Chapter 11. Ford
I can't believe my mother just recruited Jude into my choir. I can't believe he sings so well. And I can't believe his next words:
"So, Mr. Dom, see you next time for rehearsal? I'm one step closer to you becoming my Dom!"
I can't believe he's saying that again so directly.
"I told you," I say. "I don't have time for a sub."
His smile falters for just a second before he pulls it back into place. He shrugs, defiant.
"I have all the time in the world. I can wait until you change your mind."
I only mean to protect us both when I say, "I'm not going to change my mind, kid. Let it go. This will never happen. I don't have time for you."
This time, his smile vanishes. I see the ghost of something raw in his expression, something fragile and painfully familiar. He sighs and turns his back on me.
"Okay," he says. "You made yourself clear, then. No means no. See you later, Ford." He starts walking away. I watch the words hit him, and I wish I could pull them back into my mouth.
"Jude, wait…" My heart is hammering in my chest. That felt final.
He raises his hand to let me know he heard me, but he keeps walking.
The moment I see his eyes go dark, I know I've pushed too far.
That's why I don't do brats. I don't do anything. I don't do relationships. When is the last time anybody did anything like that for me? Showed up at my church, sang my baby to sleep, endured hours of liturgy just to sit in the same room as me?
And now I've ruined it.
I could see by the look on his face that I really hurt him. What I said isn't a nice thing to hear. But brats say all kinds of stuff all the time, and I don't know how to deal with it. That doesn't excuse what I said. I know that.
I take a deep breath, upset. He helped with my baby.
My mom is always reckless. She takes her eyes off Angel all the time while she texts her friends, and Angel is learning to walk.
I've told her a million times. Did my mom say that he calmed Angel to sleep?
That can't be. Nobody calms Angel but me, and sometimes my mom.
I act before my brain can convince me otherwise and text Dave.
"Hey, do you know the number of that guy I was talking to at the club?"
I know Dave is going to have a field day with this. I try to be casual on purpose. He's always on my back about finding someone.
He answers immediately. That guy lives glued to his phone. "Who? Jude?" he texts, but he doesn't even wait for me to respond. He sends the number over right away. "We have a group chat together from BratWorld. You should join."
"No thanks," I answer.
But maybe I would.
I text Jude immediately.
"Hey, kid. I'm sorry for what I said. Don't take it personally. I meant no harm."
I'm expecting him to answer maybe in a couple of hours, or maybe even ignore me altogether. But I get a response back immediately.
My heart goes crazy because of it. I don't know why.
"Did you go after my number just to apologize?
That is so cute." The text flashes on my screen.
I feel myself out of breath. That boy knows exactly what to say to get on my nerves, and he knows he has that power.
I realize I haven't even signed my message.
He can't possibly have my number. So he knows it's me.
Maybe it isn't that hard to guess, but even so, it proves I'm still on his mind.
For a second, I'm glad I sent the message.
"I just thought what I said was very inappropriate. We don't know each other, and maybe I hit some limit of yours. I apologize."
Again, he texts back immediately. "So prim and proper. That's adorable, darling."
This time, he makes me chuckle. I don't want to admit that.
Another text, right away.
"Don't worry about it. No one ever hurts me. Nothing can touch me. Don't worry this boring Dom head of yours."
And again I chuckle. That guy is incredible, unbelievable. What does he mean, he never gets hurt? In the short time I've known him, I know he's so self-destructive it's comical. And sad.
"Yeah, sure. I've seen the way you drink. That's not normal." I send it, and I immediately regret it. "Sorry, maybe that wasn't appropriate either. I apologize."
But he sends a laughing emoji back and says:
"I told you to not worry this boring head of yours. You got better things to worry about like bedtimes and eating vegetables or whatever Doms worry about. Listen to me and be good."
That makes my blood boil. It makes me want to teach him a lesson immediately.
"And why would I do something that you tell me to do?"
Again, the message comes seconds later. This boy is quick-witted. He's smart.
"Because maybe you want somebody to guide you. I know that many Doms just want to be dommed in secret. You can tell me. Your secret will be safe with me." And he sends a winking emoji.
"In your dreams, baby," I type, but it takes me a second before I delete the word "baby" and replace it with "kid." I'm ridiculously out of control with him. I don't need to get to his level. I can maintain my cool. That's what I always do.
?
He comes to the next practice, and it's ridiculous how worried I am that he won't show up.
We do not mention BratWorld. We do not discuss the club, or Dave, or how he found me. We do not use words like dominant or submissive or dynamic. We are simply two people who enjoy music together.
I don't know what possessed me to banter with that kid over text. The worst part is that he's good, and he riles me up with each word. I find myself smiling like a buffoon at my phone and waiting for every text back.
And then, I remember how my mom loved him.
Worse, how Angel loved him. And his voice.
God, his voice. I've been a music teacher for a long time, and it's rare to find a voice like that.
He's a tenor and he fits right in. At his first practice, when I introduce him to people, he's exactly how I imagine he'd be: charming, all smiles.
The old ladies immediately love him. The old men invite him to play cards later.
And he can actually follow directions. It's obvious he has musical training, and I can't help but be incredibly impressed.
Still, I should be in control. I'm an adult. I'm much older than him, while we're at that. I'm sure we both have a lot of things going on in our lives. I have to raise Angel. She's my utmost priority. He has to do whatever annoying brats do all day. He's barely in his late twenties, for God's sake.
But I also don't condone lying. It's one of the things I never accept under any circumstances.
This includes lying to myself. I can't deny the feelings I'm having and how happy those little text messages make me.
That kid followed me to my church, sat there obediently through all the choir practices, even after I told him no to his request to join (before my dear mother ruined it all), and even started attending service.
If anything, I'm helping him get closer to God.
It's insane, but we're both single and experienced in the scene. He's eager, clearly attracted to me. And he's really handsome with that white-blond hair and big, round, honey-colored eyes.
I guess we could try something.
A brat. The last thing I needed in my life.