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SAWYER

One thing I learned from years of working in various industries was that risks paid off better when they weren’t really risks at all. Jumping out of a plane and hoping your parachute opens? Pass. Buying the worst house in a terrible neighborhood? Been there, done that. Finding a stock at its all-time low and buying up half the shares? That was more my style.

I didn’t have much patience for unnecessary thrills, and after thirty-five years of practice, I’d figured out how to keep life exciting enough without making it unpredictable. That might’ve come across as boring to some people, but to me it was smart. Responsible. Practical.

That was especially true when it came to dating. I was looking for someone I could hold on to for a while. Someone who wanted to build a home with me and could appreciate my need for control and planning and safety. Unfortunately, that wasn’t high on anyone else’s agenda. At least not the kind of guys who signed up for the apps I was on.

I usually got a few mutual swipes, but after a few messages and my refusal to send a dick pic, I was blocked. Maybe dating just wasn’t for me. It wasn’t for everyone, and that was okay…or so I’d been told by other lonely bachelors who’d never found love.

Maybe I wasn’t a rocket scientist or race car driver, but I’d done quite a bit over the course of my life. Dangerous didn’t equate fulfillment for most people. People who valued their flesh and bones and ability to breathe without assistance. At least, that was my philosophy.

Since I was blessed with a trust fund, I didn’t take the traditional career routes after college. Instead of getting sucked into a job I wasn’t particularly interested in, I learned how to buy and sell options and had amassed an impressive stock portfolio over the years. That allowed me to pursue my interests in philanthropy. And my buddy with a venture capital firm had me on a part-time retainer so he could bounce ideas off me over lunch every few days. Needless to say, I was a busy guy.

But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have made time for someone interesting. Too bad that most of the guys I’d met thought interesting was just another word for fast. Fast cars, fast life, fast...everything.

In my limited experience on apps and being set up by friends, the dating world was full of young men who tackled relationships like a college kid at an amusement park. They wanted to hit all the wild rides first and still get to the bar in time for happy hour. Those guys just weren’t my type. Quick entertainment had nothing on a lifetime of love. That was truly what I was looking for, though I was starting to wonder if it actually existed or was just a theme for weekend movie marathons that always wrapped up with a happily-ever-after.

I liked a happy ending as much as the next guy, but I needed more than a physical connection. I needed a sweet submissive who appreciated a loving and practical Daddy who lived life on a strict plan and didn’t put up with any nonsense.

I’d had enough of short-term thrill seekers. No one seemed to have the patience to stick around for more than a few weeks if there wasn’t instant gratification. Too many of my Fridays started off promising but wound up with my overanxious dates turning to something newer and shinier in their DMs by Sunday morning. It was a hell of a market out there.

One with way too much volume and too little return to meet my risk tolerance.

My ideal relationship would be a long-term investment. One with a timeline and a goal that we were both committed to. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t looking promising, but at least I knew what I wanted.

It was surprisingly easy to find boys who were looking for a Daddy on the apps, but just when I’d get hopeful that maybe I’d found a match, the bratty texts would start rolling in. And I didn’t need a brat.

I needed a boy who was sweet and gentle, who understood that Netflix and chill literally meant watching movies on the couch all night. We’d binge all the seasons of our favorite shows over a weekend instead of bar hopping or gambling away our savings. Movies, puzzles, maybe a symphony now and then when we wanted to get dressed up. There was nothing wrong with excitement that left little to the imagination and minimal chance of being arrested.

A boy who would call me Daddy, and was sweet and eager to please. Someone who knew what he liked and didn’t need to brat and whine for the sake of stirring up trouble. Maybe that was too much to expect from a man my age, but we all had to have goals, right?

I could imagine my boy taking off my tie when I came home from a meeting or sitting at my knee while we listened to classical music. The last thing I wanted was a crazy thrill seeker who’d die of boredom without a new adventure every hour on the hour. Then again, no one with high energy or risk tolerance had any interest in me either.

