the flat rail, I nollie up and into a darkslide.

  I get a few more lines in before the buzzer ends my second run.

  The street round isn’t over yet, but I’m feeling pretty confident as I squeak into first, just ahead of Mike Onomato, who pats me on the back as I return to the starting area.

  “That was a hell of a run,”
he says. “Seriously, are you regular or goofy?”

  “Wouldn’t you just love to know?” I ask and laugh.

  Mike’s a nice guy, but when it comes to competing, once he’s up, he’s all in and it doesn’t matter who else is there. I went harder on the first run than I did at the demo, but unless I can top that and let that lower number drop, Mike could very easily walk away with the first here and if that happens, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make up the difference.

  What I need out of my third run is overwhelming force.

  What I get out of my third run is a solid, but hardly game-changing score, putting me a few points ahead of Mike, whose last run had knocked me into second.

  He’s picked up a few things.

  There’s one more competitor, Jimmy Plimpton, a redheaded pimply kid who’s going to be lucky if he ends up in the top half of the field and then it’s over. While I easily win the street competition, I’m only three points ahead of Onomato going into the vert session.

  Any other day, that would be a blowout. Today, though…

  It never occurred to me that I could end up going into the vert section without at least a five point lead.

  There’s no time to think it over, though, as everyone starts heading over to the vert ramp.

  I’m one of the last to the top, but I’ll be the first to go and whatever happens, I need to just keep my head: just focus on the moment and not get carried away by anything outside of it.

  I’m thinking I’m going to have time to take a quick practice run while they get everything ready to go, but the judges are already set up and the announcer is welcoming everyone to the vert portion of the competition.

  I look out over the crowd.

  None of them besides Mia, Rob, Nick, and maybe Abby—if she’s even still here—will have any idea why I’m so pale, and I’m just hoping they can’t see it. That theory goes all to hell though, when I turn around to find a camera in my face.

  There are no microphones or people asking for insight, so I just give a quick smile and a wave and turn back around at my earliest chance.

  They’re calling my name, ready for me to start, and I get into position.

  My foot’s on the back of the board, and I take a deep breath as I look down and across the ramp. Under my breath, I’m mumbling, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Everything

  Mia

  Ian’s standing at the edge of the ramp, ready to drop in, and I can see just how much the blood’s drained from his face, even from where I’m standing.

  “Don’t be scared,” I mutter, my voice easily drowned out among the cheering crowd. “Just take it as it comes. Don’t be scared.”

  The countdown timer comes up on the board, signaling that Ian can start whenever he’s ready, and he doesn’t waste any time. His front foot is on the board and he’s leaning in.

  My heart is in my throat as he comes down the ramp and everything seems to be moving in slow motion as he comes to the bottom.

  He’s looking good as he goes into the curve to the flat, but his head jerks quickly to one side and a moment later, he’s running out of it and my heart sinks.

  “Oh, no,” I mutter.

  It’s best two out of three, but I don’t know if he’s going to be able to get past running out on his first drop in of the competition. This could go very bad, very quick.

  People are laughing, pointing. They may not know yet that he’s had trouble with this, but if he can’t get it together, they’re going to find out really quick.

  I’m actually pretty tempted to leave after having endured him after a loss and not really being willing to put myself through such treatment again, but I can’t go. This is such a big thing for him.

  It’s not until after Ian’s getting back up to the top of the ramp that I even realize Mike Onomato is here. It didn’t even click that he’s in this thing, though his absence wouldn’t make much sense.

  I get a bit of a rush with the realization, but it’s no longer that school girl crush. Now, it’s more like how I felt when I saw Ryan Sheckler in Dunkin’ Donuts. That was crazy.

  The rest of the first round seems to take hours, though it can’t be any more than fifteen minutes before Ian’s back up there, ready to try for a second run.

  “You can do this, Ian,” I mutter, only now the crowd isn’t overpowering my voice.

  I don’t care if anyone can hear me.

  “Come on, Ian!” I shout. “You’ve got this!”

  He’s still pale.

  This isn’t good, but there is absolutely nothing I can do. It’s all up to him, and I know he’s not just going to quit before the last run is over.

  He can’t.

  I’m certain he’s going to stick with it, but when the countdown timer comes up, Ian hesitates. I don’t know how long he’s there with his board on the lip, but it’s long enough that I’m starting to push my way through the crowd, ready to meet up with him and get him out of here if he comes down the ramp the wrong way.

