Max's Bumble
one
When I was nine,Uncle Max gave me a magic eight-ball.
I think he bought it at the truck stop on I-9 on Christmas Eve when he found out neither Ma nor her current boyfriend had gotten me anything for Christmas. That boyfriend didn’t last through New Year’s.
Uncle Max did. So did his magic eight-ball. It’s sitting on the corner of my desk. It’s substantially more battered than it was when he gave it to me, wrapped in newspaper because no one had wrapping paper left on Christmas Eve, sitting on the kitchen table because we didn’t have a Christmas tree. It’s been with me through three tours of duty, seven ops I can’t talk about, even with the man at the other end of the phone who is as close to me as anyone in the world. As close as I let anyone get.
“Clever girl,” the man on the phone says.
“I hope you’re talking to Emily rather than me,” I respond.
There’s a sweet giggle at the other end of the line. Logan must have me on speaker. I hate when he does that, because hearing Emily laugh, hearing the soft-sweet note that’s in her voice right now,stirsme. I ease the edge of my hand against my dick, shifting it into a more comfortable position as it twitches and fills, grateful we’re not on a video call.
There’s silence and I realize they’re waiting for me to say something. “What have you done now, clever girl?” I ask.
Emily is clever. Her geekitude rivals mine. She can keep up with me when I talk X-Men and Tolkien and Heinlein. She understands why I spend my evenings reading rather than partying. Add to that smart, well-read mind her sweet face, edible body that I’ve seen way too much of, and the endless love that she showers on my best friend and it’s no wonder that my dick is hammering against my palm even while guilt chews its merry way through my gut.
I thought being pinned down under fire was bad. I had no idea how much wanting my best friend’s girl would screw with my head.
“Found three pieces of the puzzle we’re doing,” she answers. And then she does it. She says the thing that makes my cock kick against my palm and wet my boxers. “Daddy says you’re coming to playgroup with us on Sunday.”
Daddy.
How can that one word affect me so much?
“I haven’t decided,” I say, sawing the heel of my hand back and forth over my dick, knowing it’s fruitless. I’ve already jacked off three times today. My hand hasn’t gotten this much action since I was in high school.
And it’s still not enough.
“We’re making pizza,” Emily says. “I don’t eat pizza and Daddy can’t eat a whole pizza on his own?—”
The D-word again. It punts my cock into overtime, throbbing and twitching and I swear it’s fucking snarling in my damn pants.
She stops talking after saying something about cupcakes.
I’m supposed to answer her. I can tell by the awkward gap. My life is filled with these interstices. Places where I’m supposedto be saying something, doing something. I’ve never known the right ways to plug those gaps.
Yer awkward, boy. Never met a kid who doesn’t like candy.
I liked candy. I just didn’t like what Uncle Greg did to me after he gave me candy.
I swear at that memory. Fumble and find some words to plug the gap.
“You know how much I like those.”
“With the cream-cheese frosting,” Emily singsongs.
Fuck-fuck-fuck. The D-word makes me harder than titanium but when she gets that child-like quality to her voice, I can’t help it. I come in my pants. I grip the edge of my desk through the spurts that make my boxers stick to my dick like plastic wrap.
“That’s bribery,” I grunt out. “Isn’t that against the rules?”
I’ve got no idea what the fucking rules are. I don’t understand the first thing about Logan and Emily’s relationship. Daddy Dom and little girl. What the fuck is that? All I know is that the shit she does makes me crazy and I’m jealous of my best friend in a way I’ve never been jealous of any man before and it’s not even that IwantEmily or would ever, ever try to take her away from him.
I just want what sheis.
Logan laughs and that makes the guilt roar higher than my fading orgasm.
