Page 116 of Ride With Me

We sway until the song ends and a new, faster one picks up again. I squeal when the opening chords begin.

“Ilovethe Macarena!” I launch myself backward, prepared to show him just how good I am at following the movements.

He seems momentarily surprised by how fast I’ve moved, but he shakes it off and kind of bounces in place, leaning on one leg and then the other, while I sing along to the English lyrics until the chorus kicks in. I can’t sing in Spanish, but I can do the dance steps.

Daddy cheers and claps when the chorus is over. “You really do love this one, huh?”

“Yeah.” My smile stretches my face as my heart races. “It’s like a grown-up Hokey Pokey. But I like doing that dance, too.”

Daddy’s laughter is rich and deep. My tummy flip-flops. I want to make him laugh more often. Plus, when he does, his eyes crinkle in the corners and it makes him even more handsome.

“Is that so?” he teases. “What about the chicken dance?”

Jumping on the spot, I clap my hands. “Yes! I’m good at that, too! Watch!” Even though it’s out of time with the Macarena, I demonstrate just how good I am at the chicken dance, delighting in my favorite part—the butt wiggle.

People around us stop to watch, but they lose interest when Daddy laughs and I join in with him. “That is indeed the chicken dance.” He snickers. “Very good.”

Once again, I feel warm all over at the compliment. “You’re not so bad at dancing either, Daddy.” I cock my head and bat my lashes the way I’ve seen Russ do. I’ve never been brave enough to flirt, but something about Vince makes me feel…well, in-vince-ible!

Yeah, okay, that was a bad pun.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter?” he asks, and my inexperience must be painted all over my face because he quickly adds, “Just to talk some more?”

Biting my lip, I nod. It’s warm in Anson’s apartment, warmer still because of all the people crammed into it; I’m flushed and a bit sweaty from dancing. “Can we get a drink?”

Vince takes my hand, weaving us through the moving bodies and toward the kitchen in the next room. “Beer?” he asks, then laughs when I scrunch up my nose. “Soda, then?”

I’d really prefer juice, but there doesn’t appear to be any in the coolers set out on the counter, so I nod. “Sprite, please.” I do enjoy the way the bubbles tickle my nose.

Vince grabs a Coke for himself and then, with a hand on the small of my back, guides me out of the crowded apartment and into the corresponding small but private front yard. I guess that’s one of the benefits of living in a ground-floor apartment, or at least it is here.

The neighborhood I live in isn’t anywhere near as nice, and my apartment is small and in need of some TLC. But it’s better than living with my parents, so I can’t complain.

Settling in one of two Adirondack chairs on the little front porch, I tilt my face skyward, letting the cool night air chill my heated cheeks. With my eyes closed, I hear the crack and hiss of Vince opening his soda, as well as the distant sound of nighttime traffic on the nearby highway.

“So, how do you know Anson?” Vince asks. Opening my eyes, I turn to find him studying me.

“He’s been seeing my best friend, Russ. They didn’t want me to be alone tonight, so”—I spread my hands wide, not too worried about jostling my unopened soda—“here I am.”

Vince blinks in surprise. “I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”

“It’s pretty new,” I acknowledge, “and Russ is a major social butterfly. We got to the party and he found someone new to talk to and that was that.” I felt bad for Anson, to be honest. It’s his birthday; Russ should have stayed to talk to him. “I figure they’llfind each other later and Russ will make up for being a flake then.”

Honestly, I think it’s all part of his Kitten personality: he’s aloof and shows affection on his own terms. If that works for him and Anson? Great. But I’m not like that.

“Well, good for them, then.” Vince chuckles, taking another sip from his can. He looks down into it for a long moment before asking, “Can I ask how old you are?”

“Twenty-one.”Barely. The night Russ and I met Anson at The Grove, a local kink club, was my twenty-first birthday. Russ had urged me to indulge my Little inclinations in a kink club, hoping I might find a Daddy and finally lose my v-card.

Spoiler alert: I did not.

Vince nods, unfazed. “I guessed twenty-two.”

“Very good guess, Daddy.” I grin.

He winks. “I like it when you call me that.”

I wonder if that’s something he tells all the Boys, but I don’t dare ask the question. Vince didn’t seem interested in anyone else at the party, and he doesn’t really throw off playboy vibes. Just because I’m a shy virgin doesn’t mean I haven’t come across my share of creepy assholes.

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