Page 17 of More, Daddy (Bluebell Bruisers #3)

CHAPTER

TEN

“Mornin’ West,” Riley greets, passing by me with her arms full of manila folders. I return her morning greeting easily, because along with Leah, I know DaddysGirl isn’t Riley.

I nod. “Morning.” I blink at her full arms and outstretch a hand. “Can I help?”

She adjusts, lifting her leg to nudge folders into place with her knee. “No, I’m good. Thanks though.” And with that, she’s off, penguin walking with full arms toward her open classroom door.

Very seldom do I roam the halls of campus before the bell rings.

Usually, I arrive with enough time to get to my office, pour a second cup of coffee before my laptop is pinging with messages and emails, Denae poking her head in to remind me of things that need my signature, and meetings I need to reply to.

This morning, I walk the halls because it is the only thing I can do to prevent losing my ever-loving mind.

She’s here.

DaddysGirl is here. Not just on Bluebell soil, but in Bruiser territory .

She’s a fucking Bruiser.

My pulse thunders in my temples, airways tightening as a wild thrill mixed with jitters surges through my skull, electrifying every nerve.

Who are you?

Where are you, DaddysGirl ?

I catch the eyes of a freshman language arts teacher heading to her classroom, rolling a cart full of supplies behind her. Her blue eyes lift from her paces, but after a cursory glance, she looks away.

Not her. No way.

Even if we’re to play like we are strangers, there would be a moment.

A singular, electric, intense moment, and I’d see it.

The flash of knowing in her eyes. The moment where naughty images of me infiltrate her brain before she pulls herself together and greets me the same way she’d greet Mr. Cunningham.

I’ll know it’s her when I see her. I will. That much I’m certain of.

“What’re you doing out of the box?” Dean McAllister’s voice slips out from one of the open doors, lassoing my ankle, bringing me back to him. He calls my office a box, and he wouldn’t be wrong.

We shake hands as we greet each other. “Got here early, thought I’d visit some athletes,” I lie, though what I’m saying is not far-fetched or outlandish.

He nods, as if it’s all logical and sane, because he’s the type of guy who does roam halls and chit chat with students. “Sure, alright, well, how’s Tanner’s collarbone looking? He come into the training office yesterday?”

I catch the eyes of a female teacher. Ms. Crawford? Dawford? I don’t know. But she smiles at me, and her cheeks go pink, and for a moment I wonder—is it her ? When her eyes lift again, I catch her batting her lashes… at Dean.

“Can’t wait to see the game this Friday, Coach,” she says, fumbling with her key ring as she hopelessly flirts with an attached and completely unaware Dean.

Okay, it’s not her.

After nods and smiles, he turns to face me. “So, how’s Tanner?”

I shove my hands in my pockets, and pin my focus to Dean, telling myself I cannot look away from him until this chat is over. He’s nosey, and he will nose . “He’s good. But I think you know that. You got a little paranoia thing happening, or what, Coach?”

He knocks his hat up, scratching at his forehead before adjusting everything to where it was. Messing with his head and hat—that’s his nervous tell.

Normally, I’d dig in. Press him about his behavior the way the guys press into me.

But today I have the delicious and agonizing reality of knowing that DaddysGirl is here. On campus. Near me.

Dean is not my concern, not right now.

He shrugs.

“He’s got a bright future, I just don’t want to see a moment of that missed because he didn’t come see the athletic trainer. ”

I clap my hand onto his shoulder. “He’s doing good. Real good, Dean. You’re doing well with him.”

Saved by the paranoid, underprepared, anxiety ridden underclassmen.

A boy wearing a Bluebell Academic Decathlon T-shirt appears at Dean’s side, worry in his eyes, reflecting off his glasses. “Mr. McAllister, do you have time to read my Revolutionary War paper outline before I start my draft?”

I give Dean a nod, and saunter off, relieved to be on the hunt again. The first bell rings, letting the students know they have three minutes left to get to class.

