4. Oz
4
OZ
I am losing my goddamn mind. That’s the only explanation I can come up with that explains the way I’m acting toward Henri-fucking-etta. I hate her. I’ve always hated her. But apparently my dick has not gotten the memo, because the moment I end the video call with her, I’m so hard, I ache.
Adjusting my hard dick so it’s not immediately obvious that I’m sporting wood, I head to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Unbuttoning my pants, I drag my boxers down and free my cock, fisting my hard length as a pained groan slips from my lips.
Sliding my hand up to the head of my cock, I gather the precum that’s weeping from the tip and use it to lube up the rest of my dick. I should not be hard for the brat that’s in my house right now, but I am. I’m harder than I’ve been in years, and no matter how much I know it’s wrong, my dick doesn’t care.
Etta isn’t what I was expecting. I demonized her when she was a kid. I was cruel and mean, but it was easier to direct some of my anger onto her instead of constantly pushing it toward my dad, who was too oblivious to notice how messed up I was.
But the Etta I met yesterday, she’s not a kid anymore. She’s a hot as fuck, deeply submissive woman, and every time she does what I tell her, the more my mind claims her as mine.
She can’t ever be mine, though. She’s too tied to my dad, she’s my stepsister, for fuck’s sake. But a part of me just doesn’t care who she is.
Sliding my fist up and down my length, I imagine how she’d look following every depraved order I gave her. Would she spread her legs? Would she bend over for me? Would she sink to her knees and open her mouth if I demanded it of her?
Cupping my balls with my free hand, I wonder what else she’d allow me to take control of. Would she let me track her? Would she let me demand to know her every move, her every thought? Would she look to me for every decision because she knew that my job was to care for her?
Moving my fist faster, I inhale a sharp breath as I wonder if she’d call herself mine if I told her that’s what she was. If she’d let me protect and care and worship her.
Hot cum surges from the end of my dick, and I barely manage to aim into the toilet as I pant erratically, forcing myself out of my fantasy and back into the present.
Despite my release, I’m still semi-hard when I tuck my cock back into my boxers and refasten my pants. Grabbing some tissue, I clean up, making sure I haven’t made a mess before I flush, then wash my hands. There’s a tremor running through my fingers as I dry them on a hand towel, and before I can think better of it, I lift my head and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My pupils are dilated, and I barely recognize the person looking back at me. I don’t look like myself; I look wild and predatory, and I know it’s because of her. Seeing her again has done something to me, and I have no idea what to do to make it stop.
Apparently jerking off hasn’t lessened my attraction toward her, because I just blew my load over the fantasy of her doing anything and everything I ordered her to. And she wasn’t even fucking naked in my dirty thoughts, she was just perfectly obedient.
I’m not some fucking Fifty Shades of Grey wannabe dominant. I’ve never found the idea of ordering a woman to do something hot before. But this isn’t about some faceless woman, this is about her. Telling her what to do is different. Commanding her obedience and having her willingly give it has awakened a beast inside of me, and I have no fucking clue what to do to make it go away.
If I’d never gone to the bus station, I might never have seen her again. Although given who she’s working for and intending to live with, sooner or later she would have fallen back into my orbit again.
Before she arrived, all I could think about was how I didn’t want her in the new life I’ve created for myself, and now all I can think about is how I can keep her under my control in the new life she intends to make for herself here.
How in the space of twelve hours has she become something I covet in my life? Why can’t I hate her the way I want to?
Splashing water onto my face, I stare at myself until my expression softens into a more familiar appearance. Once I’m confident that the erratic wildness in my eyes has faded, I unlock the bathroom and make my way out to the mess hall.
The first few hours on shift after our off days are usually pretty quiet, but right now, I silently pray for an emergency so that I don’t have a chance to sit with my thoughts.
“Meeting in ten, grab a coffee if you want one,” Buck calls as he marches into the room with a tablet in his hands.
Danny catches my attention from across the room and holds up a mug for me. I nod, and then sit down in the den area we use as a meeting space. Within a few minutes, my entire team is around me, and I’m using my coffee to avoid making eye contact with any of them.
