Page 3 of Wrong Number, Right Single Dad
“Hey, Delaney.” She waves from her sofa. “What’s going on?”
“I just got a message from ‘Daddy.’”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “Was it a naughty message or a naughtier message?”
“He asked me over to his place.”
“Oh my God.” She practically bounces in excitement. “When are you going over?”
“I’m not sure I am.”
Her face scrunches up. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I don’t want to be murdered.”
“You’ve met up with him on four other occasions, and he didn’t murder you.”
“Yeah, but those were public meet-ups.”
“A woman can just as easily be murdered in public as she can at home.”
“Fair point.” I twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “I don’t know… I guess there’s something about going to his home that seems so real, so personal.”
“Having a guy finger bang you to completion while you jerk him off is about as personal as you can get.”
“Yeah, but that was without real names or conversation exchanged. How can we keep it light and uncomplicated if I’m at his house?”
“Easy. Just only use your mouth for sucking and have him blindfold you so you don’t see anything personal.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m being serious here.”
“So am I,” she insists. “Come on. Do it for the plot.”
“That’s the sort of thing people say to get another person to do something that could go really badly.”
“It’s also the sort of thing people say when it could lead to something amazing.” She laughs. “Just, make sure your phone is charged. Share your notification with me. Keep me posted and use a condom.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “He has been really fun to fool around with.”
“See, there you go. Live a little. Live a lot. Go out there and get yourself some.”
It’s these words of Katie’s that push me to dash a quick message back to the man known only to her and me as “Daddy.”
It’s these words that inspire me as I open my closet to pick out something to wear for our tryst.
***
I park my car in front of an unassuming house in an ordinary neighborhood.
The word quaint comes to mind.
Which is funny, because unassuming, ordinary, and quaint don’t even register on the list of words I’d pick to describe the man who has made my toes curl on our few previous meet-ups.
I sigh. See. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid. I don’t want to know anything about this guy.
Well, not anything beyond the fact that he can get me off in under ten minutes—five if we’re short on time.
“I really hope this doesn’t screw up a perfectly good thing.” Shaking my head at myself, I straighten my shoulders and unbuckle my seatbelt. “Whatever. I’ll do it for the experience. And as long as I come out of this alive, we’ll call it a win.”
