Page 49 of Mountain Daddy
Dad grabs two of the platters of pancakes, and I take the third.
The table is already set with plates, butter, and maple syrup, so now, with the rest of the food, the surface of the round table is nearly covered.
Four chairs circle the table, and since Dad and his bestie choose seats next to each other, I had to decide between sitting next to my dad and across from Luther. Or next to Luther and across from my dad.
I was tempted to sit beside Luther, but next to my dad seemed like the more socially acceptable choice. Considering Luther and Ijust met.
Plus, being directly across from Luther comes with its own perks. Like eye candy.
The first few minutes are filled with silence as we eat.
Luther shovels another forkful of the raspberry pancakes into his mouth, finishing the short stack in what had to be four bites. Then he sets his fork down and lifts his head to spear me with a look. “What the hell did you put in these?”
I try not to grin like an idiot.He already likes my pussy. It shouldn’t matter so much that he likes my cooking too.
Dad reaches out and slaps Luther’s shoulder. “Told you my girl has talents.”
I watch Luther’s jaw work, and I know his mind is swimming around in the gutter. Becausesame.
“Thanks, Dad.” I fork up some of my own food, pretending this isn’t the strangest breakfast ever. Eating with my one-night stand and my dad.
Luther serves himself another stack of pancakes, the blueberry ones this time. And as I listen to my dad tell me about a phone call he had yesterday, I watch Luther eat.
He’s a little slower this time, but he still finishes his second round of pancakes in under a minute.
When he’s done, he once again lifts his gaze to meet mine.
Dad is still gabbing, eyes on his mug as he pours himself more coffee, so I point to the final platter and mouth,My favorite,before Dad looks up.
Luther uses the spatula to slide three of the banana pancakes onto his plate.
Before he cuts into them, I reach out and nudge the butter, then the maple syrup toward him.
Taking the hint, he cuts a square of butter off the stick and drops it on his stack.
Dad looks at the table, watching the silent interaction, but he doesn’t stop talking and doesn’t seem to find our behavior suspicious.
I make the proper noise in response to Dad’s story, but my attention stays on Luther as he lifts his fork.
His lips part.
A drip of syrup falls onto his plate.
I wish I was that plate.
And then he puts the fluffy goodness into his mouth.
He pulls the clean fork out from between his lips, and his eyes close as he starts to chew.
I take a drink of my coffee to help my suddenly dry throat.
Then Luther startles everyone when he groans. Loudly.
Dad jerks his head in Luther’s direction. “Damn, Rocky. Keep it in your pants, would you? My daughter’s here.”
I choke on my coffee.
Luther chokes on his pancakes.
