Page 11 of More, Daddy
Should we meet?
CHAPTER
THREE
“You knowwhat you need for that? A reciprocating saw. Those things eat through anything. They’re the goat of tools,” Hudson says, lowering his empty pint glass to the bar top.
Someone has something that needs sawing through? Cutting down? Destruction? Fuck if I know. My leg has been bouncing beneath the bar for the last ten minutes, and I’m showing restraint by sitting.
The urge to pace is great.
“Do you mean that as in “that’s the G.O.A.T.,” or do you mean that as in it’s comparable to the animalthe goat, because those fuckers eat through anything?” Dean asks, adjusting his Cattleman which he has balancing on his knee.
I swipe a hand through my hair and stifle the scream of boredom that pings in my throat. I like my friends, but knowing thatDaddysGirlis at home and likely online, it’s really hard to sit here and talk about home repair projects and fucking power tools with three married or basically married dudes.
Hudson looks contemplatively across the bar as if needing a moment to consider the question. Need I remind you the question is dumb, and this whole conversation is an unkinky snooze.
“Same shit, man. He’s saying the tool is gonna get the job done. Who cares what metaphor he used. Get the saw,” I rumble, pulling my pint glass to my lips to finish off number three.
Jake, who has been engrossed in the football game playing on the TV above the bar, finally joins the conversation. He narrows his gaze, poking me with it, as if I’m a bee hive and answers are about to spill out of me in angry droves.
“Sorry,” I mutter, indefensible against his powerfulnow tell dad what’s wronggaze. “Just… grouchy.”
“Still not sleeping well?” Dean muses with concern, bringing his eyebrows together, a few grooves of worry etched into his forehead right below the permanent red mark left by his cowboy hat.
Fuck. I forgot I lied to him about not sleeping well a few nights ago when the team was away and instead, I stayed home to talk to a girl online.
God, it sounds pathetic when I reframe it that way.Note to self: do not reframe it that way ever again.
Quickly, I think of a way to lie to my friends but also not lie to them. A half truth. I’ll give them a single fleck ofhonesty, but roll it in so many crumb coats of bullshit so I’m thoroughly insulated from the vulnerability of the truth.
I peer up at the screen for a moment before casting my eyes back to Dean. “I rejoined the online hunt for love,” I admit, because they already know about the tale of West Dupont and his “swipes for love” (their stupid words, not mine). They don’t need to know that I joined a kinky, anonymous online hookup app meant to fap out my dirtiest desires while taking a brief respite from the soulmate hunt.
That will be my little secret.
Still, I did join a new dating app. That’s the true part of it. Half truth accomplished.
I scratch the back of my head and force a yawn that turns real part way through. “It always makes me nervous when I join those things.” There, another truth. I did have a lot of anxiety joining online apps because one of my greatest fears was somehow being matched with my ex-wife—falling in love with someone only to meet them in person and find out it’s the one person who already knows me and rejected me because of what she knows. Or worse, that I fall in love with someone I already know and do not have sexual feelings for in real life.
Too many scary possibilities, and the anxiety that comes with dating apps is indeed real.
I just don’t have any withVeiled, becauseDaddysGirlisDaddy’sfucking dream.
Again, that’s formeto know.
Dean bobs his head in knowing consolation. “I’d be the same. Talking to strangers has to be weird—at first, at least.”
Hudson waves down the bartender and indicates he’d like another, sliding his pint glass down the wavey, worn grain of the bar top. “I went on a set up thing once,” he says, his browdipping into a flat line when he needlessly adds, “you know, right before me and Dolly.”
Dolly Gray. The holy grail of wives.
She’s fucking hot, which I know I shouldn’t say because Hudson Gray is my friend, and a good friend, too. But you know what? Sheisfuck hot. She’s got a killer rack, she’s always barefoot with her dress hanging off one shoulder—her entire energy gives off a sexual, sensual vibe. Like no matter what time of day he catches her, she’s always got something sultry waiting for him on her lips, always makes room for him between her legs, and is never without a few erotic words to whisper in his ear.
It’s hot.
Whether I admit it or not doesn’t stop it from being true. And another thing hot as fuck about her? She’salwayspregnant. Hell, I don’t even know how many kids Hudson has at this point.
I cast him a little envious glare, which he interprets as me wanting to hearmoreof his story.
