Page 9 of A Daddy for Maddy

“Daddy, I won’t clean it up. I won’t!” said Sully. “The other boys helped make the mess, too.”

“Boy, you’re going to get a spanking when we get home for sure. Now do as I say!”

To my surprise, the beautiful boy bent and began to pick up the toys he’d thrown about. He grumbled under his breath.

Again, his daddy, the one the other daddy had called Valente, spoke. “You are really asking for it tonight.”

Sully smiled under his long curls.

Understanding started to dawn on me. For all his protests, Sully was having fun. He smiled because he wanted that spanking. It was as if he’d gotten himself into trouble on purpose.

The boy gathered up blocks and stuffies and stacked them all neatly on the shelves. He even put the blocks in alphabetical order. Then he began to fuss with the toys on the shelves, things he had not touched, straightening them. He puffed up the beanbags and went to other tables, putting loose crayons back in their boxes and picking up candy wrappers and throwing them away. It was very odd behavior to see after witnessing him doing such a good job messing everything up.

Right at that moment, the two boys with the race cars started to tussle. At first, I thought it was all in fun, too. Making trouble just like Sully for the fun of the drama and maybe some sexy punishment afterward. But after a few seconds I realized they were truly fighting, their mouths tight, their eyes angry.

The boy who had been tidying everything up froze at the drama. His daddy, Valente, yelled, “Hey, you two boys! Stop this fighting at once!”

I couldn’t tell if the Valente daddy knew them or not.

The boys on the floor didn’t stop. They were rolling on top of each other now, punching for real at each other.

Valente and another daddy rose up, shouting, and ran to the boys. Arms flailed. The bigger men pulled the smaller men apart just as the door opened and two bouncers stepped in. One was in a security uniform. The other I recognized as Mister Menacing from the front door. Both of them ran toward the fight, helping to break it up.

The boys were out of control, crying and yelling. One boy got in a last-ditch angry move. He held up a red race car and threw it as hard as he could. It came straight toward me.

As soon as I saw it, my brain went blank in shock. I simply froze.

6

Colin

“It’s kinda boring out there for this large of a crowd,” Stewart said.

I looked at him, trying to read his face to see if he was joking. But he looked at me straight on as if he expected an answer.

“Boring?” I glanced at one of the stages where a guy was screaming his head off under a flogger, then shouting over the beat of the music, “Oh-oh! More! More!”

“I mean no fighting. No disturbances except for a tray of drinks that got dropped in the tickle room. Maintenance cleaned it up in five seconds flat.”

“Five seconds, huh? You counted?”

He didn’t even smile when he gave his response. “Yep.”

It was early yet. The drunk and disorderly dramas didn’t actually start until after one a.m. That was always fun. Sometimes I got to put my hand on someone’s back and push them out the door. Normally, though, we did not touch customers except in self-defense. Then twisting a hand behind a back was considered acceptable use of force to get them to come to their senses and leave.

Even with disciplined force, it was no wonder I’d made a few enemies in the community.

As if it heard my thoughts, my phone alerted me to another text.

Unknown: Shitty snobby piece of trash. You think you’re better than everyone?

Funny that the texts were grammatically correct. No abbreviated language. Perfect spelling. Most would text your for you’re. It told me he was older, higher educated, and obsessive. Maybe. Who could know? Some of the smartest people I knew never finished high school.

I sighed and slid my phone back in my pocket.

My radio went off. I recognized Carlo from upstairs security.

“Colin.”

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