Page 10 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

I picked the crayon back up and colored for another fifteen minutes before finally setting everything aside and curling beneath the covers, Steve tucked under my chin.

As I started to drift off, I whispered softly to the empty room, “Goodnight…”

And for just a second—barely audible—I thought I heard something in the dark reply, “ Good boy .”

My eyes flew open, but nothing moved. Nothing was out of place. No one was in the room except me.

There was only silence and the gentle hum of the heater.

Mr. Ghost… Daddy?

* * *

I made it through class, but only just. My thoughts weren’t on The Odyssey or the professor’s dry commentary about heroic archetypes—I was too busy thinking about what had happened the night before.

That voice.

I kept trying to convince myself it hadn’t been real.

Maybe I’d been half-asleep and imagined it.

Maybe I’d heard something from the hallway or another dorm.

Hell, maybe I’d mumbled to myself and startled my own half-conscious brain.

There were a million logical explanations.

And still, none of them made me feel any better.

After class, I walked a few extra blocks out of my way, taking a longer route to avoid seeing too many familiar faces. My hoodie was pulled up over my head, and my hands stayed shoved deep in my coat pockets, fingers curling and uncurling like I could squeeze the anxiety out of them.

I didn’t know why I was so nervous. It wasn’t like anyone would know . It wasn’t like buying a sippy cup meant I was going to be outed or arrested or anything ridiculous like that.

Still, as I approached the dull beige entrance of the dollar store, my heart started hammering in my chest. It wasn’t even that crowded—just a bored-looking teenager behind the counter scrolling on his phone, a middle-aged woman rifling through plastic Tupperware, and an older man examining gift bags.

Totally normal. Normal, normal, normal. I was here practically every other day. This was just a normal, completely routine stop.

I swallowed hard and headed toward the baby aisle like I was on a mission.

In, out, survive.

There was a small section of baby bottles, bibs, tiny socks, and sippy cups.

I reached out with shaking hands and picked up a pastel yellow one with cute bees on the side.

The second I touched it, something in my heart soared.

The cup felt familiar in a way I could never quite explain to anyone else—and not just the cup, but all of my little stuff. It just… felt like home.

I clutched it to my chest and turned quickly for the front, hardly giving myself time to second-guess.

The bored guy at the register didn’t even blink when I set it down.

“That all?” he mumbled, not looking up.

I nodded quickly, eyes focused on my cup.

“Cool. $1.25.”

I placed a dollar and a quarter on the counter, pushing it towards him. The receipt printed, he bagged my prize, and just like that, it was over.

No judgment, or questions, or sneer of “Is this for your baby brother?” or “Aw, buying gifts?”

He didn’t care.

He probably wouldn’t have cared even if I’d bought three pounds of glitter, adult diapers, and a fake mustache. I was just another customer whom he couldn’t care less about.

Still, I didn’t exhale until I’d crossed the street and ducked into a quiet patch of trees between two campus buildings. I sat down on a low stone wall, gripping the little bag in my lap like it might float away if I let go.

I peeked inside at the cup.

It was so perfect .

And for the first time all day, I smiled—one of those big smiles that you just can’t suppress.

I still had tutoring and a short shift at the diner, but once those were over, I would pour some juice in my new sippy and go to bed little.

* * *

“Okay, so if you’re trying to get the pH, you need to take the negative log of the hydrogen ion concentration. That’s this number right here,” I pointed with my pen to the value on Callie’s worksheet.

She tilted her head, her golden blonde ponytail swinging slightly as she blinked at the paper. “But why negative?”

“Because the scale works backward. More hydrogen ions mean lower pH. It’s just how the logarithmic scale works.”

Callie groaned in that overly theatrical way that said she wasn’t really frustrated, just trying to be cute about struggling. “Ugh. You’re so smart, Colby. I would literally die if I had to major in this stuff.”

I smiled politely and straightened at her praise. Callie was more than generous with her compliments, to the point where I had actually thought about giving her a discount on the tutoring fee I charged.

