Page 32 of Her Nebraska Touchdown Daddy

“What what means?” I ask, distracted.

“We won our championship, and your team did last month, too. Do you remember what that means?” he prompts.

“We get to go to the theme parks and meet the superheroes!” I scream because I remember the promise Daddy made.

“We’re going to the theme parks and meeting the superheroes.” Daddy nods.

His arms band tightly over me as the celebration rages all around us. My feet are dangling in the air because he’s got me lifted so high against him. But even if he wasn’t holding me so tight like this, I’d feel like I was flying. Because that’s what having a Daddy feels like. Like floating in the air in a perfect bubble that doesn’t let anything bad get to me.

“I love you, Daddy.” I press my lips right up to his ear to whisper.

“I love you, too, little lush. More than you’ll ever know,” he whispers right back.

ONE YEAR LATER

Deke

“Why doesit smell like cupcakes and burning tires in here?” Definitely not a scene I anticipated walking into the house this afternoon.

Windy’s scheduled to be on campus grading papers for the professor she’s a grad assistant for. Judging by the atrocious odor blanketing the entire house, she’s here instead. My sweet girl can do nearly anything she sets her mind to. Except cook or bake.

“Don’t worry about it, Daddy! Everything’s under control and I am A-okay!” Her overly cheerful tone makes it obvious that everything is not, in fact, A-okay.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, little lush. Why aren’t you on campus?” I’d expected to have a couple hours before she got home to set up the surprise I’ve been planning for her. Now I’m even more sure she needs it even though I have no idea how to get everything ready while she’s here.

“Professor Oschler gave the entire class an extension on their project outlines because his wife went into labor early andhe’s going to have a coverage professor for three weeks.” The expression on Windy’s face when she tells me about the baby her boss is having with his wife is adorably disgusted.

Windy’s still firmly on team ‘doesn’t want kids,’ and that’s fine by me. Her siblings are doing more than their part to keep the world’s population growing. Her parents have been hinting at wanting us to try for a baby since before I even proposed. I’m fairly certain if her mom guilts her one more time about how good of a Daddy I’d be, Windy’s liable to tell her exactly how good of one I already am.

“Hope you didn’t make that face when Jim told you about the baby,” I tease. Windy’s transparency is part of her charm and I hope it never changes.

Starting classes for her master’s degree immediately after wrapping up undergrad has helped her avoid having to fully face adulthood. I wish she’d just agree to be my full-time babygirl, but it’s in her head that she’s got to contribute to the household by having a career. We’ve got another year or so before she finishes school and we revisit that conversation. I already know when the time comes, she’ll see things my way.

Windy’s one of those people who loves learning. Fortunately for her, her Daddy’s a man with more money than we’ll ever need. She can earn a dozen degrees if that’s what makes her happy. What she can’t do, is bake worth a damn.

“I didn’t, I promise! I even offered to bring dinner to drop off so they can relax and enjoy the new baby since Mrs. Oschler’s doing a home-birth thing.”

“I see. So it’s Jim and Patricia’s fault you’re breaking a rule right now?” She hadn’t been living with me a week when the rule prohibiting her from cooking unsupervised was added to the behavior chart on the wall.

“Umm, no?” she answers, injecting enough innocent sweetness to her tone I know she knows she’s earned herself a punishment.

“Get your notebook, little lush. You owe me lines.” Of all the punishments I can give her, I think writing lines is the one that bothers her the least. Something in her type-A brain seems to find the rotation of different-colored pens for each line to be soothing. So writing lines isn’t the actual punishment, just a piece of it.

Unfortunately for my naughty little girl, this rule is an important one that keeps her safe. Breaking it brings to mind the fear I’d felt shortly after we got together when she managed to catch the cabinets next to the stove on fire. She was trying to surprise me with dinner. Instead I was shocked and terrified to pull onto our street and see firetrucks in the front lawn.

I pull a knot of ginger from the basket of produce on the island and peel away the thin exterior. The piece I’m preparing is about the thickness of two of my fingers and about as long as them. Windy’s bare feet skid with a squeak on the tile floor when she dashes back clutching her notebook and pen set to her chest.

“Wha-What’s that for, Daddy?” Her eyes are as big as saucers, and her nostrils are flaring with nerves.

“You know exactly what this is, naughty girl. Now, shorts and panties off. Assume the position.” We watched the movie I’m quoting together a few weeks ago together, and even as nervous for her punishment as she is, the quote makes her giggle.

When she’s naked from the waist down and draped over the table, I move close enough to give her the feel of my slacks against the backs of her thighs. Peppering a few warmup swats to her backside, I get the skin pink and warm before leaning down to bite on thick cheek. Though she’s done playing competitive soccer, she’s still playing on an intramural league and helping as a drills coach for Vanderman and the girls at thecollege. I selfishly hope she never loses this luscious soccer-girl ass.

“What’s the rule, little lush?” I ask.

“No cooking or baking unless I have help,” she recites.

“Exactly. And why is that the rule?” We don’t have many, Windy’s so eager to please and happy to let me be in charge. She slips so easily into that carefree mindset when we’re at home together. It’s like she waits all day to be allowed to shed the mantle of making decisions and doing what she calls ‘adulty’ things.

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