Page 4 of Milk For The Billionaire’s Little (The Lactin Brotherhood #20)

JAMES

It was another hectic day at work, this time because the state had done a pop-in inspection.

That meant I’d spent the entire day giving tours, answering questions, signing forms, reviewing policies, signing more forms, and putting on my best professional smile while silently screaming on the inside. All the actual work I’d planned to get done? Yeah… none of that happened.

And to top it all off, it was Friday Family Bingo Fun Night .

Normally, that part was a highlight. And honestly, it still was, just a highlight that came with a side of stress.

Friday nights meant not only did we have our regular residents’ bingo game, but we also had a ton of visitors.

Families came to sit with their loved ones, grandkids helped pass out cards, and everybody, everybody , got really into it.

It was sweet. It was chaotic. It was important.

And it was a lot of work.

Between handing out cards, making sure there were enough markers, corralling the snacks, cleaning up spilled juice, and trying to remember all the bingo puns when I called numbers, it was a full production.

Some of the calls were easy: “B4 and after!” or “G-54, clean the floor!” But others?

I had to check the little cheat sheet every time.

Still, I wouldn’t have traded it. Seeing the residents light up, laughing with their families, winning little prizes, it mattered.

What didn’t matter, or at least didn’t help, was the surprise semi-emergency in the one bathroom.

A faucet decided to give up on life and fully detach.

Just popped right off in one of my co-worker’s hands.

Maintenance had already gone home, because of course they had, so I was left to handle it.

And by some miracle… plus a YouTube video and an old pair of pliers, I managed to jerry-rig it into working order until morning.

Go me.

By the time I clocked out, I was put-a-fork-in-me done .

I let the night shift supervisor know I was heading out, grabbed my things, and had every intention of going straight home.

And… I sort of did.

If you count a pit stop at the burger joint drive-thru to grab a kids meal with chicken nuggies as “straight.”

Normally, I preferred to make my own nuggets, from a box, but still... I liked them extra crispy—like, almost burnt, baked in the oven until they were golden and hard on the outside. Perfection.

But tonight, I needed fast, warm, easy. And more importantly, the toy this week was a good one: the little green cat from my favorite cartoon show. Or maybe one of the cat’s companions, I wasn’t going to know until I opened it. I crossed my fingers for the cat as I waited in line.

When I got home, I placed the unopened bag on the counter and took a few minutes to care for Rosco, my sweet little hedgehog, who blinked at me from under his fleece blanket like he, too, had just gotten off an eight-hour shift.

I filled his food and water, gave him a quick hello and a treat, then turned my attention to my dinner.

I plated my food onto one of my divided dishes—ketchup in one section, nuggets in another, fries in the last. I didn’t care if I was Big or Little. Divided dishes were non-negotiable when there was a sauce involved. Some things just weren’t meant to touch until it was the exact time.

The unopened toy sat right in front of me. Tempting. But I had rules… Daddy-type rules.

And one of them? I wasn’t allowed to open my toy until I finished all my food.

Even if I didn’t have a Daddy right now, I still held myself to that. It made me feel grounded. Made me feel safe. Made me feel cared for.

I munched slowly, taking out my phone to scroll through emails. Right there at the top was my paycheck deposit notification.

I tapped it open, and holy crap! I stared at the number. The overtime had really added up. Between all the extra shifts, middle-of-the-night emergencies, and covering for no-call no-shows, the paycheck was… way more than I expected.

“I could be responsible with this,” I said aloud to my fry, holding it up like a tiny financial advisor. It nodded back at me.

“I could pay off the rest of my credit card,” I added, picking up a second fry and bouncing it like it was talking.

“Oh, you think I shouldn’t do that?” I asked in a high-pitched voice. “You think I should try to find someone on one of those apps? Maybe get myself some milk?”

The fry wiggled in agreement.

I laughed. “Hmm… yeah, that does sound good.”

Truthfully, I’d been hoping all along that the paycheck would be enough for that. And by some miracle and a ton of work, I did.

It didn’t take much convincing for me to decide the money was going toward milk.

I cleaned up the kitchen, washed my hands, grabbed my phone, and settled onto the couch with a blanket draped around my shoulders like a cape.

I pulled up the lactation connection app, the one I’d bookmarked weeks ago but never actually used.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before tapping it open.

There were more profiles than I expected. Each one had a name, real or screen, and a little about their preferences. Some people were clear about wanting to parent or care for a Little. Others kept it clinical. And some just said “Let’s chat” with a winky face emoji.

None of them explicitly said they were Daddies or Mommies, although each profile did list gender or in one case a, “not your business.” You could kind of tell what people were aiming for by how they wrote, the tone of their bios, the images they used. Still, I wasn’t sure. I kept scrolling.

One by one, I checked them out. They were all fine. No red flags, but no sparks either.

And then I saw one.

A cartoon avatar, just a silhouette with a blue-patterned masquerade mask. Simple. Elegant. Not flashy.

I paused.

The mask was what caught me. It wasn’t a selfie. No face. Just the mask. At first, I thought maybe it was some kind of branding. But no, according to the bio, the avatar just represented what they wore during in-person meets.

They’d wear a mask.

Nothing else explained. Just that.

It probably should’ve been a red flag. Why wouldn’t someone want me to see their face? Why the extra layer of anonymity?

But… it was also kind of hot.

There was something alluring about it.

I stared at the screen for a moment, my thumb hovering over the “message” button.

Then I tapped it.

“Hi,” I typed. “I liked your profile. Your mask is really cool. Are you looking to meet someone?”

I hesitated. Backspaced.

Then rewrote.

“Hi. I liked your profile. Are you currently looking to connect? I’m James. I’m a Little.”

That felt better. Honest. Short. Enough to get the ball rolling without oversharing.

I hit send.

Then I waited.

Every few seconds, I checked the screen, heart thumping, nerves dancing in my stomach like popcorn. I told myself I’d give it an hour. Then a half hour. Then just until my show ended.

But really, I hoped he’d write back right now.

Because after the day I’d had—the week I’d had—I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to pretend I was fine or strong or adult enough to handle everything without care. I wanted someone to see me.

Maybe even someone who’d bring warm milk and a story to go with it.

Maybe… this masked Daddy was just what I needed.