Daddy Boss (A Boss Romance Love Story)

by Bishop, Claire

  “That was just a spectacular round on the vert ramp, ladies and gentlemen. Next up on the vert ramp, we’ve got the best trick competition,” the woman says and my blood turns cold.

  “I forgot about best trick,” I tell Ian. “Tell me you’ve got something prepared.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “You’re doing great out there. Just throw something down.”

  “Yeah,” he says blankly.

  “I mean, you get three tries, right?” I ask. “You just need one of them to—”

  “One,” he says before kissing me on the forehead and heading back toward the ramp.

  One?

  Ian’s going to be the first to go, but the organizers are taking their sweet time calling a start to the trick competition.

  I turn around and look for Rob. He’s back about where I was standing before I came forward to meet Ian, and I make my way back to Rob.

  “What’s he going to do?” I ask.

  “I totally forgot about the one-trick competition,” Rob says. “All I’ve been going over with him is vert shit.”

  On his last two runs, Ian pulled at least a few tricks that would bring him a high score, but he can’t use any of them. He’s already done them in competition today and they always take off points for repeats.

  There’s no timer this time.

  Ian drops in successfully, so there’s a big chunk of worry out of the way, but he doesn’t look too confident coming up to the other side of the ramp.

  Ian uses his launch to get more speed, and he comes back fast. One more speed/height launch and this next one is going to be it, whatever “it” is going to be.

  He’s got great momentum coming to the jump and his wheels leave the ramp and he’s doing… I don’t know what he’s doing.

  As soon as he’s airborne, Ian’s spinning and going for what looks like the beginnings of a nuclear grab, but the board comes away from his feet before his hand can replace it.

  Although he’s in full spin, he manages to snatch his board out of the air, his back hand on his front truck and the spin slows drastically as he brings the board back to his feet, completing his second full rotation.

  Now, all he has to do is land.

  So much happens in the time it takes Ian to go that last couple of feet before he reaches the ramp.

  His wheels come down hard on the downslope of the vert ramp and his knees bend as he goes from the vertical slope to the horizontal flat, clean.

  This time, covering my ears doesn’t make the slightest perceptible difference.

  Epilogue

  Part One

  Ian

  I called it the Mia grab.

  To be perfectly frank, I hadn’t planned on making up a trick that day, but that’s what ended up winning me the gold and a nice, shiny new sponsorship.

  That said, things haven’t been all smooth sailing.

  A lot of my time’s been spent on the road doing demos and competitions. Earlier this month, I qualified for my first X Games, and yes, I’m competing in vert.

  The Mia grab has become a part of my personal legend, but what’s both great and terrible about that is that neither me, nor anyone else, knows exactly what I did. If nothing else, I guess that means I can just come up with something new and call that the Mia flip, but I’m getting off topic.

  It’s been a year.

  One year, and Mia and I are still together.

  I didn’t end up staying with Rob too much longer, though he does usually end up crashing on one of the couches in my new house.

  The most important thing that happened after I fell into the pro scene is that I’ve been able to take over the full-time care of mom. Dad, on the other hand, is gone.

  I don’t know what triggered it, but one morning, I got a phone call from him, and when I answered, his only words to me were, “Take care of your mother and take care of yourself. Hopefully, one day you’ll grow out of this skateboarding business.”

  And that was it. After that, he just left.

  It’s been about six months, and it’s sad, but the only positive thing about mom’s condition is that most of the time, she doesn’t know that dad left her. I just hate it when she remembers.

  Mia’s on her way toward graduating with highest honors, though her final semester does have that algebra course she’s been putting off forever, so those honors may or may not still be there when she’s done.

  Right now, I’m at the old skate park with Mia, perched atop the vert wall.

  After we got home from the competition—and after having sex many, many times—Mia decided to fill me in on her little secret: She’s been practicing her board skills for the past four years, she was always just too shy to come out of the garage with it.

  Now, though, all that’s about to change.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I think they’ve built this thing up since the last time we were here.”

  “We were here yesterday,” I tell her.

  “I didn’t say whoever did this weren’t skilled workers,” she answers.

  “Shh,” I tell her. “Just relax and close your eyes. Now,” I say, “tell me what you see.”

  Epilogue

  Part Two

  Mia

  I can feel the warm breeze running over my skin as Ian asks me a second time to tell him what I see.

  “I see,” I start, “me. I’m rolling down the ramp and out clean.”

  “Good,” he says. “Now, open your eyes.”

  I’m not quite ready, so I leave my eyes shut a few more seconds as I try to mentally work through this.

  Ian’s taken me to the park as often as possible ever since he found out that I’ve been hiding my own skating progress, but the biggest thing I’ve dropped into was a halfpipe and Ian was right: that’s a whole other thing.

  “Mia?” he asks, kissing my forehead.

  “Yeah?” I answer, finally opening my eyes.

