Page 79 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

I want to fucking die.

After sending the video to myself for research purposes, I swipe right again, wanting my cum-coated cock off the screen. The next picture eases a lot of my worry because of how heartwarming it is. It’s Scotty and Brody’s wedding kiss. How can I be upset about semen when they look so fucking happy to finally be married. Their joy is contagious, and it makes me a little jealous, if I’m being honest. Scotty’s married now, and I was supposed to get married alongside him. If Abi had never been shot, I would be Tatum Kincaid. Or Abi would be Abi St. James. We should probably discuss the name situation soon, but rightnow, I just want Daddy. I want to get to him and demand he marry me on the spot, because it feels like I’ve been left behind. It’s kind of like that feeling I used to get when the Bens and Austin would go to sleep at a reasonable hour, leaving me to prepare my makeup kit for clients the next day. With them upstairs, fast asleep, it always felt like I was the only soul left in the world. I hated the feeling then, and I hate it now.

“Scotty? If you’re married, does that mean Abi and I aren’t getting married too?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “What the hell do you think we’re doing right now?” For emphasis, he picks up the eyeshadow and shakes it mere inches from my face. “Earth to Tater Tot; you’re getting married in a few minutes. The longer you procrastinate, the longer it’ll be before you walk down the aisle, so hurry up.”

My jaw drops. “I’m getting married ...today?”

He bites his bottom lip and nods. “Yeah. But don’t worry, I’ve got everything sorted. You don’t have to worry about anything. Your mom and dad are here. The Bens. I invited Austin, too, but his creepy stepdad wouldn’t let him come. It’s probably for the best. If this were one of Fee’s romance books, it would seem like you’re trying to shoehorn in the next couple in the series of your life.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “This isn’t a romance novel.”

Scotty sighs dramatically. “Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, my point, asshole, is that there’s no need to hype up another set of potential love interests when the Bens have already been present for weeks.”

“Can we please just get on with it? I’m so sick of these ridiculous ‘if your life was a romance novel’ jokes. It’s a bit too meta for my liking.”

“If you insist. Anyway, Daddy and Fee said you’d want to wait until Kincaid was fully healed to get married, so we’ve been drugging both of you until he recovers. We didn’tneedto knock you out, but you would’ve just made an absolute spectacle ofyourself, playing the sympathetic near-widow, and I didn’t want to hear you rant about Kincaid’s condition for two weeks, so here we are.”

“You drugged me for two weeks?” I stare incredulously at him before deciding to let the subject die. Arguing will get us nowhere, and apparently, I’m going to play the blushing bride today. “Whatever. Let’s do this.”

When we walk outof the cabin I share with Abi, I gasp at the scene laid out before me. The parking lot has been completely transformed. Where once only sharp, jagged pebbles rested, the ground is now covered in a lumpy pink carpet. I have no idea where or how they got enough carpet to cover an entire parking lot, but with my idiotic found family, I know there’s no use asking, because I’ll just be given an answer that makes me groan due to its utter ridiculousness.

In the center of the parking lot, two rows of white chairs line the carpet. There’s an aisle between them, and there, standing proudly is Abi Kincaid. He looks more handsome than ever. His dark brown hair is parted at the side, giving him a classic, All-American-boy look. The suit he’s wearing is a stunning shade of pink, matching my ensemble perfectly. The moment he spots me, his jaw trembles.

“Tatum?” he says, loud enough for me to hear over the hum of the crowd. “Everyone stand. The little one is making his grand entrance.” His eyes narrow as he scans the crowd. “You will not speak, nor will you avert your gaze. No one ignores him. There will be consequences. Is this understood?”

The crowd murmurs their agreement. There are maybe twenty guests present, but the only person I see—theonly man I ever see—is my Abi.

Someone approaches from behind and stands at my side. When I finally force myself to look away from Abi, Dad is grinning at me, hooking his arm through mine. “Dad?”

“Hey, Tate. Hope you don’t mind me tagging along for the wedding.”

I should probably feel some semblance of shame, because I’m only wearing a jockstrap and a crop top, but I don’t. All I feel is an overwhelming level of love. Dad traveled across the country to see his son get married. His wife just left him, his entire world is in shambles, and still, he came. I wrap my arms around him, giving him the tightest hug I can manage.

“Are you staying?” I whisper into his ear.

“I’m sorry, son. I wish I could, but I can’t leave everything behind. You’ll have your mother, though. While you were sleeping, she and Fiona convinced the nice farmer across the street to sell them his home.” He clears his throat and looks away, his cheeks red. “Well, I think Fiona may have threatened to put him in the woodchipper out back if he didn’t, but the point is, your mom’s going to be around enough for the both of us. Besides,” he says, pointing at the Bens, standing on my side of the altar. “I think they’re going to need someone, now that Benito is out of the picture. They’re going to stay with me for a while.” He looks over at them, giving the men a protective nod. Benji’s shifting back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He motions my dad forward, almost urgently. “He’s still worried Benito’s going to come back and steal him. I tell him over and over that he’s safe, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.”

“He’s always been a worrywart. Just keep reminding him, and it’ll eventually stick. He did the same thing each time Real Housewives came to the end of a season. I had to remind him that it would be back in a few months, but it was always a waiting game.” I watch as tension drains from Dad’s shoulders, and it’s as if his entire body relaxes.

“You don’t know how worried I’ve been that I’m justmessing him up even more.” There’s a level of affection in his eyes that makes me more than a little uncomfortable.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, son?” He turns his head to meet my gaze.

“You’re not ...intothem, are you? Because I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I’d be okay with you dating my exes.”

Dad’s jaw practically hits the floor. “Where in the world didthatcome from? I’m not gay, son.”

“No one said you are. You could be bi or pan. There are all kinds of labels now. They're all valid.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m a licensed sexologist, Tatum. I know all the labels.”

“I know, I’m just saying, sexuality exists on a spectrum.”

“It does,” he agrees. “And there are ends to that spectrum. I fall into the purely heterosexual side, just like you fall into the completely homosexual side. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

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