Page 7 of A Stable Daddy

“Except his ID is in the system downstairs. I had to hand over my passport to be let in, ‘cause I ain’t got my driver’s licence here yet. But I know they took my details before I came on up here, and they woulda’ done the same with him.”

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I acknowledge that he’s right about that, too.

“I can come with you to the station if you’d like,” he offers gently, and I’m overwhelmed by how sweet and kind an offer that is. “In fact,” he continues, “I probably should, in case they need a witness statement. I won’t be in the city for long, but I’ll give them a way to contact me once I’m gone.”

And that’s how I wind up sitting in the Fortitude Valley Police Beat shopfront, making a report to a very friendly and understanding police officer.

Located in the middle of Brunswick Street, amongst the pubs and nightclubs, the space is brightly lit and exists as a stop-measure between all the craziness that happens in the city and the main police station, which is a short drive away. I’m willing to bet that they mostly deal with drunken shenanigans, but theofficer who takes down my story and hands me information for counselling isn’t at all judgemental. She hadn’t even raised her eyebrows when I walked in wearing my booty shorts and Oscar’s leather jacket and nothing else.

“For now, this report will be passed on to an investigator. They’ll probably want to talk to you themselves, too. Then, they’ll investigate,” she assures me, speaking with compassion that seems completely genuine as I stand to leave, “and someone will be in touch.”

I frown, “I’ll be moving out of state in a couple of weeks. Will that be a problem?”

“Only if this goes to court. You may need to come back for that. But we’ll take it one step at a time, okay? Just remember that you have choices through all of this, and you can ask for extra support through it, too.”

Nodding, I shake her hand and she tells Oscar to make sure I get home safely, assuming that we’re closer than we are. Before I can protest, he assures her that he will, and then he guides me back out onto the main hustle and bustle of Brunswick Street with a firm hand on the base of my spine. I imagine I can feel the warmth of his palm through the leather, and I briefly wish that I wasn’t wearing the jacket because I really like feeling his touch.

“Now, do you need me to call you an Uber or a cab? Or did you want to go back to the club, or…” he hesitates for half a second, “did you want to come back to my hotel room? Not for anything sexual,” he’s quick to add, “but it’s nearby and, forgive me for sayin’ this, darlin’, but you look beat.”

I wait for the voice of reason in my head to tell me that going to a strange Dom’s hotel room is an even worse idea than going into a private room in the club, but that voice is silent. Oscar rescued me from that other guy. He’s been nothing but gentle and courteous and hyper respectful of my potential boundaries. He even took me to make a police report and stuck around whileI did. I feel like he’s trustworthy, and he’s right: I really am exhausted.

“If…if it’s okay…I’d like that. To go back to your place.Onlyif it’s really okay.”

His handsome face lights up with the warmest smile I’ve seen him wear all night. “I’d like that, too, honey.”

* * *

His hotel room is only a fifteen-minute walk from Brunswick Street. It’s in one of the newer hotels, on the thirty-second floor and with a phenomenal view of the city’s twinkling lights. The room is only a studio, though, with a king-sized bed, a tiny two-seater couch, and a very tiny kitchenette containing little more than a kettle, mini-fridge and sink. The bathroom is just as minimalistic, with a shower, toilet, and a tiny basin crammed into a space not much bigger than my walk-in wardrobe at home.

“I did not think this through,” he muses sheepishly as he looks from the bed to the too-tiny couch, to me and then back to the bed. “I’m gonna take the floor, okay?”

“Absolutely not,” crossing my arms, I glower at him. “This is your hotel room. I can still get an Uber home.”

Disappointment flashes in his eyes and it warms me all the way to my toes.

“Or,” I add, suddenly feeling shy and unsure of myself, “we can share the bed.”

Heat flares in place of the disappointment before his cheeks flush and he blinks the lusty expression away. “I warn you,” he points an index finger at me, “I’m respectful when I’m awake, but I’m a snuggler in my sleep.”

The declaration makes my heart thud painfully in my chest. This beautiful young man reminds me so much of Maddy, despite looking nothing like him. It’s in the way he wears hisheart on his sleeve. The way he’s determined to be honest and respectful at all times, but while still having that firm, dominant air about him.

When it comes to personalities, I’ve got a type, and this guy? He’s everything I’ve ever been attracted to, if in a much younger package.

And he’s only here temporarily, I remind myself.Also, you’re leaving in a couple of weeks, too.

Not wanting to acknowledge why those thoughts hurt so much, I force a grin. “I like being cuddled.”

“Is that so?” I don’t know if I imagine the way his eyes light up, because he clears his throat and gestures to his suitcase sitting open on the coffee table in front of the little couch. “Anyway, let’s get you into somethin’ more comfortable, hmm?”

I’m loathe to let go of the leather jacket, and I’m also embarrassed to have to borrow his clothes at all. “I can just sleep in the shorts…”

A strangled sound comes from the vicinity of the back of his throat. “Darlin’, you in just those shorts could tempt a priest to sin.”

“Please,” I scoff, looking down at myself. With the jacket open, my aging torso makes me feel vulnerable. I’ve been trying to keep myself fit, but my skin is still softening and wrinkling, marked with age spots and grey hairs. The six pack of my youth is gone, the toning to my belly even harder to maintain now than it was a year or two ago. “I’ve got one foot in the grave.”

Pausing in his rummage through his clothes, Oscar looks up at me sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

“I appreciate how kind you’ve been, but I’m not unaware of my appearance. I’m old. Definitely too old for you. I…” the words I planned to say vanish from the tip of my tongue at the shift in energy in the room.

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