Daddy [mxm]

10

Sammy comes over after work with a couple of her friends, so I decide to go home to my apartment. I don't need to see her kiss Bret with everyone watching for validation. Bret is a trophy boyfriend for her to impress her friends with, and my opinion is entirely objective because I'm not bitter at all that she stole my best friend.

I pick my newest murder mystery off the shelf and start reading, before I remember that I still owe Rudy a selfie. I decide to take a sleepy one in bed, make him wish he were here with me. Instead, he's probably in bed with his wife. Ignoring the pang of jealousy that stirs in me, I navigate towards my camera app. My phone vibrates just then and I get my hopes up for a split second before I see it's just Bret. I blow out a huff of annoyance. He's the type to text me ten times a day; I'll text once a week. He's inviting me over tomorrow, allegedly wanting to hang out, but in reality hoping I'll do the cooking and cleaning while his mom is gone on a business trip.

I'm so exhausted after the day's events, I fall asleep one page into my new book.

When I wake up, my first thought is Rudy, accompaniment by a breathy moan of disbelief because, oh yeah. He likes me back.

It's finally his birthday. Chelsea normally organizes the birthday parties in the house but she'll probably pretend she forgot his birthday the way he forgot their anniversary, as punishment. She's as petty as she is pretty. It works out well for me, though.

I want to look good for him. Like a girl before her first date, I deliberate for ages on what outfit I should wear, and then stare at myself in the mirror. Having the same hair and eye color as Rudy's wife is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.

It's also Roger's birthday tomorrow, and I've bought him a baseball glove like he wanted. Taking out a pen and paper, I sit at my desk and write HAPPY BIRTHDAY in big bold letters. I add, Love you so much, bug. Practice every day and grow big and strong, little man, drawing balloons and things on the margins. Then I tape it on the glove.

Chelsea's car is still in the driveway when I arrive at the Palmers', so I drive past their house and into the parking lot of the equestrian centre. And proceed to have a full-blown crisis. My breathing grows shallow as I consider in detail the ways in which I've already fucked Chelsea over - without even properly fucking her husband. There's no going back from this. I grip my head in both hands and rest it on the steering wheel. I'm a horrible person for going after a married man. I rock back and forth in the driver's seat, guilt and conviction wrestling with passion and longing within me. I'm so distraught I almost miss Chelsea's car pulling out of the driveway.

Pull yourself together.

As soon as she's disappeared down the street, I let myself in, give Henry a good ole scratch to keep him quiet, and creep furtively upstairs.

I leave the baseball glove on Roger's desk and tiptoe back out of his room before he wakes up.

The water in the master bedroom shower is running and I can hear Rudy washing himself.

In a split-second decision, I strip off my clothes and draw the curtains back, joining him in the shower. He's a vision, head angled up, water coursing off his rugged, masculine body and droplets getting lost in his thick beard as he lathers his chiseled torso with soap. The soapy suds slide down from his beefy pecs to his veiny shaft to his meaty thighs before pooling at his feet.

"Evan?" His vascular arm pauses in mid-air. Rudy is standing under the stream as if nailed there.

Many questions hang unspoken in the air between us. What are we doing? Are we really going to do this? Is this how it's going to be between us from now on?