Page 7 of Property of Big Daddy

I glance around.“I’m the only man at this table, unless you’re interested in my nephew.”I grin.

“How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t want to insult you.”

“Takes more than that to hurt my feelings, babe.”

She takes her time, studying my face and rough hands.“Older than thirty-five, but under fifty.”

“Accurate.What about you?”

“I’m twenty-six soon to be twenty-seven.”

“Fuck me.”

“What?What’s wrong with my age?”

“Damn near old enough to be your father.”I shake my head, knowing I’m fifty shades of fucked up for wanting to pursue this.

“Big Daddy,” she says my name soft and sweet.The sound is pure torture because I feel it in my bones and my dick and immediately imagine her doing it in my bed.“We’re both adults.”

I grunt in agreement.She’s right about that.

“So, old man.What’s a girl got to do to get another drink around here?”

“Come home with me and I’ll show you how old I am.”

“Tempting.”

“You saying you aren’t curious?”

“No.I’ve never done this.”

“What?Gone home with an old man or a stranger?”

“Both.”

I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and flip it open to my license.“Real name.Age.Address.”I shove it toward her.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“You’re safe with me.Snap a picture if it will make you more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that against your code or something?”She teases, glancing at my information.

“I’m the president.I make the rules.”I tap the patch on my cut.

“Why do they call you Big Daddy?”

“That you’ve got to earn.”

“So you’ll give me your wallet but won’t tell me how you earned your road name?”

“Yup.”

“You know how to hook a girl.”

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