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Chapter Three

Ethan

If the coffee shop had a suggestion box, Zane would have stuffed it with scraps of paper that said, "Get it, you little ho!" and "I'm not saying he could be your dad, but...” and "Nab that silver fox, boy!"

My best friend had a one-track mind when it came to hot guys.

And he was merciless after I’d mentioned having a crush on Mr. Baker when I was a gay kid going through puberty.

I didn’t know what a Daddy fetish was at that point, but I knew what lust was, and I had it big time for Mr. Baker.

By the time I learned about sexual kink, Mr. Baker was long out of my life but not at all out of my mind.

I’d pulled up images of him mowing the lawn shirtless or lounging by the pool all summer long for so many of my fantasies.

I spent more time obsessing about him while I was jacking off than I would ever admit, but Zane seemed to know just by looking at me.

And he spent the rest of the shift coming up with a million nicknames for James, but the one that stuck with me the most was “Sex God Daddy.” As much as I wanted to be annoyed, he wasn’t wrong.

“He’s just the dad of a friend. Well, not a friend anymore, but… I mean, he’s just a nice guy. A human. A straight human!” I pulled off my apron and grabbed a muffin from the day-old basket.

“But not just any straight human.” A grin broke through the mop of curls that hung over Zane’s eyes. “He’s a fine specimen of the genus Dadis Hot-as-fuckus.” He hoisted himself up on the counter like the bad influence he was and stuck his tongue out at me. “Did you text him?”

“What? No!”

“Bruh.” He leveled me with a stare. “You have no game, Ethan Martinez. None.”

Right again, bud. “I’ll text later.” Maybe.

As soon as I left work, my thoughts were all over the place. Should I have dinner with James Baker? Should I track down Chris and ask him first? Should I strand myself on a desert island and become a comic-drawing virgin hermit with no friends and no risk of embarrassing social interactions?

James said it was about my book, and I really did need a contact in the industry if I ever hoped to publish it. Besides, he’d done that older-man smolder thing that made my insides melt and my pants tight. What was the worst that could happen?

Mr. Baker was literally a dad. The dad. Chris's dad. James Baker, who was like a father to me when I was a kid. But I wasn’t a kid anymore, and he knew I was gay. I was very upfront about that, and he still asked me to dinner.

It was just a professional meeting, definitely not a date. Most notably because he was way out of my league and straight.

Clearly, he felt sorry for me and where I was in life. Was my lack of success in all aspects so obvious that he could sense it oozing out of my pores?

Did he know that I wasn’t a date-risk because the one time I tried to go on a date in college, I basically swore off ever trying it again? I got all the way to the goodnight kiss and then freaked out and accidentally bit the guy’s lip.

That was my first and last attempt at being romantic with anyone. I swore off everything that involved boys or rejection or explaining to anyone why I had blood on my shirt and a restraining order in my future.

Either way, I had to respond. It would be rude not to. He had my number and knew where I worked. Whether he wanted to give me advice and help get my book published, or he wanted to give me the tough truth and relieve me of any misguided beliefs that I had talent.

Despite being a coward, I had to do it. Why was I so weak?

I picked up my phone and thumbed out a text before I could talk myself out of it.

Hey, James. If you’re still up for dinner, I’d love to meet. But totally understand if you’re too busy.

As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. What was I thinking? He was just being polite. I was sure he had much better things to— Ding .

That was quick. Did he have his phone open and in his hands when I sent that?

When and where?

Okay, that was more direct than I expected but for the best. I was terrible at reading intentions and subtext where there wasn’t any.

How’s 6:30? There’s a place called Rosalie’s near my apartment.

I know the place. I’m looking forward to it, Ethan.

Fuck, even in text, I could almost hear him saying my name, and I liked it. I hearted his message and immediately switched it to a thumbs-up. What was wrong with me? This was a professional business meeting, not a heart-worthy occasion.

I grabbed the least crumpled-looking thing in my closet and threw it on the bed.

Zane would have shown up in a spiked collar and painted-on jeans, but I didn’t have the build or the courage for something like that.

Instead, I pulled on the wool hoodie my grandma got me for Christmas and called it good.

It was the nicest article of clothing I owned, and with my darkest jeans, I looked reasonably presentable.

Rosalie’s wasn’t too fancy, and I’d gone there in much worse clothes when my parents were in town.

And yet, I was still freaking out when I walked up to the restaurant and saw James standing in the lobby, looking like something off the cover of a magazine.

Damn, he was sexy. No man over forty was supposed to look that good.

Salt-and-pepper hair, the perfect amount of stubble, and a black button-down that made it obvious he could bench press me without breaking a sweat.

I suddenly felt even more self-conscious of my scrawny post-college-loser-chic style.

I was halfway tempted to bolt, but he spotted me before I could even turn around.

“Ethan, you look great.” He came right up to me and held out his hand to shake. When I took it, he pulled me in for a half-hug, and my stomach did the weird somersault thing that only happened when I read books about the quirky boy who actually gets the hot guy.

“Mr. Baker… Uh, James. You too.” I cleared my throat and hoped he didn’t notice the growing bulge in my pants.

“I’m glad you came.” His voice was smooth like butter and so damn sexy.

“I wasn’t sure how serious you were about meeting, but yeah, I’m glad too.” I could feel my ears burning up and hoped it was dark enough that he couldn’t tell.

“Of course I was.” He winked and slid his hand behind my back and urged me forward as the host took us to our table. “Let’s go sit down.”

Having him so close to me, touching me in a way that didn’t feel like a business meeting, made my heart do a weird sputtery thing. Has it ever beat so hard or fast before?

I tried to keep my cool, even though every nerve in my body was on fire.

James pulled out my chair and tucked me in before taking the chair across from me. We each took our menus from the server and spent a moment to look it over. “What’s your favorite thing here? I’ve had the lasagna and it was incredible.”

“Yeah, that’s one of my favorites.” I was so hard and so stupid for thinking I could survive the night without either passing out or tackling him to the ground. “Or the ravioli.”

“Ravioli sounds good.”

I pretended to look at the menu, but the only thing I had an appetite for was sitting across from me. Would it be weird if I asked him to order for me? Yeah, it definitely would. But I did it anyway. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’m not picky.”

James cocked his head and seemed to be studying me before he smiled. “You want me to order for you, sweetheart?”

Fuck, he knew. Or suspected. Or…something. “Yes, please.”