Besides, I was busy and didn’t really have time for a needy boy in my life. My schedule was surprisingly unpredictable for someone so predictable. Running a small animal rescue was truly my passion. It might not have been every investor’s idea of a side project, but it was something I’d always wanted to do. Ever since I was a kid, I brought home every stray I came across and worked endlessly to find them a good home. Usually in my house, but sometimes with others I deemed worthy of taking proper care of my charges.

As soon as I’d had enough investments with long-term yields to ensure I didn’t have to worry about money, I started Who’s Your Doggie? Rescue . The rescue shelter was mostly staffed by volunteers, plus two full-time employees who wrangled a network of foster parents and vets. But I liked to go in as often as possible to make sure everything went according to plan and provide a helping hand with big litter rescues. There was something about putting the work in for these sweet babies that gave me hope I’d find my own rescue some day.

Or maybe someone would come and rescue me.

Mondays were usually busy with paperwork after weekend placement events, but I got pulled in to deliver the last girl from a litter of Scottie-dachshund pups to her forever family. That was one of my favorite jobs. As much as I loved having puppies around, it was always better to get them placed where they were the center of a household and not competing for attention in a shelter.

I’d just finished with the family and was enjoying the cool evening as I walked through the park when my phone buzzed with a message. We love her already. Thanks again, Mr. Maddox. You’re the best.

I was just about to respond with a simple thumbs-up when I heard a ruckus heading in my direction. I looked up and saw a disaster in the making as a blur of a kid was flying down the hill, right in my path. It was hard to make out more than the frame of a thin boy who rocketed past a trash can and barely turned in time to stay on the walkway.

Whoever was on that thing was moving fast. Too fast for the number of people around and lack of soft landing spaces.

As with most dangerous situations, my mind instantly fast-forwarded to the worst-case scenario. In this case, that included this guy with no brakes or balance heading straight for a steep dropoff that was directly above the duck pond. A family of five sat at a bench, watching in horror as the board and its rider clattered closer to disaster.

My first instinct, practiced as it was, was to ignore it. I was used to kids barreling straight toward something dangerous and choosing to learn their lesson the hard way. It was what this generation did for the gram or whatever they called their social media antics.

“WATCH IT, MISTER! I CAN’T STOOOOOO?—”

Dammit. Why did the Daddy in me have to always step in when directly addressed?

It’d been a lifetime since I’d done anything at that speed, but I still had pretty good timing, so just as the boy passed me, I stuck my arm out and essentially clotheslined him before rolling us so he landed on my chest.

“Oomph.” Fuck, that hurt.

“Damn, dude. That was epic.” He stayed on top of me for a second before rolling off. “Thanks for the landing pad.”

The runaway train was actually a young man with sweaty hair sticking out from under a grungy helmet and an infectious laugh. My own youthful looks had worn off before my twenties did, and there was something disarmingly cute about a guy who hadn’t outgrown his yet. Or grown into them. Shit, did I just physically assault a minor?

“Um, sorry about that.” I sat up and quickly hopped back up to my feet. I wasn’t particularly athletic, but I spent a lot of time in the gym, so I was more fit than I gave myself credit for. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He wiped the dirt and grass from his hands and then leaned forward to stand. “Ow, shit.” He reached for my arm to balance himself as he hopped on one leg. Might have busted my ankle, but I’ll be fine.” He looked around. “Did you see where my board went?”

“Your board?” Was he serious? “Who cares about a skateboard when your body is broken?” I carefully kneeled down and lifted his hurt leg to my thigh. “Where does it hurt?”

He placed his hand on my head for balance and shrugged when I looked up for an answer. “Just the bone. No biggie.” He sucked in a breath as he tried to put pressure on my thigh. “But that board is one of a kind. Did it go in the water?”

“Probably.” I sighed and looked toward the pond. “I was a little more concerned with keeping you out of it than your death stick.”

“Oh.” He stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, then looked me in the eye. “Well, um...thanks for that, sir.”