  “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” he says. “I don’t want to pressure you into doing this.”

  “Well,” I tell him, “if I’m going to be your arm candy when you’re traveling across the globe, the least I can do is know how to bring it on four wheels.”

  He grins his white-toothed grin, saying, “After we do this, we’re going to head back home and work on your trash talk. You, my dear, have a very long way to go.”

  “Whatever,” I tell him. “Any final pointers before I break my neck?”

  “I think between here, home, and the last year or so, we’ve pretty much covered all the finer points,” he says. “What I will tell you is that it’ll go so much easier if you’re relaxed and loose when you drop in. Otherwise, well…”

  “Yeah,” I mutter and take another look down at the concrete, seemingly so far below.

  Ours isn’t a perfect situation, but we’re making it work.

  “Will you hurry up? I’ve got things to do!” Abby shouts from the concrete below.

  Going after Ian the way she did almost ruined our friendship. It would have ruined our friendship if she’d persisted, but even that quick kiss did its fair share of damage.

  Now that I’m living with Ian, though, being vindictive toward someone who was once so close to me just didn’t seem like the thing to do. Of course, I didn’t let her off completely free of punishment.

  “You’re on the clock!” I shout down to her.

  “Well,” she calls back up, “I think the kid’s diaper’s wet, so I’m going to go get him changed in the car.”

  Every new parent should have a free babysitter.

  Yep, that’s right. That day in the janitor’s closet when I forgot to grab my purse, and with it, my condoms, was the day that I became pregnant.

  That was an uncomfortable conversation with dad.

  He’s really started to come around ever since I moved in with Ian, though, my dad. Telling him that that guy he was so worried about knocked me up didn’t go over so well.


  Now, though, when Abby has to work or, more commonly, when I just get sick of having her around, I send her home and call my dad. It’s been a long road, but I think we’re starting to make progress.

  “You ready?” Ian asks.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “Just go over it for me one more time, start to finish.”

  Ian runs through it all with me, answering the few questions I have left: He really has been working with me a lot since I “came out of the garage,” as he likes to call it.

  “Okay,” I tell him finally, and I roll my board to the lip until only the tail between my foot and the edge is keeping the board in place. “I’m ready.”

  We’re not rich, but we’re comfortable. What’s more, we’re happy.

  That day of the Midwest Championships, I realized quite possibly the most important thing about my relationship, not only with Ian, but with others as well: Ian was right. It was fear.

  I didn’t believe him until I figured out what he was trying to say to me.

  “The point is that I love you.”

  “You’ve got this,” Ian tells me, echoing my own words from a year ago.

  There’s no telling what’s going to happen in the future, but Ian, Emma, and I have got a firm foundation with each other, a beautiful life.

  Right now, there’s only one thing left to do.

  I put my front foot on the board, and I lean in.

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  JACKED

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

  Chapter One

  Luke

  Shrill laughter echoing from inside my place meant Ryan was trying to get laid... again. He had a habit of doing that at my house recently even though he only lived three feet from me in the other half of the house—a half with its own living room that was perfect for such activity.

  “Dude, seriously?” I mumbled as I walked up the steps and pushed open the front door to my place. I shook my head when I found him on my couch covered with two girls—one brunette and one redhead. Ryan always did have a thing for redheads.

  He grinned mischievously back at me. “What? Can you not see all this beauty?” he stroked the girls’ heads as they kissed on his face and neck.

  “Yeah,” I shook my head again and headed for the stairs. “I can see it alright.”

  “You not gonna join us?” the brunette asked. I knew I should know her name, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it.

  “No, but thanks for the offer. I have an early morning,” I responded before turning my attention to the man in the middle of the bimbo sandwich. “Ryan, try to keep it down, would ya?” I joked as I made my way to my room upstairs.

  ***

  The next morning, I sat on the back porch drinking my coffee and mentally planning my day as I did most mornings. Today, my mind was racing more than usual, due mostly to the nine a.m. meeting I had with one of the region's most affluent high-end furniture stores. I loved my work, and I was damned good at it, or so my customers told me. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones who thought so since this meeting was happening. However, signing a deal to sell my custom furniture would put a measure of pressure on me that I wasn’t sure I wanted. If I signed a contract to sell the furniture I made in a high-end furniture store, would it then become work? Would it take away the passion I had for what I did? It weighed on me to the point that part of me considered canceling the meeting and continuing selling it the way I always had—by word of mouth—but I needed the guaranteed income it would bring to do what I wanted to do.

  I was lost in thought when Ryan meandered out onto the porch and mumbled something about the workout and practice session we scheduled the afternoon after my meeting. Competition season was almost on us, and we had a Lumberjack Championship title to win back. Ryan and I had been competing since we were seventeen years old.

  I acknowledged him and stood, watching the deer move over the hill, then he disappeared back into the house just as lazily as he’d come out.