I’m not sure what, if anything, they see on my face. I know I probably look crazy, but I’m not sure I can rationally explain what the fuck is up with me, even if they asked.
“Right, it’s been a quiet few days for B team, so the law of averages says we’ll probably be run off our asses for the next four days.” Buck chuckles, lowering himself onto a chair. “On the off chance that no one sets themselves or anything else on fire, we’re going to work on recovery drills and an equipment audit.”
There’s an audible groan that reverberates through the room. No one wants to get stuck doing an equipment audit. It’s slow, boring work that I think we’d all rather leave to another time. Then, as if the fire gods are shining down on us, the alarms start blaring and we all rush to grab our equipment.
Four hours later, our entire team filters into the equipment store, dropping off our kit and protective gear. The emergency call-out was for a car accident on the freeway. The driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and then lost control of the car, steering his car into the lane of traffic coming the other way. At the last moment, he’d steered back onto his side of the road, overcorrected, and collided with a tree on the embankment.
Luckily for the driver, his car was mangled, but he wasn’t seriously hurt. We cut him out of his vehicle so that he could be taken to the emergency room, and then we left the cops to deal with the rest.
When I glance at my watch, my heart starts to quicken when I’m reminded that it’s lunchtime. Hanging all of my uniform back in my locker, I head for the bunk room, flopping onto my bed as I pull my cell from my pocket, hoping to find a text waiting for me from Etta.
I honestly don’t know why I’m so fixated on what she’s eating, but the idea that she might be hungry is driving me a little crazy. Unsurprisingly, she hasn’t texted me, so opening up my text app, I quickly type out a message and send it before I can rationalize why I need to stay the hell away from my fucking stepsister.
Me: Have you eaten lunch yet? I told you to send me a picture.
The message shows as read almost immediately, but she doesn’t reply.
Me: Am I going to have to video call you three times a day to make sure you’re doing what I tell you to?
Fuck, my dick twitches at the idea of watching her obey me through a video even while I’m at work.
Etta: I only just ate breakfast.
A burst of excitement ripples through me at her reply, it’s like she’s taunting me and begging me to take control. I hit call on her contact, palming my dick with one hand while I wait for her to answer.
“Are you a feeder?” she asks bravely, the moment the video connects and I can see her face on the screen.
“No,” I answer brusquely.
“Then why are you so concerned with what I eat?” She’s bolder through the video, and I like it because I’m more than happy to demand her compliance and watch her submit every time she questions me.
“Because you’re in my house, you’re my responsibility,” I tell her, not mentioning that having her do as I say turns me the fuck on.
“I’m an adult. I’m more than capable of deciding if I’m hungry and then making myself something to eat.” With each word she says, her bravado starts to fade, and by the time she’s finished speaking, it almost sounds like she’s asking me if she can do what she says she can.
“I’m sure you’re capable,” I tell her. “But while you’re under my roof, I’ll decide for you,” I growl sternly, ensuring she knows that I’m the one in charge, as I squeeze my hard dick and swallow down the guttural groan that fights to burst free.
“That’s…” Her brow furrows, and she trails off, like she can’t quite decide what to say. “Octy thinks you’re a daddy dom,” she blurts, then her eyes go wide, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.
“What the fuck is a daddy dom?” I snarl angrily.
“Forget I said anything, sometimes my filter malfunctions,” she mumbles, her cheeks a fiery red.
“Explain.”
“I really don’t want to,” she squeaks, her hands now spread to cover her entire face.
“Etta, explain.”
“Urgh, god, this is so embarrassing. It’s like a thing…a kink thing, where the dom likes to take care of his sub and sometimes they like to be called daddy.”
“I do not want anyone that isn’t my kid to ever call me daddy,” I growl, unreasonably pissed, but not because she’s asking if I’m a daddy dom. I’m angry at the thought that she might have had that kind of relationship with someone else in the past.
