Page 260 of Daddy's Pride

Juan shrugged. “Yeah, well, you need it. I stand by that. I’m just saying I’m not sure you want it. Why is that?”

I frowned, turning back to face the room. “I want it.”

I did. I was horny as hell lately, and even though we’d arrived early—since Juan had talked me into coming before the place typically got busy so we could catch up with some friends and maybe grab some food—I already saw a few boys I’d played well with before.

And true, none of them really excited me at the moment, but there were some new faces, too. I was sure I could find someone to scene with, especially once it got busier. Not to stroke my own ego, but finding a partner generally wasn’t a problem for me. Doing construction since I was a teenager had always kept me fit, even now in my thirties when things were definitely starting to slow down a bit and I’d already, much to my dismay, found a couple gay hairs hiding among my dark brown.

The boys never seemed to mind, though, and my natural height and strong physique generally appealed to their image of a Daddy, too.

I’d been told my face wasn’t a problem, either.

Speaking of, I could feel Juan’s gaze practically burning into my skin as he stared at me.

I turned to face him again. “What?”

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

I shoved aside my odd restlessness and swirled my hand in front of my face, grinning at him. “My pretty face.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, Hemsworth. But dime, what are you really thinking about?”

It wasn’t so much what I was thinking about as what I was trying not to think about.

There were a fair number of boys and other subs already here, all with different body types and different demeanors. Some of them were sexy as hell, and at least a few were definitely my type.

Sweet.

Needy.

Capable, but still hoping for guidance.

A little bit unsure, but still determined, resilient, perseverant.

“Fuck,” I muttered, scrubbing at my hair. Which I still hadn’t had time to cut.

My type in the past had been much less specific.

My type now was one-hundred-fucking-percent Owen, and not only could I not have him, I wouldn’t even recognize him if he was here… and that was starting to really, really bother me.

I wanted more with him. I wanted something real. Something that, even if it could never be a romantic relationship, would include comforting him in person. Making sure he ate his vegetables because I’d cooked them for him.

Holding him.

Learning the scent of his shampoo and the sound of his laugh.

Juan nudged me. “Maybe switch your bracelet out, no? No need to scene if your head is somewhere else.”

“No,” I said, giving myself a mental shake. “I want to. You’re right. I need it.”

Because I could want until the cows came home, but it wasn’t going to happen, and maybe having something else, someone else, to focus on, even just for a night, would finally help me be truly okay with that.

“Hm,” Juan said, being an annoying shit, as my phone vibrated in my pocket.

My pulse picked up. I’d muted it, with only a few contacts tagged to let notifications through the do-not-disturb setting. Juan, who was here with me. My mom. Juan’s parents. But it would be out of character for any of them to reach out on a Saturday night. Not unless there was an emergency.

And also… Owen.

“I need to step out,” I told Juan, tapping my vibrating pocket.