Simple Man, Simple Dream, Page 3

  But he had a family history of it, through both his mother and father, which meant Del and Winter would have to be careful. So he’d been modifying his diet—the hardest part had been learning to take his coffee without sugar, because he couldn’t stand the taste of artificial sweeteners—and his doctor had tweaked his meds, putting him on a new once-a-day thing that seemed to be helping. He’d also started teaching Winter healthy eating habits, opting for teaching her how to cook at this age, instead of relying on lots of prepackaged food that was full of garbage.

  “Go turn the TV on, sweetheart. It’s a little too early to eat breakfast yet.” Which was the truth. He didn’t want to screw up his schedule. A morning off here and there was fine, but now that he’d gotten his meds tweaked, he didn’t like to mess around with what was working. If he didn’t eat at the right time, his blood sugar could plummet to dangerous levels.

  He poured himself a mug of coffee with milk and carried it over to the couch to sit with her. She immediately cuddled in his lap, her favorite stuffed puppy in her arms.

  “I need to go grocery shopping today anyway,” he said. “We’ll stop by Mommy’s and grab your stuff before we hit the store.”

  “Okay.”

  He kept things there for her, but the bulk of her clothes, and shoes, and favorite toys were at Del’s apartment only fifteen minutes away. So it wasn’t like it was inconvenient.

  He just hoped it was all resolved before Saturday. He didn’t mind asking Ella to babysit here and there—she and her husband loved Winter, and their grandchildren all lived out of state—but if Winter had been exposed to something, he wouldn’t do that to anyone.

  But PopPop’s Pumpkin came first in his life, followed by Del. That’s the way it’d always been.

  That’s the way it always would be, too.

  * * * *

  “You’re creaky, PopPop.” Winter poked at the arm of his leather jacket.

  He smiled. “Well, we can’t ride the bike tonight, so PopPop’s going to at least wear his jacket.” There was also a cute younger guy who was usually at the Wednesday night bike show, a guy who’d been chatting him up lately. It’d be silly to show up in leathers, but he could wear the jacket.

  Day three of Camp PopPop, and he was having a blast. Barring Del showing up with any symptoms by tomorrow night, she was going to pick Winter up and take her home.

  Tonight, they were going to the bike show, and have dinner with some of Deacon’s friends from the riding club.

  “How do I look?” Winter shook her head, where the pigtails he’d carefully brushed out and made for her bounced around.

  “You look gorgeous, Pumpkin. PopPop might have to punch guys in the snoot if they look at you too hard.”

  She giggled.

  After packing an emergency bag—he’d long ago learned his lesson to always have at least a spare change of clothes for her when going out—he scooped her up and strapped her into her car seat. Twenty minutes later, he was carrying her around the parking lot of the restaurant and meeting up with his friends, who all adored Winter.

  It was nice having a bunch of people close to his own age as friends, he supposed.

  And the younger guy was there, too.

  Except…

  As Deacon approached with Winter in his arms, he didn’t miss the guy scowled a little.

  “Hey. How you doing tonight?” Deacon asked.

  The guy glanced at Winter, then back at him. “I’m fine. Babysitting?”

  “She’s my granddaughter. She’s staying with me a couple of days. Her mom works at a nursing home, and they had a bug going around. We didn’t want her to risk picking it up.”

  “Oh. Yeah, kids aren’t really my thing, but that’s cool, I guess.”

  Annnnd, like that, Deacon felt a door slam shut inside him.

  Love me, love my Pumpkin.

  He spotted two of his friends from the club and waved at them, where they’d just arrived. “Gotta go chat with someone. Catch you later.”

  “Yeah, later.”

  The guy and his wife, who’d ridden their Harley to the event, cooed and gushed over Winter. “Hey, can you watch her for me for just a minute?” Deacon asked. “I’m going to toss my jacket in the car.”

  “Sure,” the wife said, holding her arms out for Winter. They’d met her several times before and had even offered to babysit for him, if he needed them to.

