Page 31 of Big Daddy

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

I don’t know why he doesn’t feel bad. I know he loves Brielle; he’s been a helicopter dad her entire life, according to her. And I’ve borne witness to his many calls, check ins and now, grocery drops. So, I don’t know how or why he doesn’t feel bad.

And I don’t know why him not feeling bad makes me feel better, but it does. His calmness reassures me, because it just doesn’t seem like a man like Big Daddy could make a mistake so grand, his daughter won’t speak to him.

“I don’t get this either, but right now, it's for us to not understand,together,” he says, somehow saying exactly what I needed to hear. He kisses me again, and this time, he’s the one to step back.

“Sleep well, Winnie, and we can discuss this,” he says, waving his hand toward my apartment, “later.”

I don’t know what he means, but I stand at the door of my place until he’s inside the elevator, and the doors close. I run inside my apartment, hopping over mounds of laundry and bags of trash that need to go out, clambering at the window facing the street. I wait until Big Daddy appears, and I watch him get into his car and drive off.

I head back to bed with a smile so big, I cringe myself out.

chapter eleven

quincey

What am I,a child before the first day of school? A girl before her first boy band concert? I feel like a goddamn fool, tossing and turning all night with an impish grin on my idiotic lips.

I have no business looking forward to Winnie being in the office tomorrow. Absolutely zero business at all. Yet here I am, rolling onto my side for the hundredth fucking time, thinking about her while avoiding the gun pointed toward me poking out of my waistband.

For some illogical reason, I’ve taken a moral stance against jerking off while thinking about Winnie, even though I ate her pussy and fingered her little asshole. Somehow, jerking off to her makes me feel like a creepy older man. Makes me feel like one of her clients or something.

Around four in the morning, I give up hope of getting a wink, and sit up in bed, ready to start the day. As I’m slipping my robe on, my phone illuminates on the side table.

A text. From Winnie.

I was just laying in bed thinking about how you accused Dante of being a creep because you thought he was a FeetFans client

Kink shaming isn’t cool, Big Daddy

I think you owe me an apology

My lips quirk to the side as I groggily blink down at the screen. Does she start her day at 4 in the morning or has she too been bitten by the excitement bug? I get to work on a reply.

Bratty at 4am? You never turn it off, do you?

Why are you up?

You need eight hours of sleep.

I always lecture Brielle about the very same thing. In fact, knowing she was so busy she couldn’t fit me in for dinner makes me worry she’s burning the candle at both ends.

Fuck.

Now Brielle is dancing through my mind, reminding me of my most important relationship and all the damage I’ve done to it. And, apparently, continuing to do.

I slept like shit last night.

Dante and Guy snored the ENTIRE night and I couldn’t find my ear plugs

My eyes attach toDanteandGuy.

It’s bad enough she shares an apartment with men, but two? I don’t fucking like this. Not at all. Carrying my phone in my robe pocket, I head downstairs to the kitchen and begin making an espresso.

My hand shakes as I level the ground beans into the press. Espresso grinds scatter along the counter, further annoying me.

When it’s finally brewed, I take my drink to the living room and sit in front of the fireplace. With a press of a button, it ignites, flooding the space with a comfortable ambience and a dull roar.

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