Page 18 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
"There's a group chat?"
"Focus, Karen." Madison Grace Summers, our youngest member, pulls out her phone. "We need details. All of them. Start with how he looks naked."
"We haven't—I don't—" I sputter while the other five women laugh. "We've been on one date!"
"And had a two AM phone call," Linda Morrison adds smugly. Dale's wife always has the best gossip network. "My husband said Jason was asking about extending his contract."
My heart does a little flip. "He did?"
"Mmm-hmm. Said something about having reasons to stay." Linda's eyes sparkle. "Wonder what those reasons could be?"
"Okay, okay." I hold up my hands in surrender. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," they chorus.
So I tell them. About the meet-cute, the bandaging, the Manhattan, the dinner. I leave out the specific words that make me melt, those feel too private, but give them enough to work with.
"Holy shit," Beth breathes when I finish. "That man's got Daddy energy for days."
"Beth!" I protest, but they're all nodding.
"She's right," Elizabeth says. "The way he took charge with Josh? The protective thing? Classic Daddy Dom behavior. I hear he has large hands… hands that can turn into spanking paddles at any second."
I ignore her last statement. "Daddy Doms don’t just appear out of nowhere. I think we’re reading into things because of the books we enjoy."
"Oh please." Madison Grace rolls her eyes. "The reason we started this club was to read smut without judgment, we would hardly judge a real-life Daddy. I mean, I almost feel like being in this club doubles our chances at finding one, at this point."
"I thought we started it for the wine," I say, laughing.
"That too." Elizabeth tops off my glass. "But seriously, Karen. This man is checking all your boxes, even the ones you didn't know you had."
"I don't have boxes."
"Everyone has boxes, honey. Yours just happen to be labeled 'Take charge' and 'Call me good girl' and 'Boss me around until I melt.'"
I cover my burning face with my hands. "I hate all of you."
"No, you don't." Barbara herself appears with a fresh pitcher of mimosas. At seventy-two, the café owner has zero filter and even less shame. "You love us because we're the only ones who'll tell you the truth."
"Which is?"
"That it's about damn time you got properly laid."
"Barbara!"
"What? You think Mark wants you celibate forever? That man loved you too much to want you lonely." She pats my shoulder. "Besides, from what I hear, this Jason's got the hands for the job."
"How does everyone know about his hands?" Not eyes. Not ass. We are talking about the man’s hands for fuck’s sake. When did we become hand connoisseurs?
"Small town, sweetie. Mrs. Henderson was in the pharmacy when he was buying supplies. Said he's got the kind of hands that know their way around a woman."
"He was probably buying toothpaste!"
"And condoms," Barbara adds cheerfully. "The good kind. Ribbed. And extra large."
I'm going to die. Right here in this café, surrounded by mimosas and meddling friends, I'm going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
"Look," Elizabeth says, taking pity on me. "All teasing aside, when's the last time you did something just for you? Not for the kids, not for the bar, not for this town. Just for Karen?"