“Good, that’s good. Octy thinks it’s hot, but…oh my god, I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.”
“I’m not a fucking dom.”
“Okay, cool,” she says, nodding, still hiding behind her hands.
“Move your hands.”
“No, thank you,” she whispers.
“Etta, now.” I add a bit more demand to my tone, and she slowly slides her hands down until her face is revealed. Her cheeks are pink, and she’s cringing adorably.
“I’m sorry,” she says in an embarrassed wince.
“Is that what you’re into?”
“What?” Her voice is so shrill, I cringe away from the sound.
“Is that what you’re into? Have you been in a relationship with a…daddy dom in the past?” I cannot believe I’m asking this. I do not want to know about the guys she’s fucked. I can barely cope with knowing that I want to fuck her. I really don’t need to think about her with other guys.
“What? No. Never. Octy and I read this book…well, books, and they had daddy doms in them, and now she keeps going on about it and…oh my god.” Pulling in a sharp breath, she clamps her lips together, then shakes her head. “No.”
“Okay, because that’s not me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me what you are into.” This is a fucking red-flag conversation. I absolutely should not be asking this woman what she likes sexually, but I can’t fucking help myself. I want to know everything about her, including what turns her on.
“I’m…no. We shouldn’t be having this conversation. We don’t like each other.”
“We didn’t like each other as kids, we don’t know each other now. So let’s get to know each other,” I drawl, adding a little charm to my request.
“I don’t?—”
I cut her off before she can say no. I don’t want to hear her tell me no or that this is a stupid idea. I’m well aware of how messed up all of this is, but I still want to know. I want to understand every one of her thoughts, wants, and desires so I know exactly how I can give her everything she needs. “Did you like it when I kissed you?”
“You’re my stepbrother,” she whispers.
“The only thing I am is the man who wants to know if you liked how hard my dick got for you.”
“Oz. We shouldn’t.”
“I don’t give a fuck what we should or shouldn’t do. I’m not your stepbrother, I’m just the estranged son of the man who married your mom. We didn’t grow up together, we’ve never felt, behaved, or acted like stepsiblings. We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years. We’re not doing anything wrong, Etta. So answer my question. Did you like it when I kissed you?” I growl, keeping my voice low so no one overhears me.
It takes her too long to answer, and when she does, her voice is barely more than a wisp of sound. “Yes.”
My lips curl into a half smile. “Did you like it when I held you in place so I could take whatever I wanted from you and all you could do was stand there and take it?”
When she swallows, my eyes are drawn to the movement, and my fingers tingle with the urge to hold her throat in my hand so I can feel her fear and anxiousness through my skin.
“Etta, answer me.”
“I…yes.”
“Did you like feeling how hard I was for you?”
She nods, and my dick twitches in my goddamn pants.
“Do you like that I want to take care of you?” I ask.
She nods again.
“Do you like being my good girl and doing what I tell you?”
Her eyelids flutter shut, and a soft whine falls from her parted lips.
“Etta.”
“I…”
“Tell me. Do you like being my good girl and following my rules?”
“Oh god,” she moans.
“Etta.” Her name is a demand for compliance, and she instantly obeys.
“Yes.”
“Perfect, you’re such a perfect good girl. But I need you to follow the rules while I’m not there. I want to know that you’re taking care of yourself when I’m not there to do it for you. So go make yourself a sandwich, and then send me a picture.”
“I shouldn’t?—”
“Yes, you should. I have no fucking clue what this is. It makes no damn sense to me, but what I do know is that telling you what to do and controlling your behavior has made my dick harder than it’s ever been. In three days, I’ll be home and we can explore what the fuck all of this means, but until then, I need you to be my good fucking girl and do what you’re told.”
“Oz, I don’t,” she starts.
“Don’t think, Etta, just see how it feels to do as I say. I think you like it just as much as I do. Now I have to go jerk off, then get back to work. Don’t forget to send me that picture.”
Her chin dips, and then she’s nodding, and a surge of relief rushes through me.
