my plate away.
Maximo had already finished his dinner, including the green beans. He pointed to the untouched pile on my plate. “Eat.”
“I’m saving room for dessert.”
“You can’t just have mac and cheese for dinner.”
“I also had a salad.”
“You had blueberries and feta.”
I shrugged. “Still healthy.”
His jaw clenched as he rubbed a tattooed hand across it, but he didn’t say anything.
A few minutes of charged silence ticked by before Freddy came out to clear away the plates.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I told him.
His chest puffed at the compliment. “Just wait, chéri,” he said with a wink.
“Freddy,” Maximo bit out.
But he didn’t look fazed. “Be back.”
When Freddy left with our plates, I shifted in my seat so I was facing Maximo. “Do you always say people’s names like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re warning them.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Usually I am.”
“I think I’ll start saying your name like that.”
“That I’d like to hear.”
I didn’t get the chance to try before Freddy came in with clean plates, forks, and a big knife. He left again before returning with a cake loaded with so many sprinkles, I couldn’t see the frosting under them. He placed the cake tower in front of me and lit the tall pink candles. “Make a wish.”
I didn’t bother to make a wish, but I did blow them out so we could hurry to the good stuff.
Freddy sliced into the beauty, putting a hefty wedge on my plate. Like the outside, the inside was filled with so many sprinkles, there was hardly any white.
“You made me funfetti cake.” I grinned up at him. “I thought it was an insult to cakes.”
“It is. But I made this one from scratch, so it’s not as bad. I guess.”
I grabbed my fork and took a huge bite before noticing Freddy had left and Maximo wasn’t having any. Swallowing, I asked, “You don’t like cake?”
“No.”
“That’s crazy. Who doesn’t like cake?”
He smirked. “I don’t care for most desserts.”
He doesn’t snack. He doesn’t like most sweets. He eats his green beans.
Weirdo.
Freddy came back to drop off a cup of black coffee to Maximo.
“May I have one?” I asked Freddy, but it was Maximo who answered.
“It’s too late for you to have caffeine.”
I thought Freddy would maybe shrug or roll his eyes, but he didn’t look surprised by Maximo’s denial.
“It’s not that late,” I argued as Freddy left.
“It is.”
“Then why’re you having it?”
He took a drink, as if to rub it in my face. “Because I can.”
I glared.
“It’s after seven.” He gave me a pointed look. “What would happen if you drank coffee this late?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Juliet.”
“Maximo,” I shot back with the same dramatic warning.
He didn’t seem amused as he stared me down.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” I grudgingly admitted.
Maximo smirked, his stupid, handsome face looking even more handsome. “Exactly.”
“Is this part of your whole… thing?” I asked impulsively before wishing I could rewind and eat my words.
“Yes,” he said simply.
And even though I regretted awkwardly bringing it up, I found myself disappointed he didn’t expand.
I picked at the amazing cake that beat the pants off any box mix, but my mind was on what I’d read online.
Questions bounced through my head and swirled across my tongue until I couldn’t hold them in. “So, your thing…” At his quirked brow, I amended, “The Daddy thing.”
“What about it?”
“Is that just an endearment you like to be called?”
He gave me the look. “No.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t that time, either.
There was a glint of anticipation and enjoyment in his dark eyes, and I got the feeling he enjoyed forcing me to voice my questions.
Since I was far too curious to back down, that was exactly what I did. “Is it, like, a sugar daddy arrangement?”
“I don’t need to pay for a date.”
That means it’s the actual kink, but how extreme does he take it?
I moved on to my make-or-break questions. “Are you into age play?”
He froze with his cup at his mouth. “What do you know about age play, little dove?”
“I did some research,” I admitted.
His eyes flared, but he shook his head. “No, I don’t do age play. I know people who do, but it’s not for me.”
“What about, like, humiliation stuff?”
“Not my personal preference but I’m flexible. Is that something you’d like?”
I rapidly shook my head. “I can’t even watch awkwardness on TV. I get secondhand embarrassment.”
“Noted.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that.
“But you do like to tell your partner what to do?” I asked.
He studied me carefully. “Yes.”
I thought about what I’d read, both online