Make Me Yours, Daddy

-017-

~*JUNE*~

I can’t catch a f*****g break.

My life feels like a living hell.

Now I don’t just have to deal with my crazy boss, I also have to deal with my ex who won’t stop calling me.

The past week has been nothing but stress, and Andrew just won’t stop calling.

No matter how many times I block his number, he always finds a way around it, using new numbers, private calls, and sending endless messages.

My phone has become a constant source of noise.

It vibrates, lights up, drags me out of whatever fragile peace I manage to find.

There’s no quiet anymore. No break.

Even today, which is a weekend and my one chance to claw back the sleep I’ve lost to this exhausting week—the one time I should be able to sleep in, breathe, and forget everything for a few hours—my phone on the nightstand is buzzing like a trapped hornet.

It started before the sun was even fully up.

At first, I ignored it, burying my face deeper into the pillow, hoping it would stop, hoping Andrew would finally get the message.

It didn’t.

At this point, I’m certain he wants something from me. Maybe some last shred of my attention, or a favor I have no intention of giving.

Either way, he won’t get it.

His persistence has gone past annoying and straight into disturbing, and I want nothing more than for him to stop contacting me.

If I’m being honest, I haven’t fully gotten over him.

I still miss the way things used to be before everything soured.

Getting over your first love is not like flipping a switch.

It is a process.

A slow, painful, humiliating process where you think you are finally fine, and then a memory hits you and you’re crying again.

But I know my own heart. If I answer that phone, if I hear his voice, I might let him back into my life again. And if I let him back in, I’ll only end up hurt again.

I don’t want that for myself anymore.

Right now, I need to focus on myself, on my job, my sanity, and getting through each day without falling apart.

But as the days pass, the pressure only gets worse, and sometimes it feels unbearable.

It feels like I’m suffocating.

I wish I could vanish to some isolated island, somewhere with no cell service, only the sound of the ocean waves, and just rest for a whole week.

But that kind of peace feels impossible right now.

I need to get my number changed. That is the only solution.

I cannot keep living like this, jumping every time my phone vibrates, checking every notification with a knot of dread in my stomach.

After rolling around for twenty minutes, burying my face in the pillow, tossing from one side of the bed to the other, trying to reclaim the sleep that Andrew stole, I realize it is a lost cause.

I kick off the sheets, my eyes gritty, my head pounding, and drag myself to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash the lingering exhaustion off my face before heading downstairs.

The smell of melting butter and sizzling ham hits me before I reach the kitchen.

Tyler is already there, moving around the stove with a rhythmic grace, a spatula in one hand, his phone propped against a jar of utensils playing a cooking video I can’t hear.

He is wearing nothing but a pair of tiny red shorts that sit low on his hips.

His back is a canvas of fresh love bites, purple and red, blooming like strange flowers across his shoulder blades. Marks that have become almost frequent since he started dating Marcus.

He looks over his shoulder when he hears my footsteps and grins as I enter.

"You are up early today," he says, turning back to the pan and giving the food a stir. "I thought you would sleep a little later since today is Saturday."

I collapse onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and rest my chin in my palm. "Yeah, I thought so too."

"Hmm," he mutters.

He doesn't push; he just waits. He’s always been good at that—letting the silence hang in the air until I fill it.

I let out a loud, heavy sigh that seems to vibrate through my whole chest. "Andrew's calls woke me up."

Tyler stops stirring. He turns to face me fully, his eyebrows lifting toward his hairline. "He’s still calling you?"

"Yes." The word slips out on another sigh, like I’ve been holding my breath without realizing it.

He leans back against the counter. The movement makes the hickeys on his skin shift and catch the morning light. "I guess he really misses you."

I shake my head. "He shouldn’t." My voice comes out firmer than I expect. "It took me so much time and energy to get over him. Now he thinks he can just walk back into my life like nothing happened?" I shake my head again, more firmly this time. "No. That’s not going to work."

He turns fully to me, crossing his hand over his chest, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.

It isn’t his usual smile. It’s different.

I narrow my eyes. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

"I like this new personality of yours," he says. "You’ve started growing a backbone."

I snort. "Well, you are the one who taught me to."

