Page 43 of Father Figure

“So, make it magical.”

His calm, easy-going tone set my teeth on edge. “You’re no help!” In a fit of anxiety, I hung up. Then I thought better of it because I still had no answers, so I called right back. He answered right away. “How do I make it magical?”

“Jesus. Meet me down at the docks in twenty minutes for a drink.”

Sam polished off the last of his Mojito and ordered another. “Okay, type in hearts and flowers for guys.”

I googled it and rolled my eyes, sighing. “It gives a sub-search. What is the male version of flowers?”

“What is it?”

“Beer,” I answered, giving him a look.

Sam laughed. “I don’t think that sounds very romantic, but it would definitely get the job done.”

“How to make sex magical,” I said aloud as I typed. “It says here to create a sacred space, soul gazing, and to share energetic breath. What the fuck does all that mean?” I asked him.

“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me,” Sam chuckled. “Does it say anything else?”

“According to Reddit, tease, tease, tease. Tell her to put her hands behind her back and bind them. Keep rubbing whatever part you like and ignore her pussy. There’s also something about horny goat weed and pills, playing dress up and wearing masks, and colored lights.”

Sam choked on his next sip. “Don’t they have anything in there about how to make a little gay boy’s first-time unicorns and rainbows?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to type that into the search bar?”

“It can’t be worse than horny goat weed and masks, can it?”

“It says don’t rush, get consent, shower, and douche.”

“Well, it’s not wrong,” Sam agreed. “Those things are very important.”

Powering down my phone, I looked up to find his shoulders shaking. Fucking asshole. “I wish you would take this seriously.”

“You’ll know when the time is right. If you continue to try to plan every moment of it, you’re going to be a nervous wreck and you’re gonna screw it up. Don’t think about it, don’t plan it. Just let it happen. Hold him, kiss him. It will all flow naturally after that.”

“I guess.” Taking a sip of my mango rum runner, I closed my eyes as the cool, sweet rum washed over my tongue. Just relax, take it one step at a time. Start with holding and kissing him, and see where it leads to. Yeah, I could do that.

In the distance, a boat sounded its horn as it pulled into the harbor. Stretched out in the bright summer sun on the deck of my boat, I flipped through the pages of my sketchbook, past countless drawings of different boats, to find a blank page. Skiffs, fishing boats, charters, yachts, sleek speed boats, pontoons—I never tired of taking them out of my head and putting them on paper. But today, I wanted to capture the sunset.

Drawing was something I realized I was good at when I needed a way to pass the time as an apprentice on a fishing boat in between semesters of college. The only downside to using charcoal was that the shades of black and gray could never capture the neon-bright colors of the sun as it set over the turquoise horizon.

Maybe I could give it to Nicky as a gift.

The salt breeze ruffled my hair, and I was lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat. My sketch began to take shape—a familiar shape—as I drew sleek lines and lithe curves, long feathery lashes, and plump, pillowy lips. My pencil tried its best to imitate his sweet, boyish smile.

Christ, look at me, a forty-year-old man obsessed with a nineteen-year-old boy. A virgin, no less! My pencil snapped in half between my fingers, And I chucked it over the railing. I never would have considered him as a potential mate, but now that I have, I couldn’t imagine myself with anyone else. I’d never felt so all-consumed with anyone before, not even Sam. My thoughts are Nicky this and Nicky that twenty-four seven. He’s just absolutely perfect in every way. My ideal partner. Sweet and loyal, honest and smart. Adventurous and in love with the sea. Obedient. In need of managing. Absolutely fucking beautiful. And I was the first and only man who had ever touched him, and I could be the last if I got my head out of my ass.

Sure, people might not understand, and Brian would kill me, but he was so fucking worth it.

Fuck me. I’d finally wrapped my head around the fact that I was going to sleep with my ex’s son.

Cramming the sketchpad under my arm, I debarked and made my way to the parking lot, climbing into my truck. I tossed the sketchpad on the passenger seat and drove to the supermarket to stock up on supplies for tomorrow’s trip.

After filling my basket with cans of soup, pasta, rice, oil, and condiments, I grabbed six bags of ice and stood in line to pay. Sam’s nephew was working again, and I waved.

“Hey, Cass. Getting ready to head out on the boat again?” he asked, eyeing the cans of soup.

“Yep, we head out tomorrow to Bimini.”

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