We were tucked into one of the far corners of the library’s second floor, a nice, quiet spot that I often hung out at outside of my sessions, curled up in one of the oversized comfy chairs by the window overlooking the heart of campus.

Callie flipped her worksheet over and dropped her pen. “Okay, I’m officially calling it. I have absorbed more than enough knowledge for one night. Anything else will go in one ear and out the other.”

I laughed softly, starting to stack my books. “You’re doing a lot better than last week, honestly. I think the visuals helped a lot.”

She leaned her chin in her hand and smiled at me in that too-familiar way.

“You’re a total lifesaver, sweetie. Seriously.

Oh my god —okay, okay, wait—this weekend, my friend Alex is throwing this party, and I have to introduce you to his cousin Jamie.

He’s gay, super cute, and, like, I just feel like you two would vibe, you know?

He’s on the lacrosse team.” Callie waggled her eyebrows at me.

My stomach immediately dropped at the word party .

“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice friendly. “That’s really nice of you, thank you for the invite. But I, um… I don’t really do parties.”

Callie pouted with a playful gleam in her eye. “You’re missing out! Especially on Jamie. But no pressure. Just—if you change your mind, text me. You need to start living a little. Have a drunk one-night stand or two. It’s the college experience!”

I nodded, still smiling, still polite, because I didn’t want to offend her accidentally. We might’ve lived entirely different lives, but Callie was still a great student and an overall nice person to be around.

We packed up, exchanged goodbyes, and I slipped out into the cool evening, tugging my hoodie tight as I crossed the quad.

Callie had taken off a few minutes early, which left me with enough time to leisurely walk across campus to Mae’s, instead of the panicked sprint I sometimes had to do.

The smell of fryer oil and syrup hit me as I walked through the back door.

I waved to Mae at the grill.

“Hey, baby! Few minutes early, aren’t ya? You’re on coffee and tables tonight,” she called after me. “We’re light, so feel free to sit when it’s slow.”

“Got it,” I said, already tying my apron.

By the time I’d made my first sweep through the dining room, refilling a couple of mugs and wiping down the empty tables, the bell over the door chimed softly.

I looked up and froze for a moment, my heart fluttering as I made eye contact with the tall blonde man I’d run into recently. The one I’d fantasized about being my Daddy.

Tonight, he wore a gray hoodie under a black peacoat, dark wash jeans, and boots. He sent me a soft smile and picked a booth near the corner, sitting and folding his hands politely on the table.

I hesitated only a second before grabbing the coffee pot and heading his way.

“Hi, welcome to Mae’s,” I said, my voice a little too stiff, probably a little too awkward as well. “Want a menu, or are you just here for coffee?”

He looked up at me. His eyes were… unsettling. Not in a bad way. Just… intense. Too focused. Like he wasn’t just looking at me—he was reading me. The paleness of them felt unearthly, and I found myself caught in their stare.

“I’ll take coffee, thanks,” he said, voice low and smooth. “And whatever dessert’s best here. You’d know better than me.”

“Oh,” I blinked, feeling imbalanced for some unknown reason.

“Uh, that’d be the lemon meringue pie, probably.

I can bring you a slice. Oh, unless you don’t like lemon?

The chocolate pie is really great too, or there’s apple, and that one tastes really yummy with some vanilla ice cream on top.

” I flushed as I realized I was rambling a bit.

“I’ll go with the lemon. Thank you.” His lips tilted up in the corners, an amused look in his eye.

I nodded and turned to go, heart still ticking a little faster in my chest, but his voice followed me.

“You’re Colby, right?”

I paused mid-step, slowly turning back. “Oh, yeah, that’s me…”

He knew my name?! My. Name?

“You were working the last time I ate here. It’s hard to forget someone like you,” he said.

I had no idea what to say to that. Was I so annoying that I’d cemented myself in his head under “people he should avoid”?

“Oh… okay…” I fumbled, quickly turning to walk back to the kitchen to get his pie. As soon as I was out of sight, I dragged my hand down my face and quietly groaned. That was a train wreck of a conversation. He was probably thinking I was socially incompetent or just plain dumb.

