Page 7 of More, Daddy (Bluebell Bruisers #3)

CHAPTER

FOUR

This is the place I hate being stuck the most.

My head.

Seriously. Put me in an elevator with a crying baby, a group of high school boys who have yet to discover antiperspirant, and an open clamshell of seafood (sea creatures belong in the sea, thank you very fucking much) and I’d be doing a million times better than I am now.

Trapped.

Alone.

In my fucking head.

She couldn’t have known that I clicked away to another dating email, so the idea that DaddysGirl got upset with me and stormed offline? It’s insane. Ridiculous.

Illogical, even.

She has no clue why I didn’t type in our chat for a minute. And it was just one minute. We’ve had lulls in our conversations before. I know we have. So the idea that she knew I was looking at another woman’s profile and got offline is insane.

Why can’t I shake it, then? Why does it feel like that’s exactly what happened?

She can’t see your screen , I remind myself for the hundredth time this morning as I towel off in my bathroom. Yeah, I’m already tired of myself and it’s not even seven thirty. I have a whole entire damn day of being in my overworked brain.

Maybe something came up?

Her phone rang?

The popcorn burned?

The dog threw up?

I don’t even know if she has a dog. Or if she likes popcorn. Or owns a landline. But still, there’s a battery of logical, non-anxiety inducing reasons for her to have gotten offline suddenly.

Though in the two months we’ve talked, she’s never left our chat without saying goodbye. Not once.

What if someone broke in and snuck up behind her and she’s being held captive in her home while they rob and rape her and I’m the only one that knows something is amiss?

I stare at my naked reflection in the bathroom mirror as the sink runs, my toothbrush loaded with minty paste hanging from my hand.

West. You are borrowing worry. And even if someone did break in, you don’t know where she lives. You could not help her even if you wanted to. You have no reason to worry.

And yet, I brush my teeth with worry. I spit worry into the sink. I drink worry from my to-go mug on the drive to Worry High. I sit at my desk, made of worry, and type worry-filled emails on my computer.

All day I worry.

But at the end of the day, I retrace my steps to that email I received last night. I revisit Mary Grace’s profile, because spending an entire day with irritable bowel syndrome due to a woman whose name I don’t even know is not healthy.

I recognize this.

I accept the match, and receive an email from Mary Grace, asking me to dinner the same night. A date. With Mary Grace, who I learn from her message back to me, lives in Oakcreek, right near Bluebell.

I don’t want to go out with Mary Grace.

But I recognize that I am becoming wholly obsessed with DaddysGirl.

Now I have to go on the date. To prove to myself that I’m not getting obsessive and strange over… a stranger.

After a few emails with Mary Grace, we’ve decided to meet tonight at King Dum in Oakcreek, the dumpling place that everyone loves. I’m fine making a thirty-five minute drive, and in fact, it may just be the time I need to focus on getting to know Mary Grace, and get my date questions ready.

The remainder of my work day is two district meetings, one where I am there to argue for increased funding for field house repairs, and the second where I am advocating for new safety railings on our bleachers and yes, apparently that is something that has to be advocated for.

Still, the day is busy enough to allow me to take my mind off DaddysGirl , and her unusual log off last night.

By the time I’m home, there’s just enough time for a quick shower and a beer to squelch my pre-date nerves before I have to leave for Oakcreek. With my clothes already picked out, I’m down to only a handful of spare minutes if I get in the shower right this second.

Why I go to my room, sit on the edge of my bed, and open my laptop, however, is beyond me. Maybe I’m more addicted to DaddysGirl than I allowed myself to believe, but if I could just talk to her for a minute or two, make sure things between us are fine—then I could enjoy this date.

My heart feels like it’s absolutely to the brim with blood, weighty and full behind my ribs, thumping heavily as I wait to see if she’s online.

Veiled boots up, showing me I have no new messages. My eyes hover over the buddy menu when—green appears— DaddysGirl is online.

The back of my neck pricks with heated nerves, nerves that spread down my spine, through my limbs, and have my fingers skittering over the keyboard before I can stop myself.

Suede0989

Are you okay?

That sudden logoff last night had me worried about you

And then, because I’m an absolute fool:

Suede0989

I don’t like not knowing if you’re okay

Her fingers dance over her keyboard, evident by the moving dots, teasing a message that never arrives.

