He nods, looking a bit dazed as he clutches the card against his chest like it’s a winning lottery ticket. I wait as he heads inside, tossing me looks over his shoulder until the door is closed between us. And then I wait a little longer, tracking his movements through the house by which light comes on before I finally manage to tear myself away and walk back to my car, the taste of his sweet little sounds still dancing on my lips and the feeling of his body against mine making my arms ache to hold him again.
Soon, I promise myself. Soon.
Chapter 7
Sterling
Barrett told me to do my own research before making a decision, which is exactly what I spend the next morning doing. In fact, I do so much research that my dick is all but rubbed raw before noon. The question of whether calling the man Daddy in bed would turn me on seems to be a resounding yes. Heck, the way the word felt rolling off my tongue right before our kiss last night cleared that up pretty quick.
Unfortunately, porn can only answer so many questions for me, and everything else seems like a bit of a minefield. I did a search for Daddy kink and got a lotta results, but they said all kinds of different stuff. Some talked about diapers and acting like a baby or little kid, which doesn’t hold much appeal for me. One thing that seems to keep coming up on almost every site I visit is communication. I guess that makes sense. It’s probably a good rule for any relationship when you get right down to it. But, I’m not sure how that will help me decide what I want.
Well, except, I kinda already know what I want. The research was because Barrett told me to, but my heart knew the answer right after he asked the question. Heck yeah, it’s prob’ly crazy to follow a near stranger to a whole other state, but what’ve I got to lose? And as for all that kinky stuff he talked about last night, I’m more than up for giving it a try.
I guess all that’s left is tying up all my loose ends. I log off the ancient computer settled on the desk in the corner of my room and head into the bathroom so I can take a quick shower to wash off all the evidence of my ahem “research”.
I toss my dirty clothes in the hamper while the shower heats up and then stand in front of the mirror. For a change, I don’t avoid my reflection. No, instead I look right at it, ignoring the squirming, uncomfortable feeling in my gut. I tilt my face to one side so I can see my birthmark head on, various patches of dark pink and light purple extending from above my eyebrow down to the bottom of my cheek, and from the bridge of my nose to my temple. I flinch internally at the sight of it. When I was little, I used to stand in front of this same sink, crying and scrubbing my face, praying as hard as I could that it would wash away so I could be normal. I close my eyes against the burning of tears that are threatening to break free. Dragging in a deep breath, I steel myself and look again, determined to find an answer to why a man like Barrett could possibly want someone like me.
The mirror fogs up from the steam of the shower before I manage to find my answer, so I give up and push back the ratty, mildew-covered curtain and slip under the hot spray of water. Maybe it don’t matter why he’s interested in me. However long he wants me is more than I ever woulda dared to hope for.
Once I’m finished showering, I wrap a towel around my waist and go back into my bedroom. Standing, dripping wet, I look around the small room and wait to feel something. This could be the last time I’ll see this bedroom, I should miss it or something, shouldn’t I? But I have a hard time feeling anything but impatience to pack up my stuff and get out. I don’t have a fancy suitcase or nothing. I never been anywhere, so it would be a silly thing for me to have. Instead, I stuff as many clothes as I can into paper grocery bags, leaving out one set of things to wear today.
With my clothes packed, the only thing that’s left to do here is to leave a note for my mama, in case she ever comes back. I s’pose I should call the landlord too. Dang though, what about all the furniture and stuff? Plus, what if mama does come back? Should I find a way to keep paying for this place just in case? Maybe Barrett will know what to do about it. I file that problem away for later and grab a piece of paper and pencil.
The kitchen chair scrapes against the linoleum floor when I pull it out so I can sit down. I never been all that good with words. You’d think I’d be an expert at writing a goodbye note since I’ve been left so many times in my life. Except gran never left me any kinda note and neither did my daddy. Mama left a lot of notes, but they all said the same thing. I guess if it’s good enough for me, it’ll be good enough for her.
I stop tapping my pencil against the table and get to writing.
Mama,
I met a man. He says he can give me a better life. Not sure I believe him, but I figure anything is better than Billow.
Love,
Sterling
P.S. Here’s his number if you need to reach me
I add Barrett’s number to the bottom of the letter and read it over. It’s pretty short, but it gets the message across. She don’t wanna read anything flowery from me anyway, so it’ll do.
I leave the note pinned to the fridge and gather up my bags. The next part is bound to be harder than this first part. I look around as I walk down the road toward the bar. In a way, it feels like I’m seeing this town in a new light. What’ll Vegas be like? No chance of seeing Mr. Murphy’s old cow wandering loose anywhere after knocking down her flimsy fence again, no pies cooling on any window sills in the late fall, and, if I’m lucky, no more people with nothing better to do than stare.
My steps slow the closer I get to the bar. It might’ve been easy enough writing a letter my mama may or may not ever see. But saying goodbye to Miss Maggie is going to be a whole heck of a lot harder. In a lotta ways, she’s been more of a mother to me than my own mama. Especially, after gran died. She was kind to me, gave me a job at the bar as soon as I was old enough, always made sure to check up on me whenever she could.
I stop just outside the door, wiping my hands on my jeans and taking a deep breath before grabbing the door handle and tugging it open. It creaks in a strangely comforting way. I’ve been coming by Billow’s Tavern since long before I was drinking age, usually to look for mama if she’d been gone for a few days. What’ll it be like in a new town without any memories? Not that too many of my memories around here are real good, but they are mine.
Miss Maggie looks up at the sound of the door, her eyes dropping immediately to the bags in my hands.
“Aw, hell, Sterling, don’t tell me you’re takin’ up your mama’s bad habit of yo-yoing in and outta town.”
I let my bags slip out of my fingers, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Then, I grab the nearest stool, sitting down and dipping my head.
“No, ma’am,” I answer.
“You ain’t leavin’?” Her tone makes it clear she don’t believe me.
“I am leavin’.” I lift my head and fix her with the most confident look I can muster. “I ain’t comin’ back though.”
She snorts and shakes her head at me. “You always been a good boy, Sterling.” The words are soothing, but certainly not as exciting as when Barrett gifts them to me. “I hate to see you make the same mistakes she always made.”