Page 8 of Awakening His Daddy

“Oh, could I have mice helpers or maybe a beaver because they’re kind of landscapers.”

“Um, I don’t think any of those things exist.”

“But where do the animals come from, and who pays them, and why are they scared of dogs?”

I look down at his glass and notice that it’s empty. He’s had half of my first and now all of his third. He’s pretty small, but that shouldn’t be enough to make him this tipsy this fast.

“You didn’t eat today,” I grumble. When he shrinks into himself, I know the answer is yes.

“I had breakfast, and I was going to have lunch, but I forgot it at home, and then I had to come here and I was late.”

“Food is important. Remember what we talked about? You work very hard and you need to eat to keep your body fueled.”

He slumps on my shoulder again. “You would be the perfect Daddy. All taking care of me and shit.”

“Language.”

“See? Perfect.”

I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t be correcting a grown man’s language, but I hate swearing because I get enough of it from work. Not the officers, but the perps. So much swearing.

“I think I’ll have a drink…” He reaches for my almost-full glass.

“I think you’ve had enough.” I move my drink away from him and throw some money on the bar. “Come on?—”

“Wait.” He shoots up from his stool and almost falls over, so I grab his arm to steady him. “The Daddies were supposed to feed me, but they’re not here.” He drops his head forward.

“Come on, I’ll feed you.”

“You will?” He looks so surprised and stares at my chest.

“How about we get you fries and chicken?”

“And an ice cream?”

“Sure.”

I give a slight nod to Tyler and Mark as I help Izzy out of his chair.

“Best Daddy ever.” He leans heavily on my body as we walk out of the bar.

Did he really mean what I think he meant? Was he hoping that the men here would feed him like Tyler did with that boy?

I could just ask Izzy, but what would that do? It’s not like it would make a difference. He’d know the dirty secret I’ve been hiding my whole life, and I’d never feed him, no matter how warm his mouth is.

And just because I’m thinking about it, my chest starts to ache with that full feeling that I hate so much.

I should have at least another hour before I need to pump. But if I pump too often, then I produce more.

Biology is a bitch.

I open the door to my car and help Izzy into his seat. He leans back and closes his eyes.

This kid needs to learn to take better care of himself. He can’t remember to eat, and he’s probably been up since the butt crack of dawn, and now he’s staying up way too late.

Man, I really do sound like a Daddy.

“Thank you,” he drawls.

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