The rest of the day is a test of patience. She sends me a picture of a sandwich on a plate twenty minutes after we end our call, and every time I think about it, my dick twitches, threatening to harden again, just because she did what I told her to do.
By the time we’ve eaten dinner and the mess has been cleaned, Buck retreats to his office to catch up on paperwork while the rest of us settle down to watch a movie we’ve all seen a hundred times before.
Pulling out my cell, I open up my messaging app and smile as I stare at the picture of the fucking sandwich. Quickly typing out a new message, I hit send.
Me: I haven’t had a picture of your dinner yet.
The message shows as read, just as the dots that show she’s typing a reply pop onto the screen.
Etta: I’ve eaten so much today already, I’m really not hungry.
Me: I expect you to eat dinner. Go find something, even if it’s small.
Etta: ***Rolling eyes emoji***
Me: Behave!
When her reply doesn’t come immediately, I find myself obsessively checking every few minutes, growing more and more anxious the longer it takes her to reply. When a message eventually comes through, my muscles hurt from the tension.
Etta: Grilled cheese and ketchup. Yum.
The picture shows a gooey grilled cheese sandwich with a bite taken out of it.
Me: Good girl. Sweet dreams, I’ll speak to you in the morning.
Etta: Good night, Oz.
We get a call out in the middle of the night to a wildfire about ten miles outside of town in the middle of the forest. It’s not uncommon for hikers and tourists to go wild camping and lose control of their fires, but there’s no sign of a campsite in the area when we get there. It doesn’t take long to get the blaze under control, but an hour after we get back to base, we’re called out again. This time it’s to a house fire caused by a pan setting alight in a homestead in the middle of the woods at the base of the mountain.
Alongside being smoke jumpers, since we came to Montana, we’ve all been training as hotshots, which are another specialist fire division that hikes into remote areas to fight fires on foot. It’s grueling, intense, but ultimately rewarding work, although nowhere near as fun as flying a helicopter into a danger zone.
Due to the remote nature of the homestead, we set out on foot with a couple of the guys on smaller ATVs that can weave between the dense trees. Thankfully it doesn’t take us that long to get to the homestead, but by the time we arrive, the owner is barely conscious, and his wife and young son are missing. Montana has a great mountain rescue team that we call in, but after we put out the fire and evacuate the husband to the hospital, Knight, Anders, and I join the search for the missing people while the rest of the team returns to base.
It takes sixteen hours to find them. The wife and child had run from the fire at the husband’s bequest, then gotten lost in the panic. Once the wife had found her bearings, she’d led her son to the river, intending to follow it back to her homestead, but had fallen and broken her ankle, leaving her and her child alone, fighting the elements.
Luckily, apart from a little exposure, the child was fine, and once the wife gets her ankle set, she’ll be fine too. But right now, I’m tired, hungry, and desperate to know if Etta has managed to follow my rules without me being there to prompt her.
It’s nearly three a.m. by the time I drop the rest of my equipment into the store, and my feet are dragging as I make my way into the mess. Looking to my right, I’m relieved to see that both Knight and Anders look as exhausted as I do. I love my job, and I’m glad that the woman and child were found safe, but right now I’m praying for no more fires until I can eat and recharge a little.
Even though everyone should be asleep, Buck is waiting for us, immediately scanning us over to check for injuries the moment we drag our feet into the mess room. I’ve worked for a lot of fire chiefs during my career, but Rockhead Point is the first time my teammates have felt like family.
“Everyone okay?” he asks, rising from the couch.
“We’re all good, Boss,” Anders assures him. “Just hungry and tired.”
“Danny plated your dinners up for you. Get showered, and I’ll reheat them for you,” Buck says, slapping Knight on the shoulder as he passes us on his way to the kitchen.
The three of us pad wearily into the huge locker room-style bathroom. I’m too tired to make conversation and itching with the need to see if Etta has behaved.
Stripping off, I pad naked into the shower stall, turning on the water and groaning the moment the hot liquid hits my skin.
