Page 10 of Screw Me Daddy

I don’t quite know what’s happening here.

Is this proof that Reece truly is a Daddy?

And is he taking me toMorning Milkfor a business meeting… or a playdate?

I guess I’m about to find out. Even though I know it could be all in my head, and Reece could have his pick of any Little in the whole world, I have a feeling that Reece wants to make me his boy…

Chapter 4

Reece

‘I guess if I have to hide somewhere, here isn’t so bad,’ I say, peering out of my beachside villa’s large panoramic window. ‘Beach view. Blue ocean. What’s not to love?’

I’m trying to be positive.

But there’s a niggling feeling inside me that I can’t shake.

Ever since running into that asshole paparazzo Tony Ripper at the construction site, my mind has been doing all kinds of crazy things to itself.

I was out for a morning run on the marina and at every turn I felt like I was being watched. I didn’t see Tony, or any other paparazzo for that matter, but the thought was implanted in my brain and it was hard to shake.

You might think that I’d be used to press intrusion into my life.

I mean, I kind of got used to it during my playing career. And it’s not like the press are any less intrusive in Europe either. If anything, they are sometimes even worse.

But when I was playing, I grew to accept the fact that I was in the public spotlight. I didn’t enjoy the attention, but grudginglywent along with it because I knew that being a superstar soccer player came at a price.

The press intrusion reached its peak in the buildup to my final professional match. Everyone knew it was a huge final, and the media narrative had been that this would be the perfect crowning glory to put a final seal of greatness on my legacy.

Of course, fate has a funny habit of kicking you in the ass.

In the days before the big game, I could feel my body finally giving up to the ravages of time. I’d had a long, highly decorated career but the toll of one too many injuries over the years was suddenly beginning to show.

Come game day, I knew something wasn’t right.

And so it proved.

My final appearance as a professional soccer player lasted less than half an hour. My left hamstring blew up in such a way that no amount of rehab on the pitch was going to get me through the remainder of the game.

I screamed in pain as I felt my hamstring tear, but the reality was that the tears on my face were more down to the fact that I knew this was my last time on the pitch as a professional.

Truly, it hadn’t been the way I wanted to go out.

Bu what made it worse was the intensity of the press coverage that followed. I even had a photographer sneak into my private hospital room and take a photo of me as I was having an assessment.

It wasn’t right, and I felt a deep sense that my privacy was being invadedwaybeyond anything that could be considered an acceptable level.

When I retired, I figured the big bonus would be that I’d be left alone. Or at least wouldn’t find myself being followed and spied upon at every turn like this asshole Tony seems to be doing.

I’ve got no proof, but I’m pretty damn sure it was Tony Ripper who followed me and Lane when we raced up Lost Torros canyon.

And if Ripper was willing to do that, and then track down the construction site for my new home then who knows what else he’d be willing to do…

‘Fuck. I need to shake this asshole out of my thoughts,’ I grumble, moving away from the window and walking over toward my imported coffee machine. ‘A shot of espresso and maybe a quick message to Xander should help…’

I make myself a piping hot espresso and sit down on my large L-shaped couch. Even the thought of messaging Xander makes me smile. There’s something about him, that’s for sure.

I’ve lived all over Europe and seen a thousand different boys.

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