Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
OREN
My cursor blinks back at me, smug and taunting. The draft on my screen refuses to move forward, no matter how many times I sigh at it.
The soft ping of an incoming call makes me glance at my phone. Group video. Of course.
I should ignore it—really, I should—but the preview shows Theo’s messy curls already bouncing around, and my hand betrays me by tapping accept.
“OREN!” Theo yells, too close to his camera.
Behind him, string lights flicker around a blanket fort that takes up half his living room. He’s got glitter stuck to his cheek.
“We’re doing pumpkin cutouts! Wanna see?”
Before I can answer, another square pops up. Lane’s face fills the screen, pale in the glow of his gaming setup. He’s got cat-ear headphones on, one paw mitten dangling from his hand.
“What up,” he mumbles, holding up a plate. “Made dino nuggets.”
He bites one in half and roars.
“Rawr,” I say flatly, though a reluctant smile tugs at me.
“Hey hey hey!”
The screen jostles as Timmy joins, shirtless with damp hair. He flexes dramatically.
“Sorry, just finished my post-shower routine.” He winks. “Looking good, right?”
Theo groans. “Nobody asked for your thirst traps.”
“Nobody didn’t ask, either,” Timmy shoots back, smirking.
Their banter carries on, overlapping, loud, but comfortable. As I watch them, my fingers hovering over my keyboard, the weight in my chest eases without me realizing.
“You look grumpy,” Theo says suddenly, narrowing his eyes as if he’s peering into my soul. “Like… extra grumpy.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
“Liar,” Lane cuts in, crunching into another nugget. “You get that little wrinkle in your forehead when you’re cranky.”
“There’s no wrinkle,” I protest.
“There’s totally a wrinkle,” Timmy says, leaning into his camera. “Spill, Oren. What’s crawled up your butt?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Nothing!” I blurt. “That’s the problem!”
Three faces blink back at me, wide-eyed, waiting.
And that’s when I know I’m doomed. The silence after my outburst is deafening. Even Lane stops chewing.
Theo leans forward until all I can see is one suspicious eyeball on my screen.
“Explain.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Keane keeps… I don’t know. He keeps Daddying me.”
Timmy smirks instantly. “That sounds hot.”
“Not like that,” I groan. “I mean—yes, that too, but—it’s just forehead kisses. Cuddles. Hand holding. Every night, I drop hints, and every night, he tucks me in like I’m made of glass. Like he thinks I’ll break if we…” I wave a hand, too embarrassed to finish.
Lane blinks. I can’t take him seriously with crumbs stuck to his lips.
“If you do the sex?”
“Yes!” I hiss. “That.”
Theo gasps dramatically, flopping back into his blanket fort like I just announced the end of the world.
“But I like forehead kisses and cuddles!”
“Well, I like dick,” Timmy cuts in smoothly, smirking. “Daddy dick. And apparently…” He points a finger-gun at me. “…so do you.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Why do I talk to you people?”
“Because we’re brilliant,” Lane says flatly, talking around a mouthful. “And because you need us. Which means…” He adjusts his cat-ear headset as if he’s about to issue orders. “…we’re hatching a plan.”
Theo sits up, eyes sparkling. “A seduction plan!”
Timmy claps once, delighted. “Yes. Operation Get Keane To Rail Oren.”
“The name is a work in progress,” Lane mutters.
My stomach lurches. “Absolutely not. No plans. No operations. Nothing involving me and the word ‘rail.’”
But it’s too late. Theo’s already grabbing a glitter gel pen and notebook, Timmy’s flexing in the corner of my screen hoping inspiration will strike, and Lane’s quietly typing as though he’s building a tactical spreadsheet.
And I know, with the sinking inevitability of doom, that I’ve just handed them the keys to my downfall.
Theo crawls out of his fort and sticks his face in the camera.
“You should totally cook dinner naked! Like, surprise him with pasta and no pants.”
I can barely cook! “Absolutely not. There will be sauce splatters and second-degree burns.”
Timmy cracks his knuckles. “Fine, fine. Candlelight massage. You know, romantic oils, towel on the bed, slow undressing.” His eyebrows waggle ridiculously.
“He’ll think I’m possessed. Or having a midlife crisis.”
“You’re only twenty-four,” Timmy points out with an eye roll.
Lane wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Strip poker. Lose on purpose. Problem solved.”
Strip poker?! “I don't even own a deck of cards.”
Theo gasps. “Then buy one! Buy glittery ones!”
Jeez Louise. “No glitter. No naked cooking. No card games. We’re not doing this.”
Timmy asks, “What about lingerie?”
“Do I look like I own lingerie?”
Theo perks up. “But you could! Pink lace, little bows—”
“STOP,” I groan, burying my face in my hands.
