Page 49 of His Dad Will Do
“Holy fucking shit!” He jumps up from the sofa and dances around the living room. I’m grinning ear to ear watching him. He spins and punches the air a few times, then does this little dance that’s almost an old-fashioned soft-shoe bit, all the while chanting, “James freaking Cohen! James. Freaking. Cohen!”
He stops after a few minutes and bends over to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. Then he straightens up, tosses his hair out of his face, and settles back on the sofa next to me. He’s wiped the look of glee off and is attempting to look serious, but there’s still a manic glint in his eyes.
“Sorry, it’s like, Christmas, my birthday, and Fourth of July all rolled into one.”
“It’s a big deal, sweetheart. You have every right to be excited.”
He leans forward to look at the laptop screen again. “So, where do I sign?”
I stroke the long line of his back. “You need to read it first, Silas. Yes, it’s the standard contract, but there are still things you can negotiate. I’ll set up a meeting for you with Susannah Sondberg and she’ll help you figure out a reasonable counteroffer.”
Silas scrolls through the pages of the contract but I can tell he’s too excited to take in all the words. “When?” he asks, still scrolling.
“Later this week, probably. Depends on Susannah’s schedule, of course.”
“No, I mean when would it start? The performances?” He swivels his head to look at me, one finger still resting on the laptop’s keypad. “It’s not ready, Logan. I mean, I just rewrote that song for Act Two, and I don’t think the transition to Act Three is working at all right now, and there’s no choreography or anything—I don’t even know anything about choreography—and—”
He runs out of breath and I rub soothing strokes up and down his back. “Relax, baby. It’ll be months before the show is ready to go onstage. There’s plenty of time to make changes until you and James are completely satisfied. James will hire a choreographer and you’ll have a say in everything.”
Silas sits back against the sofa cushions and stares at the laptop. Then he looks at me. “This is really going to happen? For real?”
I take his hand and thread my fingers between his. “There are still a number of things to work out. And James has to raise the money to produce the show first. But this,” I tip my head at the laptop with the contract displayed on the screen, “is the beginning of making it happen. For real.”
“Wow.” Silas squeezes my hand. I let him sit there for a few minutes and bask in the news that someday a musical that he wrote will be performed on Broadway. All I did was open the door to this dream, but I can’t help but bask myself in the small role that I’m able to play.
Finally, I lift his hand and kiss his knuckles. “So, you see, baby, that I’m not worried that you’re only interested in me for my money.” Silas glances at me. He’s possibly forgotten what he said earlier. “If anything, you should be worried that I’m only interested in you because you’re going to be famous.” I wink at him and he scoffs.
“No one ever remembers who wrote a musical, just who stars in it.” And then he sits up straight. “Oh my god, who is going to star in it? Do I get a say in that?”
I chuckle and point to the contract on the screen. “Guess you’ll have to read that and find out.”
Silas bounces in his seat a few times, then settles. He blows a breath out, stirring the hair that continually flops over his face, and turns to me. “Thank you,” he says. He looks at the laptop and then back at me. “For…all of this. It’s too much, really, and I have no idea how to repay you.”
I cup his cheek in my hand. “Silas, there’s no repayment. The apartment is so that I know my boy is safe. The money is temporary, until you’re earning what you need on your own, and I can afford both. And speaking of money, you should take a look at the advance figures in that contract. Susannah might even be able to negotiate a little more. And the connection to James is because I know how talented you are. I merely know other people who also see that.”
He rubs his cheek against my palm, then turns his head and kisses the center of it. He drops his eyes to my crotch, looks back up at me through the fall of his bangs, and grins wickedly. “Well, there is one way I can thank you, Daddy.”
My cock hardens immediately. He sees it and his tongue peeks out from between his lips. “You don’t need to thank me, Silas,” I manage. “Not like this, I mean.”
He blinks his eyes at me and, with those long lashes and that pouting mouth, I’m sunk. I know it. He knows it.
“Oh, come on,” he says. “Let’s play casting couch.” He draws his knees up onto the sofa and swivels toward me, sitting sideways.
“Casting couch?” I turn sideways, too, and face him.
“You know what I mean.” He bats his eyelashes again, like a cartoon pin up model. “Oh, Mr. Reynolds, I’d do just about anything for the chance to see my musical on Broadway.” He puts on a terrible Southern belle accent. It’s barely recognizable as such.
What the hell. I’ll play along. “Anything?” I stroke my chin like a cartoon villain mulling over his crimes. Silas stifles a smirk. “Well, that’s a pretty big deal, you know—getting a musical produced on Broadway,” I say. “Seems like you’d need to be pretty talented if I were to make that happen for you.”
Silas shoves the coffee table back with one foot and drops to his knees on the floor before the sofa. He shimmies around until he’s between my knees and pushes my legs wider to make room for himself.
“Oh, I think you’ll find that I’m very—” he licks his lips—“very talented, Mr. Reynolds. Sir.”
He gets my cock out in the blink of an eye and his mouth engulfs me in its wet heat. Then he shows me exactly how talented he is.
Twenty-Six
Silas
