Page 339 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
I catch her chin and bring her eyes up to mine. “Don’t second-guess yourself like that, girl. If you were scared, you had a reason to be. You know the man well. It sounds like he was waythe fuck out of line. Do you want to take it up with the club? I will support you one hundred percent.”
“No. I just want to avoid him for a while. But thank you for the offer. And thank you for believing me, Sir.”
“Girl.” I pull her to me and press her to my chest, sinking my nose in her buttery-smelling hair to block out the smell of bleach. “Of course, I believe you.”
She tucks her face into my neck. “Sir, you said you’re going to help Master Logan with the house subs. You should know that the house subs haven’t always been believed about stuff like this. Sometimes with reason. A couple of the subs have a bad habit of crying wolf to get out of punishments. But it is a two-way street. Not all of the Doms are great about safe words.”
“Has Ten ignored your safe word before?”
“No, Sir. I wouldn’t ever have scened with him again if he did. But other subs haven’t been so lucky. I know Cappa and Shannie have talked with Master Logan about it already.”
“Thank you for the head’s up, girl. I’ll follow up on that with Logan. There are a number of things that concern me about the house subs.”
“Like what, Sir?”
I run my hand over her hair. “You want to start this conversation now?”
“Maybe not right now.” Bren laughs. “Although we may be up all night with him.”
“No,wewon’t be. You need a good night’s sleep before work tomorrow, so at midnight, we’re shutting the door and going to sleep. If he pukes again, I’ll get up with him.”
She lifts her eyebrows at me. “Really, Sir?”
“Mm-hmm. I took my turn with night feedings and when Naomi had colic. I’ll take my turn with the puking teenager.”
“Wow, Sir, that’s very progressive for a geezer.”
“You little smartass.” I grab a rag out of the bucket and snap it at her ass. She high-tails it out of the bathroom laughing.
To say I miss Bren the next day is the grossest of gross understatements. Taco’s not bad company, particularly once he stops puking. I drag him out on a run after Bren heads downstairs to work. He shuffles along gamely for three miles before I take pity on him. Once he’s in the shower and I’ve done the breakfast dishes, I sit at Bren’s tiny dining room table and stare at the book I’ve been reading without the slightest urge to open it. It not that the book is bad. I’ve been enjoying it. But I’ve been enjoying it cuddled up with my dirty girl. Sitting here alone, it has no appeal.
Fully aware of how utterly pathetic I’m being, I take out my phone and shoot her a text.
Do you need a fancy coffee yet?
The gray dots don’t immediately begin bouncing. She’s probably busy. I know the lady who wanted a city scene picked Bren’s sketch with all the fantasy creatures and was coming in this morning to start it. With a sigh, I pick up my reading glasses and my book and try to sink back into Michelle Obama’s early years.
When my phone pings, I drop the book like a hot coal.
It’s not Bren, though. It’s a text from Logan.
Are you free? I could use a second pair of eyes and ears.
I am free, although I wish I wasn’t.
For a couple of hours,I respond.
Even if Bren doesn’t need a coffee, I want to be free for her lunch break. And Taco will probably need to be fed again bythen, although I’m not overly optimistic about him keeping it down.
Can you come here? Max has computers set up.
I scratch my unshaven chin. Logan doesn’t care how I look and by the time I’m back, Taco should be out of the shower, although he’s been in there for at least twenty minutes already, so fuck knows how long he’ll be. Civilian.
On my way.
I throw on a clean T-shirt and sweatshirt so I don’t stink Logan out, although it wouldn’t be the first time and the cat may have beat me to it. I knock on the bathroom door and shout to Taco that I’m going to Logan’s and he should call if he needs me. On my way out, I say the same to Nicky, who is manning the shop’s front desk, only in quieter tones. I can hear the buzz of the tattoo machine from Brenna’s station; I don’t want to disturb her if she’s deep in her zone.
It’s another golden fall day. New York seems blessed with a surplus of these days. I’ve visited Logan enough times to know I’ll be missing Florida’s sunshine by late December. Having a long ride to that sunshine to look forward to eases any regret for moving north. And I’ll have a spicy, sassy sammie to cuddle with as the days get colder. That thought puts a spring in my step; I jog the six blocks to Logan’s despite my earlier run.