  Another benefit of living in a retiree-rich area, he supposed.

  As Deacon walked over to his car, he slipped the jacket off. Well, guess that kills that fantasy.

  In his best-case fantasy, he’d meet a hot younger guy he could have an intelligent conversation with, who Del wouldn’t hate, and who’d love Winter nearly as much as he did.

  It looked like if he wanted to hit three out of four, he’d need to find someone closer to his own age who wouldn’t resent his granddaughter, and who Del wouldn’t immediately want to kill for dating her father.

  The one time he’d introduced her to a younger guy he was dating, about two years ago, it hadn’t gone well.

  Not because she objected to Deacon being gay. That wasn’t the problem at all. She hadn’t had problems with any man Deacon dated who was older, closer to his own age.

  But any guy who was more than, oh, ten years younger than him, she was going to see him as a threat to him, someone just after him for his money—which was exactly what she’d told Deacon later.

  At least Del had inherited his to-the-point bluntness. They had that going for them. No passive-aggressive dancing around the point between them.

  By the time they returned home that night, with Winter in a cheeseburger coma, he’d nearly forgotten about the minor exchange with nameless hot guy.

  Until he was lying alone in bed.

  Maybe it would be better to miss out on Saturday. It’d suck to really connect with a guy he wanted to date, just to have to play referee between him and Del, until the guy finally said fuck this shit and rightfully boogied the fuck on out of there.

  I’m lonely.

  There had been something so…sweet about curling up with the guy last week and having another warm body pressed against his. Even knowing the guy wasn’t relationship material, just those few hours of being able to be himself had felt so damn good.

  If only he could find a guy he wasn’t afraid to introduce to his hellion of a daughter.

  Chapter Four

  Ryland must have lived right the next week, because early that Saturday evening, he was on his way to the address in Venice for the party.

  Thank you, Universe.

  He’d told work he would be unavailable until Monday, but for obvious reasons didn’t say why. Normally, if there was some sort of emergency—by his employees’ standards or his own—they could call or text him for immediate guidance.

  It wasn’t often he went off-the-grid, so to speak.

  Hopefully they won’t burn the damn place down before Monday.

  When he pulled up to the gate, he nervously punched in the four-digit code he’d been given and then breathed a sigh of relief as it swung open for him.

  Holy. Shit.

  He’d dressed in a casual button-up shirt and jeans, because he’d been assured that casual was fine, and naked would be the normal later, anyway.

  He was actually looking forward to that part. He wasn’t being narcissistic to hope that someone seeing his body might snag him company for the night without scaring them off by telling them what he did for a living.

  Obviously, he could post naked or nearly naked pics on his dating profile accounts, except he didn’t want to. His family knew he was gay, but relations were strained enough with them as it was without one of them sniffing around and coming up with pics like that.

  At least his parents had moved up to Tampa, and his younger sister and her husband now lived in Orlando. That was a comfortable enough distance to make them all satisfied with the status quo. He could text with them, or chat on the phone, but neither he nor they
expected drop-in visits without a lot of warning first. Add to the fact that sometimes his work schedule was irregular, and it was perfect.

  They no longer bugged him about being “sure” if he was gay or not, and he didn’t bring anyone to holiday dinners.

  Then again, he didn’t have anyone to bring to holiday dinners. Once he reached that point, he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

  The scattered aunts and uncles and cousins really weren’t close enough to him relationship-wise to be anything other than annoyingly nosy from time-to-time.

  So he tended to ignore them. He didn’t give a shit what anyone saw him do on Facebook, so they could feel free to stalk him all they wanted on there.

  There wasn’t any dirt to dish from that pile.

  When he drove up, he spotted a couple of cars already parked in front of the house. And when he walked up to the front door, it was already opening, and Tim stood there, smiling.

  “You made it.” Tim shook with him.