  I don’t make it five feet though, before I see the front of Ian’s board angling downward and I stop to watch.

  Seeing everyone else take their turn on the vert, the drop-in seems so inconsequential, but as Ian’s rolling down to start his second run, I’m holding my breath as every muscle in my body tenses.

  He comes to the bottom and he stays with it.

  I let out a quick cheer, but cut it short as people turn to look at me, wondering why I’m cheering for such a thing.

  He comes up the other side with a 720 Japan air, and he lands it easily.

  This is going to be big.

  On the other side, he pulls a 540 semi flip to nosebone and I’m not entirely sure how, but he manages to revert the landing, keeping enough speed to 50-50 the other side.

  Ten seconds left and Ian does a double kickflip sex change, just barely getting his hand on the board to position it before he lands, but it’s clean.

  Now, with time for one, maybe two more ups, he busts out a 540 rodeo flip and lands with just enough time to make it up the other side and finish strong with a frontside noseblunt slide, and as he comes down, the buzzer sounds and the crowd goes absolutely crazy.

  Me? I’m letting out my held breath, but this isn’t over. With his first vert run bringing him a zero, to stay in this, he’s going to have to make his final run just as solid, if not better than his second.

  The score pops up and, as far as single runs go, he’s in the lead, but the zero score on his first run still has him sitting at the bottom of the pack.

  Things get even more interesting when Mike Onomato takes his second run and just edges out Ian’s score.

  He can’t just hit it hard; he’s going to have to give it everything.

  “Hey,” someone says, tapping me on the shoulder.

  I turn around to find Rob standing behind me, his gaze directed toward the ramp.

  “He can take this thing,” Rob says, still not looking at me.

  We’re about to find out.

  Ian comes up and the countdown timer is barely up when he drops in without hassle to start his final run.

  Right out of the chute, he’s pulling a 720 method air. He lands and comes up the other side with another 720, this time a stalefish, which he reverts on the landing.

  “Watch this,” Rob says close to my ear.

  Ian comes up the far side of the ramp, stalling in a blunt and kickflipping out of it. When he lands, I have to cover my ears.

  He’s up the other side, but I don’t see what he pulls as Rob leans forward and says, “I taught him that on a halfpipe. Never thought the fucker would actually be crazy enough to try it on a vert ramp, especially being as green as he is.”

  Yeah, it’s fascinating, sure, but I’m not here to listen to Rob brag.

  I turn back in time to see the clock pass eight seconds, seven…

  Ian hits the lip with a one-foot nose slide and I can hardly believe
this is the same guy that kept falling on his face at the park back home.

  Time runs out, but Ian manages to squeeze in a backside 180, 360 dolphin flip, and when his wheels hit the ramp and he skates out, his hands, my hands, and about two hundred other hands are in the air.

  I missed one trick, but even without that, I can’t see Mike Onomato beating that score. The question’s going to be whether the average is going to be enough, and Ian’s got the whole field to skate before we’ll know if he’s won.

  Ian’s score comes up and he takes the lead, but Mike Onomato is still right on his heels. There are a couple of other guys that might be a threat if they start pulling out 900s, but short of that, I think Ian’s only real competition is the man rolling in right now.

  I hardly believe it when it happens, but it happens nonetheless: As Mike’s coming to the bottom of the drop-in, his board wavers beneath him and, finally going sideways entirely, Mike Onomato comes off the board.

  There’s still the rest of the field to skate, but nobody’s a credible threat to Ian anymore and he knows it.

  He climbs down the side of the ramp and I push my way through the crowd to meet him, though as I’m coming close, people crowd in around him.

  Ian’s not having any of that, though, and he makes his way through to me.

  “You did it!” I exclaim, putting my arms around him and kissing him on the lips. “Where did you learn to do all of that in the last two days?”

  He throws his head back, laughing. “I didn’t,” he says. “I’ve done all that stuff in the park, just never on a full vert ramp. Once I got comfortable dropping in, the rest got a lot easier.”

  “I’m just so proud of you,” I tell him.

  “It’s not over yet,” he says, and he puts an arm around me as we watch the rest of the field take their turns, but nobody comes up to Ian’s score.

  I’m beyond ecstatic; I can only imagine what Ian must be feeling right now.

  It feels so weird that it’s already over, but that’s it. Ian’s got his sponsorship.

  At least, that’s what we think.

  The woman comes over the loudspeaker, and I pull Ian close as we wait for her to announce him as the winner, but she doesn’t.