4. Rule #4 Old dogs can learn new tricks after all.
Matis
Amelia sits across from me on the Métro’s worn plastic chair. Her feet are propped up on the seat next to me, and I smile down at the bright red shade of polish on her toes visible thanks to black strappy sandals.
I know how much she loves taking the city’s transit system, although I’ll never understand it. I might not have my own driver like Ronan does, but I could easily hire a car to get us home quicker and a bit safer. But at least if she’s going to take the Métro, I’ll be here to protect her.
She’s holding my phone in her hand, biting her bottom lip as she types something out.
“Okay…likes red wine and French jazz, looking for a committed relationship and emotional vulnerability…”
I chuckle at her. “Delete that.”
“Well, I can’t write hookups and one-night stands in here,” she argues.
“Why not? That’s what I like.”
With a groan of annoyance, she throws her head back. “Matis, that is not what you’re going for anymore, remember? You want to find a real partner. Not just someone to woo for an evening.”
“But I’m good at that,” I reply with humor.
There’s a blush to her cheeks, and I notice the way her eyes won’t meet mine. Amelia might have been born into a progressive world, but she is still a girl at heart. Whereas I’m now an old man, and there’s not much that can make me blush anymore.
She rests my phone in her lap. “Make it make sense. You’re a total Casanova and an expert flirt, so why is dating so hard?”
“You really want to know?”
“It might help me in making this profile for you.”
Dragging air into my lungs, I heave a deep sigh and prepare myself to be more vulnerable than I was intending to tonight.
I consider Amelia to be my friend, the same as the rest of her family, but she might not look at me the same way.
I’m her godfather. She sees me as more of a father figure than a friend.
So this might be uncomfortable to hear.
“I lose interest in people as soon as I sleep with them.”
She winces, baring her teeth in an uncomfortable grimace. “Ouch.”
“I don’t know why. I think I’ve just…conditioned myself to want sex and only sex. I like going home alone. I like eating alone and traveling alone and drinking alone. Or at least I used to.”
“But not anymore?”
“No,” I reply sadly. “Now it feels like I’m being punished for only caring about myself for so long. I’m reaping what I sowed, so to speak. Now I’m just a lonely man, and I fear it’s too late to find someone to spend the rest of my life with—however much is left.”
Amelia makes a dramatic scene of rolling her eyes with a loud groan. “You’re not ninety!”
She makes me laugh and I chuckle silently as I stare at her. Amelia reminds me of myself when I was younger, with so much life and energy. But I see fear in her too, and I wish I didn’t. I have no doubt she could conquer the world if she put her mind to it, but she holds herself back.
I remember the struggles Ronan and Daisy went through to get Amelia everything she needed as a child.
When she was diagnosed with ADHD, I watched as my friends fought so hard to help their daughter succeed.
Finding the right medications, the right schools, the right teachers. They did everything they could for her.
And now it makes me happy to see how well she’s done. Her ability to create new designs and pieces of art that evoke such emotion is nothing short of brilliant. But I know she could do more. I fear it’s not the diagnosis stopping her but herself.
I will be rooting for her until the day I die.
“Okay, so what about…?” She picks up my phone and screws up her lips as she thinks. “Looking for a partner and would like to take things slow.”
I shoot her a look of concern. “How slow?”
“Slow enough that you can actually build some feelings for the person before having sex with them. I mean, have you tried that?”
“Of course I have.”
I haven’t.
With a skeptical look on her face, she shakes her head and returns her attention to my phone. “Now to take a picture.”
“Here?” I ask, straightening up and looking around. “Don’t I want them to know I have money and can afford a car?”
Amelia ignores me, holding up my phone to snap a picture of me. “You’re too hot for that. They’ll think you’re a catfish account. This makes you look real and relatable. Now, smile.”
With a chuckle, I tilt my head naturally for the camera and lean back in my seat with a crooked lift to my lips. As she snaps the picture, I can’t help but notice the warmth building in my chest, and I suspect it’s from Amelia calling me hot.
I might be in my fifties, but I still like to hear I have the looks I did in my youth. Although I must admit it’s strange to hear it from Ronan’s daughter.
Strange…but nice.
“What’s a catfish account?” I ask, but she only laughs.
Just then, the Métro reaches a stop. I tense as the doors open and a rowdy group of young men enter the train car. Most of them spot Amelia immediately.
When one of them starts toward us, making lewd comments in mumbled French, my blood begins to boil.
“Just ignore them,” Amelia mutters without even looking up. “That’s what I do.”
There is an empty seat next to Amelia, and I know the young men are eyeing it as an invitation. She would be safer in the seat next to me.
“Come here,” I bark at her, but she doesn’t listen. “Viens!” I whisper-shout, and she looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Okay, geez.”
Moving over until I am in the aisle seat, I rest my arm along the back of the chair, and Amelia takes it, so she’s nuzzled safely between my body and the window of the train car.
She’s tense, I can feel it. But she keeps her eyes on my phone. I send the young men a hard, flat glare that properly conveys to them to leave her alone.
With Amelia under my arm, I let my mind wander, imagining what might have happened if the boys hadn’t backed down. What I would do to protect her. And just the thought of one of them hurting her has me seeing red.
I would do anything to protect her.
It’s that simple.
Leaning in, I watch her complete my dating profile. And with my nose close to her head, I breathe in the floral scent of her hair.
Quickly, I catch myself leaning in too much, so I pull away and mentally scold myself for that little slip in judgment.
Amelia is beautiful, no doubt, especially with her new haircut that somehow comes off as both sexy and cute at the same time, but I could never look at her as anything other than my goddaughter.
