I sidle over to him, giggling when he grabs my hips and spins me around roughly. He worries the hem of the shorts and dips a finger under the skimpy fabric that only just covers my ass. He slides his hand under my briefs, and I sigh the second I feel the heat of his skin on mine. He considers me for a while, rubbing me this way and that, parting my cheeks and then dusting each one off with a big, circular motion that gets my blood pumping hard.
“You know what, baby,” he says as if the matter is not only serious but one he’s given a great deal of thought, “I don’t think they’re slutty enough.” He takes the waistband firmly in both hands and rolls it up once, digging fabric into the crack of my ass and making me feel interfered with in the very best way. “I only hope you’re not wearing those undies with the T. rexes blowing each other on them.”
“Oh no, Daddy,” I say categorically. “I’m definitely not wearing those.” It’s true. There are no T. rexes blowing each other to be seen on this boy today. I learned my lesson about that underwear, believe me. My briefs today are adorned with the cutest little hedgehogs. Spikey prickles and adorable little faces. I mean, yes, technically, they are fingering each other up the ass, but that’s not what Stuart asked, and I don’t think there’s any pressing need to disclose that information.
He raises a suspicious brow. “Is that the truth, baby?”
“Um, yes, Daddy.” I gulp and nod. T. rexes are a totally different species than hedgehogs, so I’m pretty sure I can get off on a technicality.
“‘Cause you know I won’t hesitate to teach you where the saying ‘liar, liar, pants on fire’ comes from, don’t you?”
I bite my lip and nod again.
“Good. Then why don’t you put your overalls on so we can get started. We’re going to be changing the oil today.”
“But, Daddy, I don’t look nearly as cute in my overalls,” I grumble.
“Put them on, little boy.” His voice carries a clear warning. “If you get any oil on your new clothes, I’m going to put you over my knee and spend a long while seeing if I can turn your bottom the exact same shade of pink as those slutty shorts.”
I giggle, wander to the cabinet, and start riffling through it to find the overalls. As I do it, “Push” by Matchbox 20 starts playing.
That’s what happens when you share your life with a man in his forties. Your playlists become decidedly eclectic. I don’t think there’s any way around it.
“You know what I’ve always wondered, Daddy,” I say sweetly. “How did people dance to this olden-day music?”
“Olden-day music?” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting a smile. “Boy, you are about to receive an education.”
Stuart gets to his feet, and before my very eyes, the nineties flow up through the concrete garage floor and take him over. Not going to lie. It’s a lot. He’s stirring the pot, doing this weird little dad side shuffle, and by the look of things, flirting with the idea of doing the running man. His face is contorted from the intensity of his concentration. I can barely breathe. I’m wheezing. Laughing so much that I’m coughing and snorting. Too helpless even to save him from himself.
“What?” he demands. “This is how we did it!”
Thank God Siri comes to her senses with the next song and we find ourselves back in the safety of the twenty-twenties. “Love” by Lana Del Rey subtly permeates every inch of the room. Steady syncopated drums pulse and reedy strings tug at my heart, slowing the beat and then speeding it up as Stuart steps into my space and loops my arms around his neck. Laughter splutters and fades when our bodies make contact. We move slowly together. He leads. I follow. Hard muscle grinds against me. Giving way and then pulling me closer. Closer and closer until there’s no space between us. Everything around us fades. The room slowly spins. I close my eyes and my soul starts to sway. Loosening things that should be tight. Pulling them out of my chest and tying them into a tight knot. Tying them around me and around Stuart. Tighter and tighter until we stop being two separate things. We start being one.
My lips rest where his neck and shoulder meet. Not kissing. Just resting. Just living. His hands are on my back. My neck. My hair. They move slowly, but I feel them everywhere. A velvet voice tells tales of vintage music, youth, and confusion. At some point, it stops being a song. It starts being a feeling. A feeling of falling. Spinning and swirling. A feeling of comfort and going crazy. A feeling of love.
A feeling of having everything you’ve ever wanted in the palms of your hands.
I open my eyes. Stuart’s are still closed. Face relaxed. Lashes knitted together. He looks peaceful. Blissed out. Completely content but different somehow. He doesn’t look like now. He doesn’t look like this time and this place.
He looks like the rest of my life.
I don’t think it through. I don’t need to. I know what I know. I lean on my toes so my lips brush against his ear.
“Marry me, Stuart,” I whisper.
His shoulders tense, eyes flying open. Crystalline water ripples, inviting me in. I don’t hesitate. I dive in.
I fall to my knees. Not one knee. There’s no gallant knight here. There’s only a boy and the Daddy he loves. I sink onto both knees and kneel at Stuart’s feet. Where it’s right. Where I belong.
I look up at him beseechingly, stretching my eyes and giving him my best puppy-dog eyes, clasping my hands tightly together at my chest for good measure.
“Please, Daddy. Please,pleasemarry me.”
His jaw drops open and a forceful rush of breath leaves him. He pulls me up so fast my head spins. He crushes me to him, laughing and kissing my cheeks and my eyes and my nose and finally my mouth. His tongue finds mine, parting my lips and taking what’s his. He kisses me hungry and long, both of us breathless by the time he pulls away.
“Is that a yes?”
Blue eyes glisten. Tears threaten and start to fall. He starts nodding as he tries to find his voice. “It’s more than a yes, baby. It’s a hell yes!”