And I have three more minutes of sleuthing.

On my way toward the main office, I pass Coach Cadence, walking with her arm linked with Cassandra Mott, the AP French teacher.

Ms. Mott’s classroom is in the building adjacent to my office, so she and I find ourselves in the awkward position of running into each other a few minutes after the bell rings a couple of times per week.

I don’t think it’s Cassandra.

I don’t think it’s Cadence, either.

Still. I take them in, both of them in fitted pencil skirts, Cadence with legs for miles and Cassandra with less height, her ferocious curves making up for her vertical inches. Both of them have great tits, and I feel like the asshole Leah is always telling me I am as I index them in my mind.

Doubtful it’s either one of them, guessing by the way Cassandra doesn’t even look my way and Cadence gives me only a quick nod of acknowledgement before immersing herself in conversation.

Still, I turn and watch them walk down the corridor until shadows swallow them up, and I wonder, is DaddysGirl one of them ?

Because she has to be someone , and the roster isn’t all that long.

After the first bell, I retreat to my office and allow myself freedom from the questioning and wondering. For the rest of this day, I am going to work. At my job. In my office.

I am not going to obsess over DaddysGirl and her true identity.

After all, she learned I am at Bluebell High, too. We both said we are Bruisers. Maybe she’s looking for me? I hadn’t seen anyone with searching, darting eyes and bloated, hopeful breath, but either way, it doesn’t matter. Not right now.

Today, I’m working, and focusing on my work.

Tonight is for her.

DaddysGirl

You are possibly about to be the recipient of whiplash

You’ve been warned

I smile at the screen, my chest filled with unmistakable happiness when I log on to Veiled not only to see that she’s online, but that she’s sent a message that’s waiting for me.

Suede0989

My spine is strong. Go for it.

Quick admission before you give me whiplash?

So much for playing it cool.

Suede0989

I thought about you all day today. I could hardly focus, knowing that you, DaddysGirl, were somewhere just a few hundred feet from me all day…

It was torture

And it made me realize that I need you in my life, in some form of reality. I can’t keep up the charade of not knowing the woman I’m falling for.

Dread rumbles through my core, my mind braiding facts and desires, leaving me an impatient, bold mess behind the keyboard.

I said I was going to take control, and while this is not what I had in mind, I also didn’t expect the way things have unfolded, either.

DaddysGirl being a coworker? That wasn’t part of the plan.

And yet, here we are. Asserting control and demanding more?

It can still happen. It’s just got to happen in a different way.

Suede0989

We can move slow, but I have to know who you are to continue

Her bubbles move, indicating that she’s typing a response or at least, she’s typing something.

If she’s truly into the daddy and loving girl dynamic, that means she’s into giving away her voice in certain elements of a relationship.

It means she’s happy to pass the decision-making baton to her partner, for windows of time.

If she resists me taking control, I’ll have to wonder how much she’s truly Daddy's girl.

A real Daddy’s girl does everything she can to please her daddy.

DaddysGirl

Sometimes I can’t even believe how similarly we think

We agreed slow, yet before I could stop myself, I told you where I work

And I’ve been online, waiting for you, waiting to tell you that I think we should exchange emails

Work emails

So we can use the local intranet and talk during school hours, on our work laptops

My mind reels, spinning out with all of the reasons why her plan is actually fucking terrible.

First, foremost, and the main reason why her plan is ripe with trouble?

She wants us to chat on work laptops. The ones given to us by the school district, meant to use in class and at home, creating lesson plans, logging grades, updating curriculum, all that.

They’re for work.

And they’re owned by the district, which means without a shadow of a doubt, they’re both monitored in terms of what we’re accessing, and also who we’re chatting with.

Suede0989

Aren’t those monitored?

I vaguely remember an internet access report from a few years ago, one Leah attached to a monthly Bluebell Teachers Association newsletter. A teacher actually lost her job because the report showed she was reading TMZ for five of the six and half hours of her school day.