He strikes a dramatic pose, one hand on his hip, a wink aimed straight at me. "I am the best teacher."

I laugh.

The sound surprises me.

It feels rusty, like a door that hasn’t been opened in a long time, but it comes out anyway, genuine and warm.

The tension in my shoulders loosens just a fraction.

"What are you making?" I ask, nodding toward the stove.

"Mac and cheese," Tyler says.

"Nice."

"Yeah," he says, gesturing toward the small dining table in the corner. "Go sit so I can get the table ready."

I nod and push myself off the stool.

My legs feel wobbly, but I make it to the table and slide into my usual seat.

A moment later, Tyler sets the table. One place for me, one for him, forks wrapped in paper napkins, and a small pitcher of orange juice that catches the morning light and turns it gold.

Then he hands me a plate piled high with mac and cheese, the cheese still melted and stringy, steam rising in delicate curls.

I take a spoonful and taste it.

The flavor hits my tongue—rich, savory, perfectly salted, creamy and warm in a way that makes my eyes slip shut for a moment.

"This is the best I’ve ever tasted," I say.

"Thank you," Tyler says.

I could hear the smile in his voice.

Opening my eyes, I smile at him. "You are truly the best. Not only did I get a best friend, but I also got a good roommate and a chef."

He flicks his hair back, practically glowing under the praise. "I am the full package." He holds up three fingers as if counting them off. "I can cook, clean, fuck." He pauses, then adds with a grin, "And I’m great at everything else too."

I nod, already taking another bite. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

We begin eating in comfortable silence. The only sounds are the clink of forks against plates and the distant sound of birds singing outside the kitchen window.

Tyler swallows a bite and looks at me. "How’s work?"

I sigh. "Stressful."

"Is your boss still being a pain in your ass?" He scoops up another forkful from his plate.

"Yeah. A lot of pain," I admit, stabbing at my food a little harder than necessary.

He tilts his head, his expression turning curious. "Hmm. Do you think he knows you were the one that night?"

I pause, actually thinking about it. Tristan’s cold eyes. The way he looks at me like I’m something he stepped in on the sidewalk.

"I don’t think so," I say, shaking my head. "He doesn’t even give me a glance. And when he does, it’s always a condescending look.”

Tyler raises one eyebrow. "Maybe he knows it’s you and he’s just doing all of that to pay you back for that slap you gave him that night."

I groan. "I doubt it. The slap wasn’t even that hard."

My voice lacks conviction, and I hate it.

His other eyebrow joins the first. "Are you sure?"

I hesitate, looking at him for a moment. "Um… okay, maybe it was hard." I shove a bite into my mouth to buy myself time. "But it wasn’t intentional. I was scared."

He snorts. "Scared to collect a real c**k aside from Andrew's shrimp of a c**k?"

I feel my face heat up. "Andrew’s c**k was not small!" The words come out of my mouth before I can think. "It was just... not too big."

He sets down his fork and stares at me. Then he points it in my direction. “Oh… I see. You’re defending Andrew now.”

I let out a long, frustrated sigh that seems to rise from deep in my chest. "I’m not."

"You are. I’m convinced you still like him," he says, his voice dropping the teasing edge for a moment.

"I don’t," I insist, firmer this time. "I’m over him."

He takes another bite. "Good."

He swallows, then gestures loosely with his fork toward me. "Now that you are single and back in the market, why don't you shoot your shot with Mr. Tristan Macaulay? You never know. It might actually work. And he’s a really big catch. He’s the CEO of one of the biggest media companies in the world… and a billionaire."

My eye twitches. “That’s not happening. He’s my boss.”

Tyler shrugs, completely unbothered. "So? I don’t see anything wrong with that."

"It is wrong." I shake my head. "Very wrong."

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, if you say so."

He goes back to his food like he didn’t just suggest I make a move on the man who makes my life a living hell.

We both continue eating without saying a word.

When we’re done, Tyler starts scrolling through his phone, while I sit there like a lost kid out in the rain, my thoughts racing.

Even though that annoying prick is handsome. Devastatingly so.

I cannot get involved with him.

I should not fall for my boss.

It’s improper, it’s messy, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Mixing business and pleasure never works out.

Never.