Chapter 3
Cecilia
Trena is silent as she drives through Henry’s neighborhood. She’s never seen me worked up like this. I usually just move on when things go wrong. But Henry saying I’m not fun…
He’s such an ass.
I should have ended things a while back, but his money allowed us to do things—the only reason I didn’t leave him or this boring town sooner.
Does that mean I used him? I shake off the yuck. No one forced him to stay with me. It’s on him for not being honest. Telling me where his head was would have been far easier to hear than Trena telling me where his dick was.
Enough of that. I roll the window down and tilt my head out.
My mind moves on to more exciting things, like the dad bod. Could I hook up with someone older like that? There was something about him. Something confident. Something familiar. Something possessive. I bet he’d know how to take care of a treasure like me.
“Who was that guy?” Trena doesn’t need to clarify who she’s asking about.
“I should have introduced myself. Turn around.”
“Ewww… no. He’s so old. And—”
“Older, wiser, and I wish you could have seen the look in his eyes.”
She accelerates. “Cecilia, no! You broke up five seconds ago.”
“Broke up… as in, I’m single.”
“No rebound shenanigans. Let’s get cinnamon rolls and discuss that escape plan you mentioned.”
The tables are full when we get to the diner, so Trena and I take a seat at the counter, and as Bev passes, I say, “Two cinnamon rolls, please.”
I instantly hate myself for being the type of customer who thinks they’re the center of the universe, but Bev nods. “Got it.”
I type ‘fun places to live’ into my phone and cringe at the results. Minimum wage is going to be a problem. “What if we just pack up our shit and drive from town to town until something hits?”
Trena scrolls on her phone. “I’m not living out of my car.”
“What’s going on?” Bev slides the cinnamon rolls to us. “I didn’t realize how serious you were this morning.”
“I hate to leave you short-handed, Bev, but I’ve gotta get out of this town.”
“Do what ya gotta do. Just put it in writing and try to give me two week’s notice.” She pats my hand then pulls out her ordering pad, noting the cinnamon rolls. “Anything else? Sodas to fully ensure the carb coma?”
I wish I could be as kind as her, but I’m not wired that way. I reach for her pad and pen. She lets me have them.
Flipping to the first blank page, I tear it out and write: I’m outta here, ASAP. Cecilia
“As slowly as possible.” Bev winks at me. “Good, cause I’m gonna miss your enthusiasm kiddo.”
The giant cinnamon roll barely fits in my hand, and the icing makes me a sticky mess. I give up on my search for a fun place to live.
Trena uses a fork and is able to continue modifying the searches on her phone. “I found it.”
At least I think that’s what she said, but now she’s choking. I ball my sticky fingers and pound on her back with the clean edge of my fist. She throws an elbow my way, just skimming me.
Everyone’s looking at us. Her glare is a little less than grateful.
“What?” I shrug when I see she’s fine. “I’m not letting you out of my escape plan that easily.”
“Remind me why I encourage you?”
“Because life is more fun with me in it.” I boop the tip of her nose with a frosting-covered finger.
She grabs a napkin from the dispenser and cleans her face dramatically.
“Now that you’re not dying, what did you find?”
Her gaze moves past me as I’m remotely aware of somebody sitting on the next barstool. She lowers her voice. “There’s this place called Eggplant Canyon.”
“Like a farm?” I shove more cinnamon roll in my mouth.
“Eggplant.” She draws the word out.
I’m not getting it.
She points at her lap. “The emoji means…”
“Oh!” Nearly dropping my cinnamon roll, both of my hands are now covered in sticky goo. The thought of farmers growing dicks doesn’t help.
“It’s a neighborhood, not a farm.” She clearly doesn’t want anyone to hear.
“For male strippers? C’mon, Trena. Help a girl out.”
“It’s this place where all of the women end up in ménages or reverse harems.”
A cough from the stool beside me indicates that the newcomer is a man, and that I’m not the only one who heard. Can’t people mind their own fucking business?
Having fun with the eavesdropper, I say clearly. “Each chick gets multiple dudes? Sign me up.”
“And they’re… married… or whatever you call it with a group.”
“Whoa! Slow down on the married thing. I thought you just meant hookups.”
Trena reads for a few seconds. “Apparently, it’s a way of life there.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
She looks past me, then scoots closer and whispers. “You would do that? Hook up with multiple guys?”
“Sounds more fun than sticking around here.” I dab my finger into the frosting.
“Hold on,” the man behind me says.
Here goes. Probably some perv gonna offer to make our dreams come true. I take a deep breath hoping he’ll notice my continued refusal to turn around as a sign to fuck off. Although, if his deep voice matches his… Nope. Nope. Nope. He needs to fuck off.
Trena has gone completely pale.
He continues talking to my back. “I’m all about having fun, but be careful. You don’t know who could have written that internet article.”
“It’s in a blog from one of the wives,” Trena says hesitantly.
“Surely you know about catfishing.” He sounds sincere.
I’m just about done with him. “Surely you know about good manners.”
“I just—”
I’m not in the mood. The escape plan is between Trena and me. I spin on my stool to face him.
Damn! My breath hitches. Tingles take hold for the second time today. That makes two-for-two on older guys getting to me. Since when do I have a thing for older men? Or is this just my emotions running high from the breakup?
His eyes captivate me as much as his deep, gravelly voice. “I wouldn’t want—”
“Why don’t you be a good boy and mind your own business.” The last thing I need is someone trying to control me right now. And before I can stop myself, I boop him with my sticky finger. A very different move on a handsome stranger than doing it to my bestie.
Trena lets me get away with it every time. He doesn’t.
He grabs my wrist possessively, pausing for a moment. I’m not sure what to do. I’m the one who invaded his space. But the thing going on between us tells me space invasion is not the issue. I can almost sense how hard it is for him to resist.
“Whatcha gonna do?”
Before I can say ‘spank me’, he lowers my hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath warms my finger before his tongue slides out. I could pull away. I should pull away. I don’t. He takes my finger into his mouth.
How am I still sitting on the barstool? Every bone in my body has melted.
Trena’s hands are on my shoulders. I think she said something, but tunnel vision has taken over as he slurps off of my fingertip.
“Did you call me a good boy?” His voice has gone even deeper, wrapping around me the way he gripped my wrist—is still gripping my wrist.
Did I call him a good boy? I did. Where did that come from? For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say. A nod is the best I can do.
“Next time, be a good girl and call me Daddy.”
We’re caught in a limbo of sexual tension and complete inappropriateness—and I’ve never felt like I belonged somewhere more.
His phone rings. He ignores it. His sole focus is on me.
“Fine, Daddy.”
“Cecilia!” Trena spins me, yanking my hands free from his grip. “Sorry, sir. We didn’t mean to bother you.”
Angling my head over my shoulder, I hope to recapture the feeling. It’s gone.
He’s answering his phone. “I walked into town. I’m at the diner. How’d it go with your son?”
I lick the rest of the frosting from my finger savoring the special intimacy that he just did the same.
His conversation continues. “Sorry, Lennox. That couldn’t have gone much worse. Stop in and we’ll find a bar.”
Crap, I’m not old enough to drink… a sure-fire reminder that this guy is way older than me. And so was the delicious dad bod earlier.