Page 4 of Ted's Temerity
Now, I know there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I’m not ashamed to literally wear my kink with pride. However, I also know that finding a Daddy whose interests match mine can be difficult. Tea parties vs train sets, you know? And that’s fine. I’m not desperate to find a Daddy just yet. I’m happy to have my itches scratched at The Grove for now.
Besides, I’m only slowly getting back into the lifestyle after an unscheduled break from it. Am I ready to dive in so deeply with a handsome stranger just because we’ve gotten along for one meal?
“Ask him to dance?” Ash suggests with a waggle of his eyebrows, bringing my thoughts back to the moment at hand. He grins. “You did tell him you’re a professional dancer, didn’t you?”
“Was,” I correct him, doing my best not to sound bitter about it. A torn ACL ruined my dreams of continued touring. Now I teach dance to grade-schoolers.
I love my job, and I’m glad I recovered enough that I still get to dance, but the life I’m leading now has nothing on the fast pace of touring the world as a backup dancer, or the rush of performing in front of a huge audience. Hell, even being in the chorus line of a musical theater production would be awesome right now. But I had my chance, and I can’t complain too much about my lot in life now. I’m not unhappy. I just miss what I once had.
“You’re teaching it and that’s a profession,” he argues with me, oblivious to my inner turmoil, “ergo, you’re a professional dancer.”
“I should have guessed.” Ted’s sinfully smooth voice startles me and I jump in my seat, feeling heat rise to my cheeks even though the color of my skin is forgiving of my blushes. I turn to find him standing behind me and Ash, smirking. But, instead of saying something tacky about my body being ‘built’ like a dancer’s, he says, “You’re naturally graceful. Your movements are all purposeful, and your posture screams ‘dancer’.”
Part of me wants to slump in my seat if only out of petulance, but I remain upright with my back straight, my shoulders back and my chin high. “Is that so?”
Ted nods. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you practiced as a ballerino, but…” he cocks his head, as though he’s carefully deliberating his choices. He probably is. “No. Ballroom. Am I right?”
My jaw drops. “Yeah, I came up in the world of competitive ballroom dancing. What gave it away?”
“Honestly?”
I arch an eyebrow. “No. Please lie to me.”
Ash snickers, then pushes out of the seat he’d commandeered, declaring that his work here is done. I wave him off, my eyes still tracking Ted as he slips into the seat, offering me a slightly bashful look. “Chance showed me your business page. It says it in your bio.”
A burst of laughter escapes me. “You Googled me?”
“No,” Ted’s cheeks are taking on a distinctly pink flush. “Chance did.”
“Uh huh.”
With a put-upon groan, Ted runs his fingers through his hair. “Hedid!” he insists, then adds, “They’re all trying to play matchmaker. They’re worse than a bunch of meddling old women.” There’s a brief pause and he softens his tone. “I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable. They all mean well. But, with two of the guys paired off, Chance and Spence are trying to throw the heat off themselves and-”
“And the couples just want to see y’all as happy as they are.” I finish for him, patting his thigh consolingly. “Don’t worry. Weddings bring this out in people.”
There’s a spark of hunger in his gaze, which he directs down to my hand fleetingly. I slowly pull it back into my own bubble of personal space. Ted grins. “I can’t be mad at them,” he tells me. “It’s not like I’m not interested in you.”
Oh, but I do like how direct he is. It seems far more mature than half the guys I’ve dated – men closer to my own age and not involved in the BDSM lifestyle. With all the touring I was doing, I found beggars could not be choosers.
Still, even though Tedisa Daddy, and he knows I’m a Little, he doesn’t know that I’m into princess play and that’s a problem.
Instead of focusing on that, though, my traitorous mouth runs before my brain can do damage control. “Well, good. Because I’m interested in you, too.”
Zephyr Cruze,I tell myself as I watch my companion’s eyes light up,quit while you’re ahead.
Chapter Three – Ted
Zephyr and I spend the rest of the party casually getting to know one another. We cover all the easy topics: nothing deep or of much consequence. I learn that he hates bananas but loves strawberries, and I share my firm belief that pineapple has no place on pizza (and he disagrees, calling me a heathen). I discover that we’re both dog people, but neither of us hate cats, and it turns out that he shares my enjoyment for old Western movies. He loves musicals, which is not a surprise to me, but I am surprised when he vehemently states that he can’t stand most Andrew Lloyd Webber classics.
“So, noPhantom of the Operafor you?” I tease.
He makes a face and shakes his head. “Ugh. No. And noCats, either, thanks.”
“Fair enough,” I reply with a laugh. “I’m more into contemporary musical theater anyway.Wicked. Avenue Q. The Book of Mormon.That sort of thing.”
Zephyr nods, genuinely invested in the conversation. His dark eyes sparkle under the fairy lights strung overhead and he leans in closer. “Hamilton?”
“Also excellent. As was the Broadway version ofIn The Heightsbut I can’t say I loved the film adaptation as much.”
