Page 39 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

And release.

“You hate it?” Elmyra says, pulling me out of my peaceful headspace. When I open my eyes, she’s staring at me with a worried expression.

“No,” I quickly assure her. “Sorry, my mind’s all over the place. It’s not the outfit, I promise.” I stare down at the pants and try to force a smile, but she must see through it.

“I wasn’t too sure about them, either,” she says, matching my scowl as she studies them. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a week to get it right. This is just a fitting so we can see what we like and what needs changing.”

The only thing needing changing is my current headspace. For a moment—a ridiculous, unwelcome moment—I was happy with the thought of walking down the aisle. Now, it’s like someone’s slit my stomach open, shoved a handful of lit firecrackers in me, and stitched the wound shut. I know I might blow at any moment, but the panic and dread rushing through me is almost exhilarating. I kind of want to explode just to see if Abi would be at my side in the aftermath, collecting stray parts like forget-me-nots.

We go over the ensemble for a while longer, deciding to tighten the trousers and stitch pink flowers across the fabric to match Scotty’s. I still don’t think it feels like ‘the’ outfit. It’s not what I’d select for a real wedding, but I push those thoughts away, because I can’t ask her to make it perfect, working her fingers to the bone for a wedding that won’t be taking place.

When we exit the back office, I’ve calmed down, for the most part. As angry as I get with Scotty, I just can’t stay mad at him.We’ve always been like this. We fight to the death like hellhounds, but that anger never lingers. It doesn’t fester inside us, tainting our familial bond. We’re a bit like sisters in that regard. I can eviscerate him with words in one moment and want to cuddle up close to him the next. It’s what biffles do.

The sight of Scotty takes my breath away. He’s standing on an elevated platform, facing away from me. He’s wearing a hot-pink crop top with the words Daddy’s Bride scribbled across his shoulders in glittery letters. Instead of pants, he’s wearing pink, sequined hot pants that leave little to the imagination. With him bending over to tie his shoes, his entire crack is on display, the fabric wedged between his cheeks like a second skin. I’m pretty sure I can see the outline of his asshole. Mom is fussing over him, stroking his shoulder, whispering words meant for only him, and I’m struck with an unwelcome twinge of jealousy, because I’m her son. She should be looking at me with hope and awe in her eyes. She didn’t even offer to come back and see my outfit. I know this wedding isn’t real, but she doesn’t, and it stings to see her choose his happiness over mine.

But those are nasty thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking. This is Scotty’s day. Sure, he’s tried to force me into the chaos with him, but even if that’s not happening—it can’t happen—I plan on standing at his side as his best man.

“You look beautiful, babes.” When he turns around, I’m taken aback. Now I see why Mom is touching all over him. She’s not hemming and hawing at his outfit. She’s consoling him. Tears are pouring down his face, and he’s sniffling something awful. “Scotty?”

He chews his bottom lip, his eyes pleading. I don’t know what he wants, but I know my biffle well enough to know what he needs.

Me.

“Tater Tot?” God. His voice is wrecked. Jagged and broken sounds that tug at my heartstrings.

“What’s wrong?” I say as I rush toward him. When I reach him, he throws himself at me, clinging on like a koala bear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know I messed up, but I’m sorry, okay?” I look at Mom, then at the back office, hoping she’ll give us the room. She nods before leaning in and kissing my forehead. Once she’s done with me, she offers a kiss to Scotty. Mom, Fee, and the Foote sisters head toward the back, and I guide Scotty to a small bench near the front door. Once I’m down, I pat the empty space beside me, but Scotty has other plans. He plops down on my lap and buries his face in the crook of my neck.

“You’re okay,” I say, wanting to assure him.

“I’m not,” he says, tickling my neck with his stubble when he shakes his head. “I was just so scared of doing this by myself. You’re always there for the big stuff, and I figured it would make it all easier if you had to do it too.” He sniffles and pulls away, wiping his eyes with his palms.

“Scotty,” I say, my voice soft, bringing my hand to his face to wipe away a rogue teardrop. “I’m always going to be there for you. Even when Abi and I call this off, I’ll still be right by your side. You’re not in this alone. Not anymore.” I lean closer and kiss the tip of his nose. “I followed you to conversion camp just to keep you safe. Do you really think I’d abandon you?”

“You tried, though. A whole bunch of times. You always run away, and it’s like you’re running away from me. Like you’re throwing me away, the same way Dad did.”

It feels like my heart is cracking in my chest. I’ve seen what losing his father did to Scotty. I saw how losing his mom almost destroyed him. That’s why I allow myself to make an admission I’d never tell anyone else.

“I’m not throwing you away.” Touching my chest, I twinkle my fingers over my heart. “Every time I run, it feels like there’s a rope around my heart. The further I get, the harder it tugs. It’s like my body is working against me, because it knows I belong here. With you.”With Abi.“Somewhere along the way, we formed this silly, stupid, ridiculous family, and I think part of mewants Abi to find me each time.” No. Not part. All of me. Each time I run, it’s like I’m waiting for him to sniff me out and drag me home, because I know he will. Because he knows I want him to.

“You promise you’re going to be there?”

I nod, because it’s all I can do to ease his mind. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

CHAPTER 8

ABI

The diner is packed. After two hours being fitted for tuxedos, Brody, Mr. St. James, and I walked across the square to Minnie’s Diner. The scents of sizzling bacon and apple turnovers fill every inch of the diner, making my mouth water and my stomach rumble. The booth we’ve been given is circular, meant for large parties, so it practically swallows the three of us. I’m on one side, Brody is directly across from me, and Mr. St. James is facing forward, away from the diner’s picture window.

A woman in a poodle skirt with a name tag that saysMinnietakes our drink orders. Brody orders a bourbon on the rocks, glaring at her when she says they don’t offer hard liquor, as they are simply a diner, not a dive bar. Tatum’s father orders himself a glass of lemon water, and an unsweet iced tea minus the ice for his wife. She hasn’t arrived yet, but when I arch an eyebrow, he explains she prefers her tea room temperature, and he wants it to be just right when she gets here.

Tatum and Scotty will be joining us shortly. In the meantime, Brody and Tatum’s father have become fast friends, while I sit back in my booth and stare at Pretty Baby’s face on my phone screen. I pull up my gallery and scroll through the images until I find one of me gripping my cum-coated cock. It’s an image Itook a few days ago, after shooting my load in the communal bathroom. I give Tatum no context and just hit send, hoping it might earn me a sassy reply.

As much as I’ve enjoyed my time getting to know my future father-in-law, I’ve missed my little one’s cruel words, always laced with sprinkles of affection. I also miss the sensation of his hole gripping tightly around my finger. I don’t know how I’m going to manage the rest of this trip without that connection.

It takes less than thirty seconds for him to respond.

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