They do monitor what we do, I just don’t know how or how closely.

DaddysGirl

Yes but not the Team Chat

Team Chat is our intranet’s message feature, like private messaging on Veiled , or messages on Teams. If you, another person or multiple people wanted to chat outside using the chat feature, you could.

I always assumed someone, somewhere, monitored those chats for nefarious things, like teachers discussing students, fudging grades…

I don’t know. Now that I think about it, why would a teacher chat be monitored?

DaddysGirl

Private messages within the intranet aren’t monitored.

Then if we talk there, we can talk about anything.

I’m always living in fear I’m going to say something too specific and Veiled will boot me and I’ll never be able to find you again

I’ve felt that same fear before, and realizing she has too sends a wave of warmth blooming in my chest, binding us even closer.

Suede0989

My fingers hover nervously, and I’m glad right now that my bravado is kept securely in place thanks to the screen between us; DaddysGirl doesn’t have to know just how nervous Daddy really is.

Though I don’t know for certain if she’s right about Team Chat not being monitored, and that if she’s wrong, the consequence of that is the entire school knowing that me and another teacher are… whatever we are.

But I’m desperate.

To know who she is.

To see if our chemistry and affection lives and breathes offline.

If we chat on Team Chat, I’ll know who she is immediately because she’ll have to give me her username. All teacher usernames are the first initial of their first name, and their last name.

If I agree to moving our situation off of Veiled , leaving the discreet platform in favor of a local chat—and definitely not a secure means of chat—I’m opening myself up to the entire town knowing about us, whatever and whoever we are.

Suede0989

You’re sure you want to move to Team Chat?

DaddysGirl

It’s a big step. But it’s the next step, I think. I’m ready. Are you?

I want to know who she is so fucking badly that I’d likely agree to receive a transfusion of infected blood at this point. Though chatting with her on our school computers feels arguably more risky, there is not even a question here.

Suede0989

I’m ready

I lick my lips, stroke a hand through my hair, ignoring the erection between my legs as I bounce one knee, waiting.

I’m bricked up thinking about who she is and what we have, and how great all of this may turn out.

It’s pretty hard to believe that two strangers who were matched online both work at the same place.

Sure, Veiled was always going to connect me to women in my area, but you’ve gotta be pretty fucking lucky to get matched to someone living in your exact town, working the very place you work.

DaddysGirl

Okay, I’ll tell you my Team Chat username, then log off here and log on there.

Sound good?

She doesn’t mention anything about nerves, but I have to make sure she’s okay with this. That no part of her is unsure. That’s what good Daddies do.

Suede0989

Are you absolutely sure you’re ready for this step?

I’ll be devastated if she doesn’t say yes, but I have to give her the chance to back out. I have to be a good Daddy, so that later I can be a very bad Daddy.

DaddysGirl

I’m sure.

I’m dying to know who she is, and I realize at this point, moments from hitting the big red launch button, that DaddysGirl has never verbally expressed how much she wants to know who I am. But she’s driving this big step, so she must want to know.

She must, like me, be dying to know.

Suede0989

Okay. Give me your username. I’ll message you as soon as you do .

Her dots leap and swirl, and my fingers meander the keyboard as I wait, the school intranet open and logged in, running behind Veiled .

DaddysGirl is typing, Veiled tells me, so I blow out a breath, bounce my knee, and wait to learn the name and identity of the woman I’m falling in love with.

She finally hits send, and her username on Bluebell High’s intranet access pops up.

My spine melts into the couch, eyes glued to the screen, zeroed in on that username blazing back at me.

“No freaking way,” I whisper, my brain detonating as it rewinds six years, frantically scanning every staff meeting, every casual hallway stroll with Dean, clawing through memories for her shadow. I’m still reeling, heart pounding, utterly floored that DaddysGirl is…

I swipe my tongue over dry lips, pulse racing, and fire off one final message on Veiled .

Suede0989

Sliding into your DMs over there now, Miss Cadence Caine.