“Fuck, I’m getting too old for this.” Anders sighs from the stall beside me.
“Statistically, very few firefighters continue to perform as effective smoke jumpers and hotshots after the age of thirty-five,” Knight informs us clinically.
“You’re thirty-seven, Knight, you planning on quitting anytime soon?” I ask.
“I’m at peak physical fitness. I intend to continue to do my job until my age or health become a factor or until I find a partner. At that point, I’ll more than likely resign.”
I love all of my teammates, but Knight can sometimes be so clinical and cold that he just sounds like an asshole. “You’d quit just because you got a girlfriend or boyfriend?” I ask.
“I’m predominantly attracted to women. I have kissed a few men, but I didn’t find it as stimulating as with a woman,” he answers matter-of-factly.
Blinking, I turn and look at the wall between my stall and the one Knight is in. This is the first time since I’ve met him that he’s alluded to his sexuality. I couldn’t care less who he wants to fuck, but it’s just not something he’s ever spoken about before.
“You’d quit if you got a girlfriend?” Anders asks.
“I’m not fond of the term girlfriend, if I found someone, I’d make her my wife,” he answers bluntly.
“Whoa there, bro, girlfriend to wife takes time. You can’t go rushing into that kind of thing.” Anders laughs.
“Actually, I highly approve of the way the Barnetts found their significant others,” Knight says.
“You know that love at first sight stuff is bullshit, right?” I ask.
“Seven brothers, with seven wives and seven very happy families says otherwise,” Knight answers, turning off the water in his stall and padding back into the locker room.
Turning off my own shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and follow after him.
“You don’t seriously think that you’re just going to stumble over a woman one day and know right then and there that she’s going to be your wife, do you?” I ask, amused by the most logical man I’ve ever met, thinking that love at first sight is a real thing.
“I already stumbled over my wife,” he says, glancing at me before he continues to dry himself.
“You did? Who?” Anders asks.
“I think it’s probably good manners to tell her before I make it public knowledge.”
Turning, I look at Anders, who looks just as stupefied as I feel.
“Don’t worry, as soon as I inform her that she belongs to me, I’ll let the team know,” Knight says simply, pulling a pair of basketball shorts on to cover his junk before he drops his towel into the hamper and heads for the door.
“What the fuck just happened?” Anders asks, sounding as stupefied as I feel.
“Well, apparently, Knight has dabbled with bisexuality but ultimately prefers women. He plans to quit being a smoke jumper once he gets married. Oh, and apparently, he met and claimed a woman, he just hasn’t told her yet,” I say, sounding and feeling slightly bewildered.
The smell of rich tomatoes fills the air the moment I step out of the locker room, but I don’t head straight for the kitchen. Instead, I walk silently into the bunkroom and grab my cell from where I’d left it charging when we’d been called out. In theory, I could have kept my cell with me, but I learned early on in my career that it’s dangerous to be distracted when you’re fighting a fire.
I don’t bring the screen to life until I’m out of the room, but the moment I do, I’m pleased to find I have text messages from Etta. Clicking into the messaging app, my heart beats erratically in my chest as a surge of excitement that I haven’t felt in a really long time buzzes through my veins.
A part of me is hoping to see a stream of messages from her, so I’m disappointed to find that I only have one.
Etta: Good morning, granola and yogurt for breakfast.
The text is accompanied by a picture of one of the bowls from my kitchen, half filled with my favorite nutty granola and a few spoonfuls of yogurt over the top. It’s hardly big enough to count as breakfast, but it’ll have to do until I can be there to cook for her.
My excitement over her following my rules fades quickly because there’s no other messages. No pictures of her lunch or dinner. No messages asking what I think or questioning why I haven’t texted back. Just nothing.
Stomping into the kitchen, I take a seat at the table opposite Buck and start to eat the chicken parm that Buck reheated for me. Chicken parm is Danny’s specialty, and if I wasn’t so pissed, I’m sure I’d enjoy it, but all I can think about is Etta alone in my house, not eating, not doing as I say, not following my rules.
