Page 3 of Daddy By Design

My vibrator didn’t talk back—although it could, if I’d sprung for the optional voice-operated commands option. It even had a selection for different voices and accents. Like a British one, similar to that of Harry Styles, might have hit the spot at certain opportune moments.

Maybe I’d get an upgraded one as a self-care gift.

Fuck men.

Fuck HEAs.

I was happy on my own.

My gaze narrowed on the gleaming silver paint of his truck. I glanced down at my bag and spotted the fuzzy pink handcuffs. I jumped a little as thunder cracked overhead and bright lightning split the dark, threatening sky.

I needed to make a run for the bar. Right about then, I wished I had some rain gear. It had been a very wet spring already and it was just early May. Perhaps a cute pink rain slicker like my neighbor, Naomi, was always wearing. If you had to wear outerwear, at least it should be fun.

A text came through my phone, still in my hand. Scowling, I swiped away the wetness and my eyebrows shot up.

No way.

Derek.

Derek: Hey, babe, I’m gonna cancel our Friday date. My mom’s in town. Or she will be then. Sorry. Check ya later.

“‘Check ya later’?” I read aloud. “Are you kidding me, dude?”

When another message didn’t come through, I decided he was not kidding me. And I had no response.

Unwise decisions were made that night. I was not ashamed—at least right then. Later would be another story.

I reached into the bag for the fuzzy handcuffs, staring at the flawless, gleaming silver paint of his truck. Purpose burned in my gaze as I rushed forward and settled on the perfect spot to become my version of Picasso—also known as the driver’s side door.

The wind picked up as a couple hurrying by shrieked and laughed, giving me a chance to reconsider my ill-conceived actions, but I did not. In for a penny, right? Biting my lip, I cocked my head, furiously blinking away the rain as I started to dig my message into the paint. The scraping noise made me shudder, but it did not make me stop. Nothing could at this point. After the day I’d had, this was the only way I could get some of my own back.

I didn’t even know if I’d get to keep my damn cat. Due to his own stupidity, granted, but whatever.

My message was short and pithy. And easy to read since I did it in block letters.

Catch this one later, you troll.

I tried to shake the water out of my hair like a dog. It did not work. But I did it again just the same as I stepped back and tilted my head to view my handiwork once more.

LITTLE DICK

My lips curved as I whirled to go—and smacked into a very hard male chest. My startled gaze flew upward as his brutally strong hands clamped around my upper arms. The only thing I’d been able to coherently absorb in that minute was just how huge he was and that his shaggy hair hid half his face.

“What the hell did you do to my truck?” His deep baritone halted my flight to escape. “And why?”

“Your truck?” My gaze shot to my message. “This isn’t your truck.”

Except clearly, I had not chosen the correct frigging vehicle. Because why would I? I had the worst luck in the entire world.

Now I was going to go to jail. That would look awesome on my profile for thirty businesspeople to watch under thirty.

The guy held up his key fob and unlocked the truck door. “My. Truck.”

“Oh, no.” My voice was barely audible over the cracking thunder and the endlessly pelting rain.

My first occurrence of vehicle-induced violence and I hadn’t even picked the right truck.

Fuck me now.

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