2- Daddy Complex
1248 Words
- Ellie
"Room service..."
The timbre of the stranger’s murmur was even deeper than the baritone he had been using. Full of heat and suggestion. Letting me know it wasn’t my imagination—and it wasn’t the menu he wanted to order from.
"Smooth," I tilted my head to him.
"Come on, Dove, it was the perfect opening."
The stranger’s wink was every bit as dazzling as his smile, and I was only able to hide my heart skipping a beat with the waiter’s opportune timing to take the Stallion’s order.
After selecting a stout beer and a shrimp plate, the waiter clarified if this would be for here or to go on both our items, and so much for not turning a lobsteresque shade of red without the sun.
I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even answer.
The smooth Italian, on the other hand, was nowhere near as... well, whatever I was.
Innocent was not a word I’d choose, nor was shy... at least, not when I knew and was comfortable with people.
"Beachside it is."
His boyish grin came with the subtle flex of all the delicious muscle on the definitely younger man.
His arms stretched in that lazy, practiced way, as if he knew exactly what it did to a woman watching.
When I failed to break the silence or my almost stutter, he managed.
"So, are you a regular here?"
"Heavens no, way too rich for my blood," I bawked a bit, trying to focus on the natural view rather than the can of man gobbling up every spare iota of my attention.
My skin tingled with heat, as if the humidity itself conspired to make me sweat.
"So, are you here on business or pleasure?"
He made casual conversation seem so easy. How did people do that?
"Work, actually. Well, work and get-away combined, I suppose."
I pulled my legs to my chest after facing my chair to the ocean. "Yourself?"
"All pleasure."
Well, at least he was honest, but who wasn’t at places like this?
Oh, what had I gotten myself into, Ellie? Stop staring!
Just because I hated Ben didn’t mean I got a free pass to rob the cradle, same as him.
He was so yummy, though.
I was an excellent lover, and I didn’t need any complications.
My inner tongue-lashing continued, likely making me seem like an i***t for not responding or asking for any further detail on his comment.
"Must be nice," I finally found my tongue again and returned to the conversation I was supposed to be having, instead of the same old back-and-forth in my brain.
I wasn’t a casual person. Unfortunately.
"I can show you," he offered with a joking sort of sincerity that should have been odd, but worked for him... and me.
"Nice try, shoog, but I’m afraid I’m no fun at all."
I giggled a bit, keeping it light—at least out loud.
"I’m a serious stick in the mud and a terrible lay to boot."
"I like to form my own opinions."
Smoother than silk, no doubt, with a boyish grin—and still, the rest... well, that was all man.
The heat in his gaze traced my bare legs and lingered, deliberate.
"I’d say I’m a pretty fair judge, but you can always ask my ex, who left me for a legal but teenage child, if you’d like."
Well, so much for light conversation.
"How old was he?"
"Thirty-six," I said simply and dryly, without humor. "Beer gut and a bald spot as proof."
"Well, I’d say you have a daddy complex, or he’s just a douche who doesn’t know how to please a real woman, but going from twenty-two to eighteen isn’t that big a leap."
"Well, aren’t you sweet?"
I couldn’t control the scoffing laugh at him calling me twenty-something.
"But ‘douche’ seems to be the general consensus."
"I was trying to give you a bit of credit due to the poor lighting, but sorry, hun, you don’t look a day over twenty. It’s not so big of a stretch."
"Brownie for you, good sir," I smiled even wider, feeling my cheeks flush.
Had it really been this long since I smiled so much?
It wasn’t supposed to hurt.
"I’m not catching your drift, Dove."
It was the first show of hesitance or break in his deeper voice, and I twisted my lips before answering the non-question.
"You don’t need to; just keep making me smile and look pretty,"
I continued the breathless and amused tone while I turned to accept our food.
The scent hit first—garlic, butter, toasted cream, all of it so rich and savory my stomach did a desperate little twist.
My mouth watered before the plate was even in front of me.
As I bowed my head to say grace, I felt DJ’s eyes on me like hands, warm and curious.
"You pray at a Hede resort?"
"I pray before every meal," I defended. "I was raised Baptist and happen to be a goody two-shoes. I just also happened to put myself through school on tips working at nudist resorts."
I pointed my fork at him as if I were lecturing instead of trying to contain my laughter.
"Well, you are something of a conundrum, aren’t you?" he decided, unable to keep the smile off his face either, when I saluted and clicked my tongue in confirmation.
"And the fat kid living in my tummy is not a patient one."
The comment had him choking on the beer he had just taken a sip of.
Poor man still managed to turn away from the table and our food before it shot out of his nose, though.
His snort was all I needed to choke on my first bite of chicken.
"None of that. It is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, not my last in a lifetime. Thank you, good sir,"
I said with as much embarrassment as I did humor, remembering just how awkward I was at dating and social situations.
"Do you have a name or a warning label?"
The still Italian Stallion with no name asked after cleaning his mouth and chin with the surprisingly linen napkin in the sand-filled dining.
My retort was cut off by him stripping the plain tee that hadn’t disguised his figure, but was even more drool-worthy than my imagination.
Bronze skin stretched over carved muscle. Veins along his arms like fine inkwork. The dip of his hips disappearing beneath that waistband?
"Sorry, you were flexing, I mean saying?"
I leaned in, putting my chin on my hand to openly stare at him. Letting myself flirt. Letting myself.
My real self-talk. Realizing how silly it was to believe that not knowing anyone would hinder the experience.
If anything, it gave me more chutzpah to just be me.
"Okay Dove, look all you want, but touching is off limits,"
The wonder of a male specimen winked again, starting in on his own plate of food.
"Just my speed,"
I ran my eyes over him with no boundaries and full appreciation before exaggerating a bite to my lip.
"I’m DJ," he took advantage of the former segue.
"Nice to meet you, DJ."
I reached my hand across the table to shake his playfully.
Still, the way his large hand captured mine—the strength and warmth that cocooned what I never knew was such a delicate part of me—as he brought it to his lips...
- Writer