I would be a monster to even consider that.
“All done,” she says, handing my phone back to me.
“Done?”
“Yep, you can start swiping now.”
“Swiping?”
“Ugh,” she groans in exasperation as she takes my phone back.
After she opens the app, I see a stranger’s face on the screen. It says a name and age at the bottom. The woman is beautiful but not quite my type.
“If you like them, you swipe right. But if you don’t like them, you swipe left. So what about this one?”
“Left,” I say, and she gives me a purposeful look with her brows raised in expectation. I take that to mean I’m supposed to be the one to swipe.
With the phone in my hand, I drag my finger across the screen to the left. The picture floats away, and in its place is a new one. This time, it’s a man. His name is Frederick, and he’s thirty-two. Handsome and definitely someone I’d spend a few hours with, but not more than that.
And more than a few hours is what I’m supposed to be looking for.
So I swipe his picture to the left.
And another. And another.
“You’re not usually this picky,” she says with mischief in her voice.
“I’m not usually looking for someone to take things slow with.”
Finally, a woman pops up on the screen that seems more promising. She has long brown hair in large wavy curls over her bare shoulders. She’s wearing a blue strapless dress and has red lips set in a wide, white-toothed smile. Her name is Laura, and she’s forty-four.
So I swipe her photo to the right.
Amelia’s knee is bouncing, and she’s wringing her fingers in her lap. Taking that as a sign that she might not want to watch me pick a date right now, I slide my phone into my pocket.
Glancing up at the map of the track, I see we’re only three stops away from the 16th, where she’ll need to get off. I will walk her to the house, of course. But maybe for the rest of the ride, we can focus on something else.
“What about you?” I ask, nodding my head toward the phone in her purse. “Are you on the app as well?”
“Um…yes, but I haven’t looked in a while.”
When she turns on her phone, I watch over her shoulder as she opens a folder full of dating apps. I don’t miss the Salacious app, and it piques my interest, although I don’t ask. I’m well versed in that app, and I know it’s for people to find matches in their kinks and desires.
Does Amelia have a kinky side she uses the app for? I can’t help but wonder what it might be. Does she have a submissive side? I couldn’t imagine that. Having to sit still, be tied up, or obey orders isn’t her style. Is she more dominant? No, that doesn’t quite fit either.
Perhaps she is into exhibitionism? But seeing the way she reacted when the attention was on her at dinner tonight makes me think that wouldn’t be enjoyable for her.
But perhaps…she likes to be the one to watch?
My curious girl.
There’s an instant arousal in my groin that has me yanking my arm from the back of the seat. She notices my sudden strange behavior.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply nonchalantly and quickly adjust myself in my pants.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Show me your dating profile,” I say to change the subject and distract myself from those incredibly inappropriate thoughts.
She opens the same app on her phone that she just used on mine. With her short hair and wispy fringe, her profile picture is cute, making me smile. She’s leaning on a low brick wall in a green skirt and shiny black shoes. The sun is setting behind her with a silhouette of the tower in the distance.
Anyone who swipes left on her can’t see what’s in front of them.
“I haven’t checked it in a while,” she says as she looks through her potential matches.
Most of them are young, still in their twenties.
And judging by their profile photos, they are more interested in themselves than anyone else.
“What about this one?” she asks, clicking on a man in a business suit, standing next to a car I know must be worth half a million euros.
“What does he do?” I ask, leaning in.
She scrolls through his information. “He’s in sales.”
“Left,” I say with a scowl.
“Why? What’s wrong with sales?” she asks, peering over her shoulder at me.
“That’s not his car or his suit. Swipe left.”
With a scoff, she swipes to the next one.
“Left,” I say again.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“No DJs.”
With a tsk, she swipes again.
“Or bartenders,” I add.
Swipe.
“Left.”
“He’s a primary school teacher!” she argues.
“I don’t like his mustache.”
With a giggle, she puts her phone in her lap. “Are you going to let me swipe right on anyone?”
Our eyes meet, and even in this harsh fluorescent lighting, her sweet blue irises shine. I find myself staring a moment too long, caught in the moment.
Just the thought of some other man touching Amelia makes me hate this entire plan. No matter how hard I try to imagine someone worthy of her, I always seem to come up empty.
“No one will ever be good enough for you, Trouble.”
The gentle smile on her lips fades, but she holds my gaze. The air grows thick between us, and I start to worry that was out of line. But she doesn’t berate me for treating her like a child or being too strict on her. Instead, she lets out a sigh, soft and dreamy, as if her heart is exhaling.
“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that to me.”
Confused, I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can get a word out, my phone buzzes in my lap. When I pick it up, I stare dumbly at the notification on the screen.
You have a match!
The feeling that hits my gut isn’t one of elation or excitement. Strangely, it feels more like regret. But this is what I wanted.
“Open it,” Amelia says. I notice the movement of her throat as she swallows. Then her leg starts bouncing again, and she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth.
So I open the app and stare at the same beautiful brunette in the blue dress that I swiped right on earlier.
“You’ve still got it, old man,” she says.
We reach our stop, so Amelia and I stand from our seats and move toward the exit. As we pass by the young men still eyeing her, I imagine the vulgar thoughts floating through their minds, and it takes everything in me not to knock them out.
Waiting for the doors to open, I put myself between her and them, holding her close to my chest. She leans into me, and I notice the way she fits so nicely under my chin.
Fuck, I really need to find someone. I must be pretty fucking lonely if I’m fantasizing about my goddaughter this way.
So I make myself a promise. When I get home, I will message the woman in blue, and I will put in a real effort to make this work. For everyone’s sake, I really need to find a partner.