Anger starts to tint my vision, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from losing my fucking shit, getting in my truck, and going home to see what the hell she thinks she’s playing at.
The moment their plates are clear, Anders and Knight head to bed, leaving me and Buck alone in the quiet, dimly lit kitchen.
“Is everything okay?” Buck asks quietly.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
Buck nods, but it’s very clear he doesn’t believe me.
“Your stepsister was due to get to town this week, wasn’t she?”
He’s easing me into it, but it’s clear he thinks Etta is what’s wrong with me. And he’d be right, but not for the reason he’s assuming.
“Yeah, she got here Friday night.”
“She staying at your place?”
I nod brusquely.
“Things not going well?”
“It’s fine,” I say again.
Inhaling sharply, Buck presses his lips together. “Cut the bullshit, Oz. What the fuck is going on? Because you were fine when you got back in, now you look like you’re ’bout ready to kill someone.”
“Etta and I…we’re having a few communication issues that I’m not very happy about,” I admit.
Buck’s lip hitches up on one side like he’s fighting a smile. “What kind of communication issues?”
“She’s staying in my house; I expect her to behave…” I trail off, unsure how to phrase it. “A certain way.”
“How old is she?” he asks.
“Twenty-six, I think.”
“And you have to communicate that she needs to respect your home? What exactly is she doing?”
“No.” I sigh. “I’ve found myself feeling certain urges around her.”
Chuckling quietly, Buck shakes his head and relaxes back in his chair. “Did you fuck her? Is she trashing your house because you had sex and then left to be on shift for four days?”
“I didn’t fuck her,” I snap. “And she’s not trashing my house, she’s not a misbehaving teenager.”
“Then spit it out. What the fuck’s the problem?”
“Jesus, fuck,” I snarl. “I want to fucking control her, okay. I want to control everything in a really, really messed-up way.”
Buck’s brow draws down low, and he stares at me. “Control her, how?”
“In every fucking way,” I admit quietly.
Glancing from side to side, Buck twists around, checking to make sure we’re alone. “If you tell anyone what I’m about to say, I will fucking kill you.”
“Okay.” I nod quickly.
“If you look at my wife differently, I’ll fire you.”
Lifting my hands up, I nod again. “Not sure I want to know now, Boss.”
“James and I toy with some power exchange within our marriage,” he confesses quietly.
“Huh.”
“James is a fucking badass, she kicks ass and takes names all day. She’s got a reputation for being an ice queen ballbuster, and she one hundred percent is. At work, she’s unstoppable, and according to her boss, he’s seen grown men literally run away from her in fear. But once she gets home, she doesn’t want to be a badass anymore. She needs someone to take over, and that’s what I do for her. I take over. I make the decisions. I’m in charge.”
“Just while you’re at home?” I ask, suddenly incredibly curious.
“Not just at home, but for the majority of the time we spend together. It works for us. It does not make her any less of a fucking badass, me taking control just lets her relax because she knows I’ve got her. When I’m in charge, she doesn’t have to worry, or stress, or think about anything except being happy.”
“And she likes it…when you take charge?” I ask carefully.
He nods. “It’s what she needs. She asked me for it, and although it’s not something I thought I’d like, I do. I am the happiest I’ve ever fucking been, and that’s because of her and our marriage. Now I just need to knock her up and everything would be fucking perfect.”
“You working on making that happen?” I ask him.
“Every damn moment I can. But enough about me, it’s time to talk about you and Henrietta.”
“Etta, she prefers to be called Etta now.”
“Fine, let’s talk about you and Etta.”
“I hate her, I’ve always hated her,” I say, but my words lack the venom that they did before I saw her again.
“Why?”
Sighing, I lift my hand and rub at my forehead. “Honestly, I don’t even know anymore. She’s not like I remember.”
“It’s been fifteen years; it’d be messed up if she was the same person now. She was just a kid the last time you saw her. You were both kids.”