I haul myself up, nerves jangling, and crank the shower to life, the hiss of water drowning out my racing thoughts.

When I step back and glance at my laptop once more, she’s at it again, those three dots teasing me.

My stomach lurches into a tight knot of anticipation.

I stare at the screen another minute, but still, she hasn’t hit send or finished typing.

This is stupid, West. You have an actual woman driving to meet you at a restaurant. DaddysGirl is wonderful, but thus far, exists only inside this computer screen. Turning down real life in favor of a virtual relationship? Stupid. It’s stupid.

Just as I move to close my laptop, her response fills the screen.

DaddysGirl

What a good daddy you must be, worrying about your babygirl

I’m okay, sorry about last night, something came up

What a good daddy you must be . I read the line over and over, and each time I do, I get harder and harder.

It’s the first time she’s directly called out our kink, or subtly implied it, I guess.

The first time she’s used the word “daddy,” and used it in the way I like.

Referring to me. Being her daddy. The kinky kind.

I try to swallow, but my throat’s parched, a scratchy ache pulsing in my eardrums. Her next message comes through, and I’m suddenly cursing the smug, responsible me from this afternoon with a venomous mix of loathing and raw hatred.

DaddysGirl

I can make it up to you and stay online late to chat tonight… if you want

Dadd y

Oh Jesus Christ. My vision nearly blurs.

Being called Daddy by someone who wants to be a daddy’s girl, a plaything, a daddy’s sweet little thing—by someone into the kink—after years and years of going without…

It's like the first hit of your new favorite drug. It’s like smelling simmering chocolate after denying yourself sweets for years.

It’s like feeling the sun warm your face after a long day in the cold ocean.

It’s everything. And I’m a glutton for it.

But I can’t stay online and chat. Not tonight.

Suede0989

You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now

I made a commitment to be elsewhere tonight, and I can’t back out now

Though I consider sending a very late cancellation email to Mary Grace, a part of me—buried a few feet below my daddy kink shame—realizes going isn’t entirely stupid.

What if DaddysGirl disappears from the chat again?

And again after that? What if she logs off and never logs back on?

I don’t want to think it’s possible, but the truth is, it could happen.

I can’t put all my horny eggs in one slutty daddy basket.

DaddysGirl

I understand

Have a great night

And it’s not her understanding that destroys me moments before I close the screen. It’s the tiny little face she adds to her message after.

DaddysGirl

:- *

A kissy face, crafted old-school style, no easy yellow emoji in sight.

It’s adorable, sparking a grin that warms my chest—then ignites a darker flicker, one that has me imagining DaddysGirl bent over for me.

No clear face comes to mind, just lush curves, silken hair tangled tight in my grip, tears glistening on the pillow, and whispered vows of surrender hanging heavy in the air.

I jerk off in the shower before meeting Mary Grace, and the entire time I’m on the “date,” I think about DaddysGirl.

I step through my door, heart still buzzing from the night, and immediately find DaddysGirl online. I keep my date a secret, it was meaningless anyway—it feels too cruel to confess. If she’d gone out with someone else, I’d probably tear my house apart in a jealous, white-hot rampage.

Instead, I tell her the truth.

Suede0989

Maybe we should start toeing this thing into reality a bit

We can do it slowly, but maybe we should start

DaddysGirl

Where is this coming from?

I sat through a two hour date tonight with a sweet, lovely woman who wants all the same things I want from life—sans kinky roleplay that I know of—and the entire time, I thought about a faceless stranger from Veiled .

I don’t say that.

But I do manage to tell the truth.

Suede0989

Because you’re all I can think about

My sweet girl

A beat passes before she replies.

DaddysGirl

I have to log off tonight but tomorrow, let’s do it. First thing: you tell me about your divorce, and I’ll tell you about my ex.

I rake my fingers along my scalp, a grin tugging at my lips as my chest unclenches, her reply washing over me like a cool breeze.

She’s ready to weave a bit more reality into our thing, and my heart leaps at the thought.

But—did I ever mention my divorce? My mind scrambles, but comes up blank.

If there were chat logs, I’d be frantically scrolling through them right now.

I must’ve told her, though, so I fire off a reply.

Suede0989

Can’t wait.

I’m disappointed to not stay online and chat with her, but I sleep well, knowing that more is waiting for me tomorrow.