Page 52 of My Five Daddies

Chris smirksat me from across the table and stretches a little bit. “I’m fucking starving,” he says. “I always work up an appetite afterfucking.”

I blush a little bit. I’m a little sore from where Jordan fucked my ass, and I think I can still feel them leaking from me, but I actually love the feeling. I feel so dirty and used up, and that just excites me a littlebit.

When we finished up, Chris announced that he was getting some food. Will and Jordan both had to head back home, but I agreed to go with him. He took me to this little diner basically hidden underneath another building, but it’s old school and the food is reallygood.

Chris digs into his burger. I watch him for a second, sipping on a Coke. He looks up at me. “What?” heasks.

I shrug. “Nothing. Just watchingyou.”

He grins at me. “I’m used tothat.”

“What, people watchingyou?”

He nods, eating more slowly. “I’m a big guy. People like tostare.”

“How tall are you,exactly?”

“Six foot six,” he says. “And people love to remindme.”

I frown a little. “Really?”

“Sure,” he says. “When I was a kid, they were always trying to get me to try out for the footballteam.”

“Didyou?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Never cared about football, just wasn’t my thing.” He grins at me. “I played thetuba.”

“What?” I say, laughing. “You were a bandgeek?”

“Guilty.” He shrugs, not at all embarrassed. “We all were musical, all five of us. In our own ways, at least. It’s why we’re in this industry, along with otherreasons.”

“Did you guys ever play in a bandtogether?”

He laughs again. “Sure did, but we were awful. Couldn’t get ittogether.”

“Whosang?”

“Will did, he has a decent voice. Jordan played drums, Ethan played guitar, and I was onbass.”

“I can see you guys on stage right now. I bet all the girls lovedyou.”

“Sure did, but I didn’t need a band for that.” He grins at me and finishes his meal in the time it takes me to eat a single Frenchfry.

“It’s hard for me to imagine you guys askids.”

“We were,” he says. “Everyone was. I like this better,though.”

“Why?” I ask. “Most people want to be youngagain.”

“I’m young enough,” he scoffs. “I have money now, freedom. My old man was a drinker, a fucking piece of shit. Used to beat on mesometimes.”

“Really?” I ask. “That’sawful.”

“It happens. He’s dead now, rotting away in the ground. Died from drinking too much, that stupid fuck. I don’t misshim.”

I glance down at my plate. My life seems so easy and simple compared tothat.

“What about your mom?” Iask.

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