Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Such as?”
Oh yeah. “Well, one guy told me I curse too much to be a Little, and another said my favorite movies—Deadpool—weren’t fit for a Little’s ears.”
“In other words, they were idiots.”
“That’s what I said!” I beamed. “Then I went home and put way too much whipped cream in my cocoa. Sometimes I put chocolate sprinkles in there too, cuz that’s delicious like you wouldn’t believe.”
He actually smiled to himself!
Ugh, I wanted him so bad.
“Cocoa and Deadpool,” he murmured pensively. “Cute.”
Cute?
“With all due respect, Sir, Deadpool is badass,” I said frankly. “I’m number four, by the way.”
He chuckled and turned onto my street, where number four was way too close.
My time was up.
The truck grew silent as he slowed to a stop in front of my door, and I had zero desire to leave the car and head up to my empty little loft on the third floor.
“Well…” Crap, I was getting awkward. “Um, thank you for the ride.”
He nodded with a dip of his chin and rested his forearms along the wheel. “No problem. I’ll wait till you’re inside.”
Oh God, he couldn’t say such things. My heart exploded with yearning to the point where I almost wanted to cry. I really didn’t wanna go up there and have another evening on my own. Not when I could so clearly envision him coming with me. Maybe he’d remind me to brush my teeth. Or kiss whipped cream off my upper lip. Or tuck me in…
Fuck. This actually hurt.
I swallowed and mustered a weak smile before I opened the door and jumped out.
“Good night, Sir.”
His quiet response came right when he averted his gaze. “Good night, Tracy.”
Call me little one, please.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to hear that.
CHAPTER 5
Griffin Lawson
Maybe I shouldn’t have driven him home last night.
I caught him looking all the time.
That was a problem. Or rather, the layer of composure that’d been peeled off his every expression—that was my problem. Because when Tracy showed what he was feeling, I was confronted with what I’d done to him up until I had left.
I’d hurt him.
A hurt Little or Middle was enough of a kick in the gut. A hurt Tracy…?
I assumed it was our tentative ceasefire that’d allowed him to lower his guard, which was another kick someplace sensitive because it showed how my old behavior had put him on edge. In my bitterness, I’d been so fucking careless. I’d turned the workplace of his dreams into a nightmare in which he’d had to walk on eggshells.
I did my best to keep my distance as soon as the restaurant opened its doors, but it wasn’t easy. Before the first dinner rush, I spotted him in the window of the door leading to the kitchen. He instantly grew apprehensive about being caught, but he smiled and waved a little.
When I took a quick smoke break out back, he poked his head out and asked, “Am I stressing you out? You said you only smoke when you’re stressed.”
When he came out to the bar to hand over side dishes and apps, he made awkward attempts at figuring out where we stood.
“I’m so glad we’re friends now. We are friends, right? I mean, at least, I stand a chance at becoming your friend? Fuck, shit, ignore me. This isn’t the time.”
“For table six, medium-rare, sorry about before. I won’t bother you during work. It’s too much, isn’t it? It’s too much. You don’t have to answer.”
“The grilled vegetables on the side for ticket fourteen. Can I get you anything? Water? Soda? Asking as your coworker, not a future work friend.”
During my meal break, he shuffled over to me once more, apologetic about his questions, and asked if I was sure I had nothing against him.
I couldn’t eat. By the end of the night, my stomach was chock-full of guilt and discomfort, and I wanted to get out of here as fast as possible.
The issue was never a sub—or a Dom, for that matter—feeling out of sorts, needing reassurance, or struggling to find solid ground. The issue was what’d caused them to lose their footing. And that was me. Tracy was all over the place with his nerves and anxiousness, and my responses probably weren’t helping. We’d been fully booked all night, so I’d had to keep shit short and to the point, and I knew what that could do to someone in a vulnerable mind-set.
It was the equivalent of sending a text to a Little with a short “OK” instead of “Of course, little one” with at least two emojis.
When I came home that night, I blew out a heavy breath and knew what I had to do. I had to sit him down and talk shit out properly—and I had to be honest. Like I’d been outside the bar of our munch.