Page 3 of Daddy!

And I kind of was, I guess. I had absolutely no doubt that—while she was flicking her bean tonight, she was going to be replaying my experience—attentive, overachieving boyfriend and all.

I'd bet my life, it wasn't the first time she'd done that; nor would it be the last—although it might well be the last time she pictured my boyfriend doing it. But I couldn't begrudge her that. I knew she wasn't after him—she wasn't that kind of woman and we'd been friends too long. Her husband was an over-achiever everywhere but the bedroom, unfortunately.

Luckily for me, Mane brought all of his usual enthusiasm for pretty much everything—and a sincere belief that if he was going to do something, he should do it well—into the bedroom, and Bette at least got a second-hand thrill she badly needed.

"Oh, man, did you hit the jackpot with him or what!" she sighed, slumping back against the booth and sounding utterly sated already.

If she asked me for a cigarette, I was going to have to smack her.

"Hmm," I answered, noncommittally. I was of the opinion that I'd probably seen the last of him after what I'd done. For all of his phenomenal talent in the sack, Mane could be somewhat conservative and old fashioned.

Being in the military would slap the free-spiritedness out of almost anyone, but I don't think they had to go too hard on Lt. Commander Mane Campbell. He could be a stickler of a straight arrow, at times. Honest and hard working as the day was long, he didn't much put up with anything else from anyone else around him. And that included me, especially the honest part.

He could pretty much have been a poster boy for the Navy and was a Boy Scout—Eagle Scout, actually—from way back, and he upheld all of the best of both of those institutions. At six-two, he was pretty much the perfect height, tall and muscular but not in an overblown way. He was no muscle bound lunkhead, but I could attest to just how strong he was by the way he handled me—in bed and out.

And he was smart, too. He hadn't come from money, but he'd wanted to go into the military since he was young, so he'd gone in and gotten them to pay for his education. Now, he was an officer on the rise, having been promoted twice "below the zone,” which meant well ahead of schedule, before he should really have been up for consideration, attaining a new rank each time.

The last time, he had me do the honor of "pinning it on.” At least, I did one shoulder. His mom—whom he adored unabashedly—did the other.

He had a great job; he was intelligent; he was kill-me-good in bed, and he loved his mom. He checked off pretty much every box I had. I'm really not that fussy, and I'm very happy on my own, so I can be quite selective when I want. And that's much more about personality than looks. I can hardly demand anything in the looks department, since I was far from typically pretty.

The Daddy thing was part of a set of preferences I usually kept well hidden from pretty much everyone, as a result of having had not so good experiences with mentioning it in the past that ranged from befuddled looks to ridicule to literally being kicked out of a guy's bed/apartment/life.

So, I was a bit gun shy, to say the least, and had pretty much decided that I was never going to tell him. Hell, with the internet, I really didn't need to. He travelled a certain amount for his job and we didn't live in each other's pockets—so I would have more than enough opportunity to take care of that particular interest on my own.

I hated being in this position, because I really, really, really didn't want to lose him. Really. Didn't. Want. To. Lose. Him.

But I had figured that—despite how open and up for anything he seemed to be in bed—I just wasn't willing to chance it. Surprise! Apparently, my subconscious hadn't gotten the memo, and it opened my big mouth all on its own. Son of a bitch.

Just then, the text tone I had assigned to him—a ship's bell—went off. His ringtone was Anchors Aweigh, of course, both of which he thought were hilarious.

How's lunch?

Mindful of the fact that I was required to respond to him, I replied, Just fine, thanks.

I'm glad. I know you're going to think that it's too soon, but I warned you. I want you to come over tonight.

"Shit, shit, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I chanted as reverently as if it was a prayer that I hoped would get me out of this predicament.

"What?" Bette asked.

"Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

She gave me an evil grin. "He wants to see you."

"Yes, he wants to see me," I imitated nastily back at her.

"Oh, please. I don't want to hear it from you. Your man wants to see you. That's more than I can say about Evan."

"Yeah, well, you didn't yell out a very deep, personal secret as you came, either."

"Because I don't get any sexual pleasure that I don't give myself. Jesus, even if he did touch me, I swear that I could confess I was a Russian spy who was over here stealing U.S. secrets and who rooted for the Army at those stupid football games, and he'd just grunt once and roll over."

"I wish Mane would do that—at least this once."

Another—somehow more insistent—ding-ding!

Tahlia…

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