I reach under my desk and grab my trash can in case I need somewhere to puke.
“Emmy can bribe anyone anytime she wants, particularly if I get leftover cupcakes,” Logan says. “C’mon, mate, it’ll be fun.”
There’s nothing fun about this. It’s the worst I’ve ever felt. Worse than I felt after I took the candy from Greg. Worse than when Uncle Max told me his diagnosis. Worse than seeing the only man who everstayedshrink to a sad husk with no control over his bladder and bowels.
Worse than sitting by his bed after I gave him the first and only thing he ever asked for from me and holding his hand until his went cold.
I thought that was the fucking nadir of my life. Until Logan found his little girl.
“Swear you won’t try to set me up with anyone,” I force out.
“I swear,” Logan says easily. Like he’s got no agenda and didn’t ram this shit down my throat to start with until something caught and kindled and now this constant fire runs through my blood no matter how many times I push it out of my dick.
There’s another of Greg’s awkward gaps, but this time, it isn’t mine to fill. And she’s not filling it.
“Emily.”
“I have a really sore throat, Max.”
She gives a small, fake cough. All I can think of is what she was probably doing with Logan not long ago that would leave her with a sore throat.
My dick starts to fill again. Fuck-fuck-fuck.
“I only need one word,” I say.
Daddy.
Emily tries to weasel, explaining that there are two girls at this playgroup she really wants me to meet and that I wouldn’t have to physically abuse one of them to date me—likethatmotivates me to go to this fucking thing—but Logan doesn’t give an inch. When I first saw them together, heard how he speaks to her, I gave them a week. Maybe two. I didn’t understand it then. I’m not sure I understand it now. But I’m beginning to.
She needs his sternness. She melts, and glows, and becomes even more of that wondrous thing that shines from her all the time but most brightly when Logan brings her to hand.
And Logan, the friend I thought I knew, the man I reported to for years, who led me safely through a special kind of hell. The guy who always had these high-maintenance, Insta-influencertype of women hanging off him. Who shed them for the sweet geek who wears Wonder Woman sweatshirts and drinks milk out of a sippy cup. This man somehow found the thing I so desperately want. He schools his girlfriend with a few words and a commanding tone which, despite the fact I reported to the fucker, he never used on me.
“Promise Max,” Logan insists.
And she does.
I pick up the magic eight-ball and shake it. Turn it over even though all the water drained out years ago and left the pyramid stuck to the plastic on one response.
It is certain.
“Thank you, Em. I’ll see you guys on Sunday. I still want those cupcakes.” Then I give her what she wants to hear, even though it makes me a complete fucking sucker. “I might even be convinced to share one with your friend.”
“Thank you, Max.”
She says it so sweetly. My dick pulses against the wet fabric of my boxers.
“Behave, girlie-girl, you’re killing me.” And she is. “Logan, I’ll send you whatever I’ve got tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, mate,” Logan says.
I hang up before he has a chance to. I said goodbye to Uncle Max before I put my hands over his mouth and nose and he held quiet and still while I gave him what he asked for.
I don’t ever have to say goodbye to anyone again.
I drag myself up out of my gamer chair: ergonomic, heated for winter, vented for summer, with the bonus lumbar massage feature because I spend so much of my time in the fucker. I take one of my phones with me and pull up the porn site I have on the home screen. I put on one of my favorite videos while I stand over the toilet and jack off, listening to the girl’s moans and whimpers as she’s held down and fucked roughly by the manwho has bound her hands behind her back and smacked her ass a blushing pink.
When she calls him Daddy, I come all over my hand.
