Page 22 of His Dad Will Do
One of the missed calls is from Lance. Which I am not returning. Lance can go fuck himself. Or whatever new dude he randomly comes across.
I glance up at Logan, torn between dealing with Chloe and doing what he told me to do. “I gotta call my friend.”
He gets up and bends to kiss my forehead. “Send me the files first, then call your friend. I’ll go upstairs and do some work, so you can take as much time as you need.”
“Yes, Daddy.” He stands over me until I email him the book and a couple of music files.
“Good boy,” he says.
When I hear his tread on the stairs, I call Chloe, who picks up on the first ring.
“Where the fuck are you, Silas?” she demands. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Your phone location says you’re in Westport, but do not tell me you’re making up with that cheating asshole. He’s supposed to be your ex, remember? That slimy turd goblin.”
I snort. Chloe’s got the most creative range of insults of anyone I’ve ever met. And she never uses the same combination twice. It’s impressive, truly.
“I’m not making up with Lance,” I tell her.
“Then what the hell are you doing in Westport? The only reason you ever used to go there was to spend weekends at that stupid douche pirate’s dad’s house.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I, um, came out here last night. On the train. Then I took an Uber to Logan’s house.”
“Logan’s house? Who the fuck is Logan?”
Oh, right. I don’t think I’ve ever told Chloe Logan’s first name. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Um…Mr. Reynolds. Lance’s dad.”
There’s a brief silence, then Chloe takes a deep breath through her nose that I can hear and says, “Silas, why did you spend the night at Mr. Reynolds’ house?”
“Um…revenge?” There’s a lift at the end of my sentence and I’d like to think she hears it as sarcasm, but it’s hard to pull shit over on Chloe.
“Revenge?” Chloe echoes. “What kind of revenge?”
There’s a moment of silence while I think of how to explain, and then Chloe shrieks in my ear. “Oh my god! Did you fuck him?”
“Um…sort of?”
“Sort of? Holy shit, Silas, how do you sort of fuck somebody?”
“Okay, fine. Yes, I fucked him. I mean, not fucked him fucked him—we haven’t gotten to that yet. But he sucked me off and I sucked him off and we—well, anyway, you don’t need to know the details.”
“Oh, I’m gonna need to hear all the details when you get back, dude. Don’t think you can hold out on me.”
I am not telling her about coming just from Logan playing with my nipples. And I sure as hell am not telling her about the cage or the plug or the Daddy/boy stuff. Not that she would judge—she knows I might be into that and she’s the queen of live and let others have their kinks. But it’s temporary and feels too fragile to talk about yet.
Like having Logan as my Daddy is a big, shimmery soap bubble hovering in the air in front of me and if I do or say anything to disturb it, it will pop and disappear forever.
I mean, it’s only for the weekend, so it’ll disappear no matter what. Gotta remember that.
“Whoa,” Chloe is saying. “I mean, I knew you’ve had the hots for him for a while, but I wouldn’t have expected you to actually follow through on it. That’s ballsy, dude.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Wait, how did you know I have the hots for him?”
“Dude, it’s obvious. The way you talk about him. Mr. Reynolds is working on this important case and he said…blah, blah, blah.”
“What? I don’t talk about him like that.”
“Yeah, right. You get this look on your face when you talk about him. Like you’re imagining being on your knees for him and loving every minute of it.”
“Jesus,” I say, covering my eyes with my hand. “I hope Lance never noticed that.”
