Page 47 of Part-Time Daddy

“Soccer players, right?” I tease.

Daddy’s mouth falls open with a gasp. “What did you just say?”

I burst into giggles at his appalled expression. “I’m kidding. I know it’s baseball. Still not a fan of it, but I know those names.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “One of these days, I’m going to show you why baseball is called America’s pastime.”

Teasing Dean about his love of sports is so much fun. I can deal with a passing knowledge of sports, but it’s never been my thing. Growing up, I preferred books over riding my bike or playing outside, which hasn’t changed as an adult.

Dean, on the other hand, is a jock by all definitions of the word. Played baseball and football in high school and even joined an adult softball league for a few years—God bless him. He exclusively watches ESPN and pays hard-earned money to attend sporting events, no matter the weather.

I like himdespiteall of that.

We joke and tease a bit over the rest of our meal. Arguing over who has the better table of dead people should we ever have the opportunity to host a dinner party for the dearly departed. Once we finish the meal, Dean moves to take his plate to the sink. I stop him before he can even think of it.

“Not a chance, Daddy. Leave it. I will clean up. Unless you want another beer, the only thing you need to do is move from here to the couch.”

“Is that so?” he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Yes,” I say, placing my hand on my hip. “ESPN is already loaded for you on the TV. You only need to turn it on. There’s a pair of your sweatpants on my bed if you want to change. I’ll be there for your next surprise as soon as I wash these dishes.”

Dean eyes me for a long minute, then relents with a sigh. “Better not get used to bossing me around, baby bat.”

“I would never,” I say, grinning at him like a loon. “I think you just need to learn to let someone else take care of you.”

He leans down and presses a kiss on my forehead. “That’s my role as Daddy, not the other way around. But I won’t complain about giving all this food time to settle.”

“That works too.” I smile at him. “I’ll be there in ten minutes tops. Go rest.”

The booming voice of some announcer filters through the speakers as I gather the dishes from the table. Moving as quickly as I can, I hand wash all my pots and pans, setting them in the drying rack to deal with later, then rinse the dishes I can toss in the dishwasher. The cast iron pan goes back on the stovetop to dry over the fire while I wipe the counters and the table, blowing out the candles as I do.

Once everything is spic and span, I sneak past Daddy on the couch while his attention is transfixed on the game highlights. In my room, I quickly strip out of my clothes, swapping my briefs for a cute pair of undies and soft running shorts. Foregoing a shirt—because less clothing between us at any given time is always better—I dig in my nightstand for the small bottle of massage oil I picked up at the store.

Skirting across the hall to the bathroom, I grab a couple of towels to protect the couch and make my way back to the living room. Daddy hasn’t moved an inch, but from this vantage point, I can see hedidtake my suggestion, changing out of his work clothes.

I pat myself on the back for choosing gray sweatpants. No further explanation is needed on that topic.

When I step around the couch, Daddy glances up, eyeing my armful of supplies. “What’s going on, baby bat?”

“I told you I was spoiling you tonight, Daddy.” Dropping the supplies on the coffee table, I use the remote to power off the TV and reach for a towel, laying it over the cushions. “How do you feel about a massage?”

“Never had one,” he says, watching me closely.

“Seriously? Oh my god, that makes this so much better.” I clap my hands and show him the small bottle. “I got this special oil from the organic shop in town. The lady at the counter said it’s great for sore and tired muscles. Plus, it smells delicious.”

“This is too much, Tanner,” Daddy says, handing back the bottle. “Dinner was more than enough.”

“I disagree. Now strip naked, Daddy, and lie on your stomach here.” I point to the two towels covering the cushions next to him. “Do feel free to dance a little while you do.”

“Ah, I see. All this talk of treats and spoiling is just a guise to get a striptease, huh?”

Giggling, I shrug my shoulders. “I mean, I did workextrahard on your potatoes. I think I deserve a little thank you.”

“I suppose you’re right. Okay, let’s see what I’ve got in the ole tank.” Daddy stands and starts peeling his shirt off. My gaze catches on a glint, his pierced nipple winking at me. I choke on a stuttered moan.

Daddy winks, his hips rocking side to side in minuscule movements to an unheard beat.

“Shake it, Daddy!” I cheer.

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