  I finished my coffee then walked inside, dropping my mug into the sink as I made my way to the bathroom to get ready. I turned the shower on to let the water warm up, then placed my hands on the sink counter and stared into the mirror, studying my reflection. My beard was getting a little long, but I didn’t have the time, nor did I want to shape it up. Besides, I didn’t see how the state of my grooming had anything to do with the quality of my furniture. They shouldn’t either.

  I hopped in the shower and let the hot water stream over my shoulders and back, still thinking about what it would mean to get a contract to sell some of my furniture. If this worked out, it would give me the income to buy out Ryan’s half of the house. When we decided to buy the old farmhouse and turn it into a duplex, there was an understanding that the other person could buy out the loan and turn it into a single home. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money to do it at the moment, so I had agreed when Ryan wanted to lease out his half for a year so he could move closer to the city and his job.

  It didn’t take Ryan long to find someone to rent him out. The new tenant, Emerson, was expected to be arriving in a few days. It struck me to ask Ryan if he’d warned the poor guy about the noise I sometimes make when I’m working in my shop. Of course, any noise I might make would be nothing compared to the parties Ryan often held. And even though he was moving closer to the city, I knew he’d still be back here more weekends than not.

  I finished my shower and got ready in record time after I realized I’d enjoyed the hot water a little longer than I had intended. Fifteen minutes later, I was headed to the small town down the road to meet with Mr. Sharp for coffee, stoked that I wouldn't be helping Ryan move the last of his stuff this morning.

  The meeting went well, and he asked to see more of my work, so I took him to the shop and showed him the pieces I had already completed, plus the plans for several projects that I wanted to finish before competition season began.

  Mr. Sharp moved around the shop, but kept coming back to the piece situated in the middle of the room. “This table is amazing,” he said as he ran his hand over the glass top. The legs were made from small tree trunks that had been sanded down and then polished.

  “Thanks. It took me a couple of weeks to complete that table. You have to find just the right combination for the base. It’s my favorite, and it’s very similar to the one I made for myself.” I walked around to the coffee table and a chair that matched it. I smiled and followed his eyes as he looked over each piece.

  “Well, you do outstanding work. I will certainly take all of this information back to the partners and see what kind of deal we can work out for you. If we can provide the wood, then maybe that would decrease the cost?”

  “Actually, I only use reclaimed wood. Please keep that in mind.”

  “Very well.” He reached his hand out, and I took it. We shook before I showed him back to his car, passing Ryan in the field behind the house as he worked to put a piece of wood in its cradle, preparing for our practice session.

  After I said goodbye to Mr. Sharp, I walked back around the house to where Ryan was setting up and helped him put another log in place.

  “We have to shave just over a second from our time to be in the same ballpark as Smith and Brown.”

  “I know,” I said watching him as he moved over and picked up the saw. We practiced for an hour before switching to our individual disciplines. Springboard was my best event, but I was only ranked third in the nation, and I wanted that world record. My best time was a half a second from the r
ecord; I just had to get over the hump.

  Ryan got everything ready for my practice run, and I went to work.

  “GO!” Ryan shouted, and I started to swing the ax. I chopped the hole and placed the springboard working my way up to the next level. The ax sliced through the air, and I moved quickly, trying to beat my best time. I finished just under my best and dropped the ax to the ground.

  “Dude, I know you can do better than that.” Ryan shook his head as he looked down at the timer on his phone.

  “I know. Maybe if people hadn’t kept me up all night, I would be better rested,” I smirked back at him.

  “Totally worth it.” He laughed then moved over and picked up the ax handing it back to me after I jumped down from the top board.

  I stood by the log we placed in one of the cradles and started swinging downward, practicing my technique. The smell of freshly chopped timber reminded me of all the training I had done with my father. After a set of driving chops, I began my chips and smiled when the piece fell away. I started again and did this until I was almost to midpoint of the log. My drives penetrated to the center, and I turned and started the process over. If I didn’t drive right, my log wouldn’t separate, and that’s when I get frustrated. It happened twice. Ryan noticed my irritation.

  “Take a break, and we’ll set it up again later,” Ryan said as he moved around me kicking at the pieces of wood that lay around.

  “I don’t understand why this shit keeps happening,” I complained as I looked at my driving blows. They weren’t where they were supposed to be, and I didn’t know why.

  After a fifteen-minute break, we worked for another couple of hours until my shoulders were screaming at me.

  “Let’s just get this run over with and then grab some food,” Ryan said as he walked toward the house. He was practically living with me Thursday through Monday at this point since most of his stuff had been moved already. We had a couple of months until the next competition, and he wasn’t nearly as stressed as I was. We competed together in the one team event, but he didn’t compete individually. After almost taking off half his foot a couple years ago in the underhand chop, he decided that he would just stick to the team events.