Me: Hi, Stuart. Please can we talk about the Daddy arrangement?
Ugh. No. Too sniveling. Delete.
Me: Daddy, I want more from our arrangement.
Hmm. Too demanding. Think that might be worse. Delete.
Me: Please help me. I’m losing my mind.
Jesus. No. Just no. Delete.
Me: Daddy, please fuck me up the ass until I black out. Please. Thank you.
Ha!Delete, delete, delete.
Like I said, everything’s fine. I’m not worried at all. I mean, yeah, I have spent most of the week typing and deleting messages like this, but I think it’s normal.
It’s perfectly normal to behave like this.
You know, perfectly normal for someone who’s accidentally managed to become obsessed with their dad’s best friend.
Sadie’s ears prick up before I hear the car, and she slinks off the sofa. I dash to the window and see Stuart’s car rounding the corner.
“Sadie! Daddy’s home!Daddy’s home!” I cry over and over.
I know, I know. I can hear myself, and it’s terrible.
Can’t do a damn thing to stop myself though. Wish I could, but I can’t.
I yank the front door open and race down the driveway. The second he’s out of the car, I throw myself at him full-bodied and wrap my arms and legs tightly around him. He supports my weight easily and lets me cling to him until I’m done adding several humdingers to the catalog of stupid things I’ve said in my life. He laughs softly. A gentle, rumbling sound that travels through his chest into mine. He feels good against me. So good. Solid and strong. Unshakable and hard in all the right places. I feel my hips tense and threaten to start rocking, so I quickly disentangle myself from him and step onto the ground.
Pam would lose her mind if I started dry-humping Stuart in broad daylight, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
“Did you tidy your shoes away?” he asks as soon we get inside and he sees the shoe rack.
“Yeah, it’s no biggie. I just took the shoes I don’t wear very often upstairs.”
Stuart looks at me as if I’ve just solved world hunger. “Good boy.” His voice is soft and gruff. Completely sincere. It rushes through my veins and goes straight to my head.
“I also tidied the living room,” I say. “And I did the laundry. I ran into a small problem, but it isn’t a big deal because most of the clothes affected were mine, and I like pink. It’s one of my favorite colors, so I’m not bleak about it. Plus, I know where I went wrong. I won’t be washing whites with reds again.”
I’d called my mom in a panic when I opened the machine and found a load that looked like an ode to Barbie to ask her what I’d done wrong. “Jesus, Elliot,” she’d said. “Didn’t Joyce teach you how to do laundry?” She laughed when I said no and told me not to worry because she’s never been great at it either.
“We’re having Bolognese tonight,” I tell Stuart, moving on swiftly. No point in dwelling on things that can’t be changed. “I made it the other day, and we’re having leftovers for dinner.”
Stuart looks rapt. His brows are arched high and his mouth is slightly ajar. “I can’t believe how much you’ve done.”
“Oh yes,” I say, waving expansively around the room, flicking my wrist boastfully at each of my extraordinarily ordinary achievements. “Wiped down the counters. Took the trash out. Puffed up the throw pillows.”
Stuart walks over to the kitchen and inspects the counters. “I swear, it looks like we’ve had a cleaning service in here.”
My thoughts blur out and I lose focus of everything that isn’t Stuart. My heart is beating harder and faster than normal. My limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated. I recognize the signs immediately. It’s a feeling I know well.
I’m drunk. Blasted. Totally baked. Bombed on nothing more than Stuart’s potent praise.
“This is amazing, Elliot. I’m so proud of you.”
Oof.
