Page 69 of More, Daddy
I don’t think Dallas is into me, and I can’t see him going about it this way if he were. But regardless of his sexual orientation, I delete his number and let the resync process in the social media app.
I’m no longer giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, or a free pass.
When I open Instagram and navigate to where my contacts are waiting, Dallas’s little circle is gone.
I’m relieved but not totally unsurprised, because I never thought it was Dallas.
Onto the next.
In the next ten minutes I make the happy discovery that “Cadence” is not any of the team captains. And with that discovery, I’m able to breathe, just a little more than before.
Itisn’ta student.
Thank fuck that it isn’t a student.
I don’t relish the idea of it being a 20-something, either, but at least now we’re in legal territory. I can be a creep, but I can’t be a felon for what’s transpired, and that brings me some much-needed peace.
There are only a handful of names left to check, since not every team has a junior coach due to low enrollment.
Each of them come back clear, their profile disappearing from my app after I sync. With just three names remaining, I delete, hit resync, and realize—I won’t have to test the last two.
The last number I deleted from my phone removed CCaine27 from myfrom your contactslist.
Holy fuck.
Holy fucking shit.
No way.
I get to my feet, unsure what to do next, and immediately sit back down.
The last contact deleted was…
Her?
It’s her? It’s her.
My process of elimination worked. And now I know…
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
It was only supposedto be a little crush.
Harmless.
It started so innocently, just another spark like every crush I’d had on older men. I swooned over my doctor for a few months, but that fizzled out. Sophomore year, I had steamy dreams about my driver’s ed teacher, but those faded too, like morning mist.
Then Mr. Dupont caught my eye, and without knowing it, he ignited a wildfire in me. I was hooked, chasing the swarm of butterflies that danced in my gut every time hissmile lit up the room. When his hand grazed mine, a jolt of electric heat shot up my arm, painting my cheeks a vivid pink, and all I craved was to ride that current, to lose myself in the thrill of his touch.
It wasn’t my dream to be a shitty junior cheer coach my first few years out of high school, you can trust me on that. But I applied for the job because it got me closer tohim.
Five days a week, I could see him.
Sometimes I’d even get to talk to him. I mean, never more than a few words…but still, just the exchange of a few words with him would leave me wet and achy for days on end.
I followed him around campus without him knowing, chasing those highs that made mefeel. I drove by his house a thousand times. I called him and hung up, just to hear the whistle of irritation in his tone on the fifth call. He always gets annoyed on the fifth call. I Googled and researched, I hit social media sites and read every issue of theBluebell Leaderthat made mention of him. I know his mother’s name and his father’s, too. Where they work and what they do.
