“You'll thank me for this tomorrow. Why don't we get some water, and possibly a little more food in you?” Cautiously, I slid my hand around Slade's back. He jerked away, then grumbled when he tripped over his own feet. He never fully relaxed, but he did finally let me steer him into the kitchen.
I pulled out one of the barstools and steadied him as he sat. He rested his elbows on the granite counter, burying his face in his hands. He said something I couldn't make out.
“What was that, boy?” Rather than focusing on him, I worked to put together a small plate of food for him. I'd sampled enough of Jordan's creations to know which were least likely to mix badly with the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach.
After sliding the plate in front of him, I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, uncapping it and placing that in front of him as well. Slade pushed it away.
“I don't want it,” he slurred.
“I wasn't aware I had asked if youwantedit.” My entire body tingled, instantly recognizing the way I had pitched my voice. My palms practically itched with the desire to sting against his bare skin. Slade glared up at me, his eyes unfocused and droopy. He was quickly losing the battle, and the alcohol was winning. “Drink it, Slade.”
“You’re awfully damn pushy. Arrogant prick,” he mumbled, but picked up the water and took a sip. Someday, the boy would learn what happened to bratty little shits who talked back.
Someday, but not today. Not with you. You have no business acting like this boy owes you his obedience.I wasn't a fan of logic trying to creep in and crush this budding fantasy of mine. I knew it would likely go nowhere, but a man could dream, couldn't he?
“You’re awfully mouthy for someone who doesn't know a damn thing about me.”
Slade waved his hand erratically in the air. “Don't need to know you. Know your type.”
“And what type is that, boy?” A wiser man would have walked away. Not me. I pulled out the stool next to Slade, sat down, then turned to face him with my forearm resting on the counter.
“Just… Fuck man, I don't know what I'm saying. But look at you. You'rethattype.”
“The older and wiser type, you mean?” I glanced down, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Since the moment he laid eyes on me, Slade had seemed on edge. Now that I had a bit clearer picture of who he was and what he needed, it felt imperative that I understand where he was coming from as well.
Slade giggled as if I just told a hilarious joke. I reached up and pressed a hand to his shoulder, and he immediately stilled and went silent.
He looked up at me, eyes wide. He seemed ready to jerk away again but stopped himself this time. Interesting.
“Tell me, boy,” I repeated. “What do you mean by people like me?”
“You're the fancy suit guy.” He gaped at me; his confusion evident all over his face. I began to wonder exactly how much he’d had to drink. “You like showing everyone how rich you are, and you think you can fix everything for everyone, but you can’t and that pisses you off. Stupid suits.”
His rant trailed off and his eyes drifted shut. Slade’s body tilted to the side, and he’d have crashed to the floor if I hadn’t been there to catch him. It was well past last call for him.
“Let's get you home, Slade.” I capped the bottled water and slid it into my pocket. Slade hooked his feet around the rungs of the barstool when I tried helping him up. “Don't fuck with me, boy. It's time for you to go home.”
“You can't tell me what to do,” he spat out. “You're not my Daddy.”
“It’s a damn good thing, too.” I didn't release him. I hoped like hell Jordan could tell me where Slade lived so I could get him out of here before he caused a scene. Doug and Eli had gone out of their way to help Jordan have a good time, and I'd be damned if his wasted friend was going to ruin the end of the night.
“What would you do to me if you were my Daddy?” Slade pressed when I said nothing more.
“First of all, you wouldn't be getting sloppy drunk if you were my boy. It's not an attractive quality,” I informed him.
Slade's gaze dipped to the floor and he lifted his shoulders slightly, as if he wanted to argue but couldn't. He curled in on himself, and the part of me that hated seeing boys beat themselves up for disappointing me, wanted to hold him—reassure him that he could fix this situation if he truly wanted to. I pushed that urge away. Slade wasn’t my boy, and he needed a firm hand more than he needed to be loved on.
“And second, I don't put up with boys who act out when they don't get what they want,” I continued. “There is a fine line between being a brat and a disrespectful little shit, and you seem to be dancing all over it.”
“Well then, it's a good thing you aren't my Daddy,” Slade snapped back. “Because this is the real me, and you obviously wouldn't be able to handle it.”
I didn't believe any of that for a second. I wondered how much of the attitude Slade gave off was an act. Part of me thought it possible that Slade had slipped on a mask so long ago, he barely recognized the man underneath. And I shouldn't want to be the one to unmask him. I shouldn't wish for things that couldn't happen…like watching Slade blossom as he realized he didn't have to hide from himself or the world.
“Slade, come on.” I tugged on his elbow, and this time he stood.
“I'm not fucking you tonight,” he informed me.
I couldn't help myself. I leaned in close enough that he shivered every time I exhaled. My hand slid around to the small of his back, holding him close but not quite touching. “Let's get one thing straight, boy. If anyone is going to be doing the fucking, it would be me. But you're right, I'm not fucking you tonight, either. I like my boys to remember every graphic detail the morning after. I'm not a fan of blackout sex.”
