“But… where did he sleep last night?” I winked at him like an asshole.
“Not in my bed,” Creed said stubbornly, but he glanced away and stared resolutely at the wall to his right.
“At your house?”
He lifted his middle finger precisely in my direction and held it there until I laughed.
“Okay. None of my business,” I conceded, and he grunted.
“Why am I here before the sun’s up?” He turned himself to settle his back against his chair and forced something that resembled a smile.
“Did you ever hear anything more about Peter Gaffin than you passed along to me and Merit? Any details about after… you know. That day.” I lifted my steaming coffee and almost sipped it again just to give myself something to do. At the last second, I blew into the plastic hole.
Creed carefully straightened his glasses on his nose and sat up, wide awake now. “Uh… not really. Here and there. He got married to that girl he knocked up senior year. I knew that much.”
My hand wobbled as I set my cup down. Angel would have been the baby. “Do you think you might be able to find out any details on Gaffin? Where he worked? What kind of life he led? Maybe what he’s been doing?”
Creed gave me some serious side-eye. “I’m not a private investigator. People just like to talk to me. I hear things when I hear them.” He studied me like I’d suddenly sprouted a unicorn horn. “Why? Why would I go digging into ancient history?”
“Peter Gaffin is Angel’s father. That makes the old bullshit brand-spanking-new again.” I flashed him a smile. “So, do you know anything?”
He stared around and shook his head like a fly was stuck in his ear. “Not really. But… seriously?” He stared at me over the top of his glasses. “How did you find that out?”
“It’s a long story I don’t have time for this morning. I’ll tell you later. I had Angel at the hospital last night for a broken wrist that fucker gave to him.”
Creed blinked at me and I was pretty sure he was struggling to shake off the last of his morning fog. “How? We saw you both at the Yacht Club.” His eyes sparkled with curiosity and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “This happen after you dropped him off at home or something, and you went back? You didn’t do anything drastic, did you?” He seemed both hopeful and horrified at the prospect.
“Wrist was broken when he showed up at the club last night.”
Creed sat back and some of the color drained from his face. “But I saw him. He looked… not injured. Fine?”
“He’s a champ. Years of practice at dealing with shit like that, I suspect.”
Creed picked up his mug and winced his way through a gulp. “Fuck.” He slammed his mug down and some of the tea splashed the table. He didn’t bother trying to clean it up. “And you saw Gaffin last night, and he left this encounter without you pounding in his face?” I didn’t miss the way Creed didn’t sound quite like an uptight psychologist at the moment. I smiled, feeling slightly murderous at the memory of Angel with his hurt hand propped up on cute plushie pillows, and Creed sat back from me.
“No. There were police around.”
“Police!”
“Yes. Not because of me or Angel.” I ran my fingers through my growing beard. The prickles of stubble on my fingertips always helped me think. “I’m not feeling real great here. I like Angel. A lot. He’s….” I closed my eyes. “You know the kind of stuff I’m into, and I think he’d be down. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find someone who might like age regression play?”
Creed growled. “You are well aware I think that kiddie shit is just this side of grooming,” he snarked, and I opened my eyes to scowl at him to the best of my ability.
“It’s not like that. And I don’t do the little kid stuff anyway. Not that there’s a single thing wrong with it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine, pretend pederasty.”
“Jesus Christ, Creed!” I snarled at him.
He grunted. “Relax. I don’t judge… much. This is what you get for dragging me out of bed. My filter is set to low. I know all about how ‘it isn’t like that’ but I can’t do it. Spank someone’s ass, fine. Tie them down, count me in. Hell, I fucked Mer dry once. There’s a lot I get, but Idon’tunderstand how the littles thing is sexy.”
I loomed toward him, but this was Creed and he didn’t give a fuck. He knew me too well. “The play isn’t about sex, it’s about all the good feelings that come with letting go and getting out of your own head for a while. And I like how it feels to be in control and provide for someone. I want to make Angel smile.” My tie felt too tight, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good to tug at it.
“Freudian nightmare.” Creed blew a kiss at me.
“My childhood was fine.”
He leaned closer to me and propped his elbows on the table. “His wasn’t, though,” he said and dropped his voice. “Was it? That’s what you’re telling me.”
