Oh shit.
I’m in trouble, aren’t I?
“So, what do you think, Daddy?”
Against my better judgment, I concede, “It’s fucking delicious.”
He pumps his fist in the air and then looks at me. His smile changes from sweet to pure mischief. “Better than ass?”
“No.”
I regret saying it immediately because it makes his eyes dance so much I feel as though I’ve been spun around one too many times. I fix my gaze on the road and shift the car into gear.
“Now remember,” I say when we get to his building, “you can call or message me any time. Any time. About anything. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s silly or if you think it’s no big deal. If it’s on your mind, you tell me about it. If you need help with anything, you message me. When you set the alarm tonight, call me beforehand, and I’ll talk you through it.”
He smiles broadly and comes in for a hug. It’s a little awkward. It’s one of those hugs where neither party seems to know how long to hold on for or how hard.
The car door swings shut, and I watch him as he crosses the walkway to the entrance of his building. A man in a suit passes him by and gives him a curt nod.
My phone pings.
Elliot Gould: Do you think that guy could tell I’ve been spanked?
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it.
Me: No
Me: You and I are the only ones who know that you’re smarting.
He pauses to read the message and then keeps walking. When he gets to the door, he turns back. His head is down, fingers flitting across his phone screen.
Elliot Gould: Do I look like I’ve been crying?
He’s thirty yards away, and he’s wearing a pale-pink shirt that matches the color of his cheeks almost exactly. The shirt is so fitted that even from here, I can make out the generous swell of his pecs and the tiny peaks of his nipples. His dark hair shines as the morning sun hits it, blowing lazily in the breeze. He looks up from his phone and our eyes meet. Rich chocolate brown shimmers and an incisor pins his bottom lip down.
Me: No. You look beautiful.
15
Elliot
I’mcurleduponthe sofa, waiting for Stuart to get home. He texted a while back to say he was stopping for lunch but would be home soon. Every time I hear a car, I jump up and crane my neck to see down the street. Pam from next door has started looking at me funny when I do it, but it’s okay. I haven’t been doing it all that long. Thirty minutes, give or take, I’d say.
Sadie sidles in from the backyard and plops herself down on the sofa beside me. Strictly speaking, she isn’t allowed on the sofa, but since spending a little time with Luke and Jessie’s cockapoo, Adrian, I’m pretty much convinced Sadie’s a saint of a dog, so I’ve let it go. Adrian’s cute, but God, he’s a handful. It’s kind of funny to see Luke and Jessie lose their minds over every little thing he does. They both seem firmly under the impression that he’s gifted.
Meanwhile, Sadie probably really is gifted. She can understand big words like turmeric and prosciutto and, “Don’t tell Stuart I let you up on the sofa.”
Being home alone without Stuart hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. I’ve called and messaged him all the time, and he hasn’t left me on read or let a call go unanswered once. He’s called every morning to make sure I’m awake—and that I’m eating a good breakfast—and he’s called every night at eleven to make sure I’m in bed.
Mat, Will, and Trouble came over for dinner the other night, and I made Bolognese. It didn’t work out exactly the same as it did when I made it with Stuart, but I added all the cooking wine I could find in the freezer and an extra tin of tomatoes, and I think that did the trick. Mat and Will had seconds, and Trouble didn’t complain at all. He just asked why it looked lumpy.
I look down at Sadie and say, “Don’t tell Stuart I let you up on the sofa,” again for good measure.
I hear a car in the distance and press my face against the windowpane in an effort to see if it’s turning up our street. Pam eyes me nervously. Sadie lies on the sofa and watches me without making any effort to hide the judgment she feels for me. Can’t say I blame her. I’ve been at it well over two hours, after all.
It’s fine though. I’m fine.
I glance at my phone and start typing a message.