“She texted me a few weeks ago. She thanked me for offering to let her stay, but said that her roommate would be in town a couple of days after she got here and that it made more sense for her to stay in a hotel.”
“I can see her logic, I guess.” Buck nods. “But if that’s the case, why is she at your place right now?”
“I went to the bus station. I wanted to see if I recognized her.”
“Okay.”
“I ended up taking her home with me.”
“Jesus, Oz, did you kidnap that girl?” Buck asks, his eyes wide.
“No,” I snap. “I mean, I don’t think so. She didn’t argue about coming with me.”
“So that’s what you meant by controlling her? Because you made her stay with you instead of at a hotel? That makes sense, it saves her money and keeps her safer,” Buck says with a shrug. “I wouldn’t have been happy with Juni staying in a hotel on her own. There’s no way I wouldn’t have dragged her back to my place, that’s a big brother thing.”
“I kissed her,” I blurt.
“Okay, so not a brother thing. Got it.” Buck nods.
“I feel like a fucking psycho,” I tell him. “She barely eats, she’s tiny, and she does this thing where she looks at me with these big fucking eyes. I can’t help telling her what to do, and she obeys me so fucking beautifully. It’s fucking addictive. I have never cared what any other woman I’ve been involved with does when we weren’t together, but I need Etta to do what I say. I keep telling her to behave and be a good girl and she kissed me back. She was sending me the photos and doing as I told her and then she stopped and now I need to go and check on her but it’s four in the fucking morning.” Everything rushes out of me in a jumble, and I’m not sure that what I just said even makes sense.
“Wow,” Buck says, clearing his throat. “So, you want some kind of power exchange thing with her?”
“I hate her,” I say again, only it’s even weaker than the last time I said it.
“Clearly, you don’t fucking hate her. And if she kissed you back, I’m taking a guess and saying she doesn’t hate you either. Have you talked about everything that happened when you were kids?”
“We haven’t really talked about anything, except she asked me if I was a daddy dom.”
Buck coughs, his eyes going wide. “Are you?”
“No. The only person I want calling me daddy is my kid.”
“Does she want a daddy dom?” Buck asks, his cheeks turning pink as he fidgets uncomfortably in his seat.
“She said not.”
“Why did she think you were one?”
“Because I gave her rules.”
“Rules,” he says slowly.
“This all stays between us, right, Boss?”
“Of course,” he assures me.
“She’s tiny. She’s a vegetarian, and from what I’ve seen so far, she barely eats. I told her that she would be staying with me till her roommate got to town and that while she was under my roof, she’d eat three meals a day.”
“You want to take care of her,” Buck says like he’s stating a fact, not asking a question.
“I want her to do what I tell her,” I huff. “I told her to send me pictures of her meals, I told her when I text, she replies, when I call, she answers. I told her to be a good girl, and she was. She sent me a picture of her breakfast but nothing since then. It’s four in the fucking morning and I have no idea if she’s okay, if she’s eaten, or if she’s behaving. I need to call her, but I can’t call her because it’s the middle of the fucking night and I’m losing my goddamn mind.”
By the time I’ve finished my tirade, my chest is heaving, and Buck’s eyes look like saucers. “Holy shit, bro, you’ve really fallen for this girl.”
“No. It’s not…” I trail off because, fuck, have I fallen for her? Is that what this is?
“Go home.”
“What?”
“Go home. There’s no point in you being here when you’re like this. So go home, check she’s okay, then get some sleep and be back here by lunchtime. You’d only be sleeping here till then anyway, the rest of us can handle any call-outs we might get. I’ll call you if I need you back before lunch, but I won’t. Go check on your girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” I argue.
“Go home and check on your girl,” Buck orders, daring me to argue again.
“Fuck, thanks, Boss.”
Jumping up from the table, I dump my plate in the sink, shove my bare feet into sneakers, then grab a hoodie from the clean uniform pile that’s waiting to be put away.
“You good to drive?” Buck asks as I reach the exit doors.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“See you at twelve hundred hours.”
“Thanks, Boss,” I say as I dart out of the door.