Page 53 of Single Daddy Scot
‘I think it’s just the smell.’ The doors are open and candles are lit—what else can I do? I’ve even washed the little rodent’s bum while managing not to spew.
‘I can hear your phone winging,’ Louis adds balefully. ‘You should tell Daddy he needs to come home to me.’
I make a mental note to tell Mac that his son required his presence earlier today—that he’d asked for him in person—while peeling off the rubber gloves and digging into my bag for my phone, which had buzzed with a text, not a call.
Mac:Hypothetical question.
Me:Are you sending it telepathically or telephonically?
Mac: Someone’s angling to be put over my knee again.
I look around guilty, embarrassed and just a little turned on by the context of his text. Hand to my cheek, I then realise I’m not in a coffee shop or the tube. I’m not sitting with Jules, who’d be all grabby hands right now, trying to get a peek at the reason I currently look like an overripe tomato. But this is silly. Louis is three. He can’t even read.
Mac:Are you still there?
Me:I might be.I definitely am. Like I’d definitely be interested in another spanking. I shake my head and the deviancy away.
Me: Hey,Louis just asked for you to come home. For his daddy, more specifically, You’re wanted, hot daddy...
Mac:Tell him I’m on my way.That’snotquite the response I was expecting. Wait. I just got thatcomes his next text.I can’t wait to see my wee man. And I can’t wait to get my mouth on you again.
I send him a smiley face emoji. Okay, and maybe a water squirting emoji. And then a thumbs-up, but refrain from sending him the D. Or should that be the E, as in the eggplant emoji.
A second later, I get another text, but this time from a number I don’t recognise.
Unknown:Have you got a minute to talk?
Unknown: This is Will, by the way.
As it happens, I don’t have a minute to talk as my phonebingsagain with Mac’s next text. What is it with this guy? I thought he and Mac were supposed to be friends? I’d only given him my number at the coffee shop to make a point to Mac. I’d thought Mac would’ve somehow warned him off, given the wholelet’s-talk-about-how-much-I-want-your-pussyconversation. Not that he’s used the word pussy, but the other one. The more shocking one—even somehow making me say it. Brushing aside Will’s texts, I make a mental note to ask Mac what’s going on with the two of them before returning to sexting—I mean, texting.
Mac:And I can’t wait to get you on my lap later tonight.
Me:Your text said lap, your brain thought...Okay, so I set that one up.
Mac:Face.
Mac:Definitely on my face. Your sweet arse squirming. Your sweet pussy dripping.
Me:Not so hypothetical, then.
Mac:Ah, I did have a question for you, but I’ve decided the answer already. No underwear for you.
No hidden meaning there.
Mac:See you soon x
A kiss. The man sent me a kiss. My heart takes wings, the contents of my knickers doing flips at his textual promises. But as the intercom buzzes, things take a turn down reality street again.