I balanced the plate carefully as I made my way back to the booth, the lemon meringue slice wobbling just slightly with every step. The meringue was perfectly torched on top—lightly browned peaks like little sugary mountains—and I suddenly felt nervous that it wasn’t fancy enough.

What if he didn’t like it?

“Here you go,” I said as I slid the plate onto the table, trying not to meet his eyes for too long. “Lemon meringue.”

He looked down at it, then back up at me, lips curling into that same calm smile from earlier. “Looks perfect. Thank you, Colby.”

Hearing my name from his mouth did something weird to my brain. I stood there for a beat too long before realizing I should probably go. Wait—was he expecting me to keep talking? Was I supposed to make small talk?

“Um, do you—uh—need anything else?” I asked, my voice pitching higher than I meant it to.

He shook his head. “Nope. Just the company, if that’s alright?”

Company?

My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish before I stammered, “I-I’ve got a few tables to check on, but, uh, I mean, I can—like—circle back in a bit. If you want.”

“I’d like that,” he said simply.

I nodded like that made sense and walked off quickly, gripping the empty coffee pot like it was anchoring me to this plane of existence.

I kept my eyes down for the next ten minutes, making myself look busy even though there were only two other customers left in the diner. Every time I caught a glimpse of him, I felt this pull in my stomach—not like butterflies, but something… deeper, hotter.

He was still eating. Occasionally, he’d glance out the window or scan the room again, like he was examining the world around us.

When I finally made my way back to his booth to top off his coffee, he looked up at me again with that same quiet intensity.

“So,” he said, voice low and warm. “I realized I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Bodin.”

“Bodin,” I murmured, almost as if testing the weight of it on my tongue. “That’s a unique name.”

He watched my lips as I spoke his name and, for just a second, his eyes flitted shut.

As his eyes reopened, he smiled and said, “It’s Norwegian. That’s where I’m from.”

“Whoa. Really? What are you doing here then?” I asked before realizing how it sounded. “Sorry if that’s an offensive question. I didn’t mean to be rude.” My gaze fell to the floor.

He frowned. “You weren’t rude, little one.” He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. “It’s a great thing to be curious.”

I shrugged and pretended to be fascinated by the way the coffee swirled in the mug, rather than mentally freaking out over him calling me “ little one”. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to risk it.

“My family is Sámi. We are an indigenous tribe of Northern Norway. I respect my heritage very much, but I decided to travel, see if any parts of the world called to me.”

I sat down on the seat across from him, curiosity getting the best of me.

“That’s so cool!” I beamed.

Bodin’s eyes glittered as he smiled and continued, “I would love to share more about my culture with you sometime, Colby.”

I stuttered, “R-really? Why?”

“I enjoy your company,” he answered, taking a sip of his coffee and watching me as if he were memorizing each minute detail.

I didn’t get that. I wasn’t interesting. I was the kind of guy people forgot about unless they needed help with their homework or wanted someone to laugh at. I wasn’t used to attention that felt like this.

Eventually, he stood, sliding his coat back over his shoulders. I realized I hadn’t given him the check, but he beat me to it, already placing a twenty and a few small bills beneath his empty plate.

“Thanks for the pie,” he said, calm as ever.

I blinked. “Wait—you only had coffee and one slice. This is too much.”

He paused, halfway to the door, and looked back at me. “It’s not for the food.”

Then he left.

Just like that. The bell above the door jingled, and he was gone.

I stared down at the bills. The twenty was folded in half, perfectly crisp. No note. No contact info. Just the money.

I should’ve felt happy about the tip. I needed it—my last paycheck had mostly gone toward food and laundry detergent.

But instead of grateful, I felt… uneasy.

What did he mean, not for the food?

Why would someone like him want to talk to me?

I glanced out the diner window, but he was already gone. The rest of my shift passed in a blur. I wiped down counters, swept the floors, and did all the usual closing tasks. But the whole time, my mind kept going back to that smile, that stare, that soft “ just the company .”

That heartstopping “ little one. ”