Page 72 of Full Service

“You’re forty-five. You’re not old.”

“Feel like it,” he says gruffly. “Had a kid who was kind of a brat. Took years off my life.”

I scoff at that and then nudge him. “Quit it. Or I’ll make you eat two bowls of salad.”

“Not two bowls,” he grumbles as he takes another swig of beer and then haphazardly stirs the instant mashed potatoes.

I was gonna go for the real thing, but it would take too much prep work. And to be honest, my dad prefers the instant potatoes anyways. He’s bougie like that.

“Two bowls,” I repeat and then we grin stupidly at one another. “So, how long are you here for? Where are you off to next?”

“Up to Redding after this. Probably stay there through the summer.”

“Gonna be a hot one.”

“Yep,” he says and nods. “But after that, I’ll try to take something closer to you in the fall. Hopefully.”

My heart warms at that. For as unique as my childhood was, growing up with him as my father, he really did the best he could. And he’s always put me first. Hasn’t even dated, probably never even considered it. His focus was on providing for me.

“May even have a bonus check that I can give you?—”

“Hell no. You keep your money. I don’t want it.”

He sighs. “A dad should be able to pay for his kid’s school, son.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got this. I have a good job.” I don’t mention the caved-in ceiling or the fact that I am technically homeless. I know that he’d feel the need to do something, and I can’t have that. He needs to take care of himself. He gave up so much for me growing up, caring for me as a single dad. I need him to not worry about me, to just take this time for himself.

He arches his eyebrow at me. “One where you have to strip?”

“Yeah, but I’m good at it.”

“If your grandfather knew what you did.”

I roll my eyes. “He’d probably cheer me on. He’s just as deviant as me.”

My dad grins widely and shakes his head. “Probably right. He tried to rope me into some kind of sensual ribbon dance at the old folks’ home.”

“What the hell is that?” I ask with a laugh.

“No clue, but I told him no fucking way. I’m sure he’ll ask you next.”

“I would give a good show. Just don’t know if I have the time to commit.”

My dad hums his agreement. “Anything to get out of that shit show.”

“I mean, yeah. I guess I’ll tell him I’m too busy, but we do need to show up and support him.”

“I don’t know what sensual ribbon dancing means, and I honestly don’t know if I want to see my dad shimmying up on stage.”

I let out a laugh as I dish up the steaks on plates and scoop out some mashed potatoes. My dad looks glumly at the salad I hand him, but he eats it first, almost shoveling it into his mouth to get it out of the way.

When we’re done with dinner, we sit outside his camper, drinking beer and just shooting the shit. I tell him about my classes and about my job as a TA. I don’t mention Dr. Sinclair at all, not wanting him to read the expression on my face if I do. He’d read me like a fucking book.

I can already tell he doesn’t like the idea of me stripping. I don’t want to tell him I’m acting inappropriately with the professor I’m supposed to be working for.

And that last night, he got down on his knees and sucked my dick. And I did the same.

No, no that won’t do.

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