  “Yeah, sorry again about last week. We had people out sick, and were short-handed, and it’s our busiest night of the week.”

  “No worries, we understand. Come on in and we’ll introduce you around.” He led him inside, where Ryland nervously followed him deeper into the house.

  These guys obviously had money, just from the size of the property and looking at the house. But Tim and Paul had specifically told him when talking to him about the party that income didn’t matter, to them. They had guys from all walks of life, age groups, and income status. They were more interested in nice guys who liked to have a good time, and who weren’t dicks.

  And he finally got to meet Kent, who was Tim and Paul’s third.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Kent said, draping an arm around his shoulders and leading him outside, presumably to show him the pool.

  But then he softly spoke. “The guy we want to introduce you to will be here soon. Just like I’ve told him, there’s no pressure. If you don’t feel it, no worries, and you’re free to do whatever. I kind of want to give you two first crack at each other, heh, right?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Great!”

  They returned to the house, where he was introduced to the other guys. Apparently they’d been to previous parties and knew the rules, so Kent went through them with Ryland.

  Then they heard a chime.

  “Ah, that’s probably him,” Kent said. He left to go meet him at the door.

  A moment later, they heard a motorcycle.

  “Oh, that’s definitely him,” Tim said, smiling. He leaned in. “You like older guys, right?”

  “Yeah. I definitely have a type.”

  “This guy is hot,” Paul said. “If I wasn’t taken, I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

  When Kent returned with the guy, Ryland’s mouth went dry. Tim and Paul hadn’t been lying—the guy was hot. Shaved head, grey beard and mustache, and intense brown eyes that seemed to bore right through him as Kent led him over. He was dressed in bike leathers and carried a duffel bag in one hand.

  Do me, Daddy!

  Apparently, not only had he lived right that week, he’d lived very right.

  Thank you, Universe!

  * * * *

  By the time Saturday evening arrived, Deacon was relieved Winter was not only healthy, but Del didn’t have to work that night, meaning he was free to not just go out, but to spend the night, something Kent had already offered again.

  He was looking forward to meeting the guy Kent had lined up for him. According to Tim and Paul, Kent had a spookily good success rating when matching guys up for more than just a hot night.

  He packed a bag with a few implements and stuff he’d need for overnight, including his medication and blood sugar meter, bungeed the bag to the bitch seat, donned his helmet, and headed to Kent’s.

  During the ride, he did his best not to get his hopes up. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t get his rocks off one way or another tonight, even if he didn’t hit it off with the guy. There would be plenty of willing asses and mouths he’d no doubt find attractive enough to help him out.

  That was kind of the point of Kent’s parties.

  Still, he was hopeful, since slut had been a lucky meet-up last week.

  Tonight’s party would be smaller, about half the size of last week, still meaning about twenty or so guys. Those were pretty damn good odds.

  Kent met him at the door when he walked up after leaving his helmet on his seat. It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight, and if it wasn’t safe in Kent’s yard, then it damn sure wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

  Kent was already grinning when Deacon walked up. “He’s heeeere. And he’s fucking adorable.”

  “You talking about me, or the guy?” He grinned.

  Kent laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Asshole. Come on, let me introduce you. The other guys are eyeing him like fresh meat. Which, of course, he is.”

  Kent led the way, and—oh, fuck!

  Deacon’s eyes widened as he got a look at the guy. Maybe an inch taller than his own five-eleven, he was exactly as Kent had described him, and hotter than fuck.

  “Gentlemen,” Kent said. “Ryland, this is Deacon. Deacon, Ryland.” Kent dropped his voice. “The playroom and spare bedroom are yours, and if you feel so inclined, you’re welcomed to spend the night. No pressure or obligation implied, either.” Kent patted them both on the shoulder. “Enjoy.” The three of them left them alone, Paul going to answer the door while Kent and Tim joined the other guests.

  Ryland smiled and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry I had to miss last week.”