Lane’s expression doesn’t change, but I swear his eyes glint with mischief.
“All right. You’re right. We’ll… adjust.”
Theo and Timmy exchange a look that is way too conspiratorial.
“Wait,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “What does that mean?”
Theo leans close to his camera and winks.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of everything.”
My stomach drops. “Guys—no—seriously—”
But Timmy blows a kiss, Lane presses a button, and suddenly my screen goes black with the words Call Ended.
I sit there in stunned silence, staring at my reflection… And realize, with bone-deep dread, that I am very, very screwed.
I should’ve known something was up when Theo texted me out of nowhere: check your doorstep.
There’s a box waiting when I open the door, tied with a cheerful bow. Inside are decadent-looking bonbons with fancy names like Velvet, Midnight, and Sin. My chest warms for a second, thinking maybe Keane sent them. I bite into one and nearly choke. Gummies. Hidden inside the chocolate.
It doesn’t take a genius to know it’s Lane’s stash of CBD candy.
My phone buzzes at the same time, and suddenly my speakers are hijacked by a playlist I definitely did not make—slow, sultry bass lines and lyrics that leave very little to the imagination. Heat crawls up my neck.
I barely have time to fumble with the volume before another delivery lands: a padded envelope with no return address. Inside is a huge bottle of lube and socks patterned with eggplants. I groan, dropping my forehead into my hand.
“Subtle,” I mutter to the empty apartment.
It’s them. Has to be. The timing, the contents—it’s so on brand I can practically hear Timmy’s cackle. And the worst part? I’m torn between wanting to throttle them and wanting to crawl under my weighted blanket and die.
Because they’re not wrong.
I’m still glaring at the eggplant socks like they personally offended me when a knock rattles the door. My stomach drops.
Keane.
In a panic, I swipe the bonbon box off the counter, shove the envelope under a cushion, and kick the socks halfway under the couch. Smooth. Totally smooth. Except for the fact that the apartment now smells faintly of chocolate and… well, fruit candy.
I plaster on a smile and open the door.
“Hey, Daddy.”
His eyes soften immediately, that constant warmth that always makes me feel like I’m going to melt right there in the doorway. But then his gaze drifts past me, scanning the room. His brows lift the tiniest bit.
“Something smells… interesting,” he says.
“Uh. Dinner?” My voice cracks on the word.
He steps inside, sets his briefcase down, and in two strides he’s in the kitchen. I lunge after him, but too late—his hand closes around the abandoned bonbon box. One of them already bitten open, suspicious contents on full display.
Keane’s mouth twitches, fighting a smile. Then his gaze cuts to the edge of the couch where a sliver of purple fabric—eggplant socks—peeks out. His lawyer's stare locks onto me.
“Oren,” he says, voice low. “Want to tell me why your friends are sending you contraband?”
Heat burns my face. My heart trips all over itself.
“I—I didn’t… I didn’t ask them to. They’re just—” I rub the back of my neck, mumbling, “Trying to help.”
“Help?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly he doesn’t look like my lawyer. He looks like my Daddy, the one who knows me too well to let me wriggle out of this.
I groan and cover my face with both hands. “Don’t make me say it.”
He chuckles, prying my hands away so he can kiss my forehead.
“I don’t need you to say it, baby boy. I already know.”
Keane sets the bonbon box back on the counter, but he doesn’t move away. His hand settles warm and heavy at the small of my back, and suddenly my knees want to give out.
“So,” he says lightly, “your friends think I need encouragement.”
“They’re ridiculous,” I mutter. “It’s not—this isn’t—I didn’t ask them to—”
“Oh, I believe you.” His thumb strokes my spine, soothing in a way that only makes me squirm harder. “But the question is… did you eat one?”
I choke. “It was chocolate! How was I supposed to know?”
He chuckles, low and wicked, and tips my chin up so I have to meet his eyes.
“Mm. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you took a bite.”
“I didn’t!” My voice squeaks, which is not helping my case.
Keane grins, leans down, and presses a playful kiss on the corner of my mouth.
“Well, intentional or not, your little playdate committee clearly wants me to know something.” His mouth brushes my ear as he murmurs, “That you’re ready for more.”
Heat explodes across my skin. I bury my face in his chest, groaning.
“I’m going to kill them.”
He laughs, wrapping me up. “Don’t. They’re very fond of you.” Then softer, with that Daddy weight in his voice: “And they’re not wrong, are they?”
My breath stutters. I want to say no. I want to say yes. I want to disappear into his shirt and never come out. Instead, I mumble, “I think they should mind their own business.”
Keane tips my face back up, his eyes focused on mine.
“Baby boy, when it comes to you, I am their business.” His smile softens. “And they just handed me your secret in eggplant socks.”