Page 8 of Dating the Daddy

Why the fuck not?

Me

I’m busy.

Aidan

Doing what?

I consider it for a moment, and then a wicked idea strikes, one sure to drive him mad regardless of why he’s texting me. If he wants to know who I am, it’ll be just enough to make him crazy.And if he’s really flirting because he’s into me…well, this will make him crazy then, too.

I swipe away from our messages and open my camera, snuggling up against the pillows. I make sure my face and any identifying details are completely hidden, leaving only my pajama top—with a hint of cleavage—and the bed showing. And then I quickly snap the photo and send it to him.

Me

Not all of us are up at the ass crack of dawn, terrorizing the world. Go away and let me sleep.

Aidan

Jesus Christ. You’re in bed right now.

Me

Yes. Was my photo not clear enough?

I laugh wickedly before firing off another text.

Me

Should I send another?

Aidan

Yes. More cleavage this time, Fairy.

Better yet… why don’t you slip that perfect hand down that body and give yourself a really good morning while you think about me? I’ll be a good boy and wait.

I groan, my core clenching. Oh, he’s the devil. But if he wants to play dirty, I’ll play. But I’m playing to win.

Me

Who says I haven’t already, Aidan? Maybe you caught me right after I finished…

I press send, chuckling to myself, and then throw the covers back, rolling out of bed. My phone immediately dings with an incoming message, but I ignore it, leaving him to stew in his juices. He really should stop playing with fire. I think I like burning a little too much.

The restof my day is far less interesting than my morning. By the time I got out of the shower, Aidan had given up waiting for a response and stopped texting me. But not before threatening to spank my ass when he gets his hands on me.

That threat lingers in my mind all damn day as I try to find something gossip-worthy to write about. For once, everyone in town is, apparently, on their best behavior. As the afternoon draws to a close and I’ve still come up with nothing salacious enough to warrant a mention in the column, and my mind yet again turns to Aidan, inspiration strikes.

I sit bolt upright in my chair, cackling out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Leia asks, peering at me from the copy machine a few feet away.

“I just thought of something,” I mutter, waving her off with one hand. “I’m going to break him.”

“Who?”

I dart a glance around, checking to make sure we’re alone. Subterfuge is exhausting in a room full of nosy reporters. But honestly, I don’t think anyone else at the paper even gives a crap about the matchmaker or the gossip column. It’s not even on their radar. They write the sports column and the crime beat. What do they care about harmless gossip?

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