  Deacon shook with him, glad he had a firm but not assholish grip. “No problem. Work is work, man. Let me go set my stuff down, and we can talk.”

  “Sure.”

  Deacon’s cock was throbbing, and after he set his things in the spare bedroom, he had to reach down and adjust himself in his jeans. He left his leathers on, but unzipped his jacket and grabbed a cigar from his bag.

  He walked back out to the living room and tipped his head toward the lanai. He didn’t want to get naked with the guy yet, because zero talking would happen from that point on if he did.

  He settled in a chair in the cigar section, clipped the ends, and lit it. “How much experience you have?”

  “Not much with BDSM, but I want to.”

  “Any idea what you like?”

  “I’d like to try spanking and bondage, for sure.” Deacon watched Ryland watching him smoke, the way he held his cigar, the way he blew smoke rings.

  He never smoked around Winter—ever—and not around Del, either. Mostly because Del would chew him a new asshole. But he’d never been a huge smoker, and usually never had more than a couple of cigars a month, if that. It wasn’t like he had a pack-a-day habit. He hated cigarettes, and the cigars were more tied into the fetish aspect of his life, anyway.

  Not like he could explain that to Del, either.

  He leaned back in his chair and spread his legs as he took another puff on the cigar. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Does it bother you I’m fifty-eight?”

  Ryland’s eyes widened. “No way!”

  He smiled. “Don’t bullshit me, kid.”

  “No, seriously. I figured you were maybe fifty-one, fifty-two. You don’t have the lines around your eyes. Yeah, I mean, the grey throws some people, but some guys go grey early.”

  Deacon nodded appreciatively. “Nice, kid. I like that. Didn’t answer my question, though.”

  “Doesn’t bother me.”

  Deacon nodded again, slowly dropping into Dom mode. “Here’s my thing—Daddy plays rough. And I’m a Top, not a bottom. I also play wrapped for fucking. Any problems so far?”

  “Define rough?”

  “If you want to play with me, I’m going to beat your ass, pretty hard, probably, before I fuck you and make your eyes roll back in your head.”

  Ryland shivered, and it wasn’t ex
actly cold out. “Okay.”

  “Proper answer would be, ‘Yes, Sir,’ or ‘Yes, Daddy.’ I’ll accept either one.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  Fuck.

  His cock throbbed, screaming for a piece of the guy now. He changed hands with his cigar and made no secret about reaching down to adjust his cock. “You can safeword, obviously. Scared yet?”

  Ryland nervously smiled. “Not yet, Daddy.”

  Deacon sucked in a breath. “Oooh, you keep saying that, I’m going to have you bent over the edge of the hot tub in a minute. Unbutton your shirt for me.”

  Ryland did, without hesitation, and Deacon hoped he didn’t let out a moan when he saw the guy’s six-pack appear.

  Jesus wept.

  “Okay, yeah, you can go ahead take that all the way off,” Deacon said, cupping his bulge through his jeans. “Fuck, boy. You are hot.”

  * * * *

  Ryland hoped his hands weren’t shaking too badly as he pulled his shirt off. Everything about this guy was like something out of a fantasy, and it’d been too damn long since he’d last been laid, anyway.

  At least he could take care of that issue tonight.

  Deacon squeezed his cock through his jeans with one hand and motioned with the cigar with the other. “Turn around for me, baby.”

  He did, earning a low, appreciative whistle by the time he finished. “How come you’re single?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Duh.” Deacon took another puff off the cigar.

  “I work. A lot. I don’t get out much to date, and online, when I tell guys what I do for a living, it turns them off because they’re shallow.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m the manager of a fast-food restaurant. Been there fifteen years now.”

  “And?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s all that turns them off? Seriously?”

  Ryland nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I make a little money on the side blogging about food stuff, but I don’t talk to guys about that. I keep that quiet. That’s why I had to miss last week, though. We had people out sick, and I’m the restaurant manager.”