Reece
I can’t stop thinking about the texts. Equal parts creepy as shit and hot as hell, they flutter through my mind. The last one stands out the most.
Daddy is always here.
No one has ever been there for me. Not really. What would it be like to have a daddy, to have a man by my side, caring for me? I try to picture it, what it would look like. I try to imagine it, what it would feel like.
I can’t even conjure up a flicker of what it would be like. And I’m a pretty creative person. My students think my best skill is the silly stories I make up at the spur of the moment. But this fairytale? I’m just not the princess who gets the happy ending. I’ve come to accept that fact.
The days go by in a blur.
I don’t receive any more messages from him.
I can’t admit to myself that I’m disappointed he hasn’t reached out again.
I teach private full-day preschool, a great income as I finish up my child development degree online at my own pace, which in the current climate of my life, is snail. My kids keep me busy with messy crafts and boo-boos and runny noses, but I find myself staring out the window.
My eyes drift towards the direction of The West. I know that’s where he lives. I know he saw me crying. The thought of him watching me both sickens me and thrills me.
The kids have left for the day. All but little Ashby. Her father is a big shot on Wall Street. He’s perpetually late but insists on being the one who picks her up, not the nanny. I respect that so I give him a free pass.
“Ashby, your daddy’s a little late today.” My face heats as I speak. God, I can’t say the word daddy without blushing… I crouch down so I’m at eye level with her little heart-shaped face. “Want to help me tidy up? I could use a helper.”
She gives a little shrug, her big round eyes locked on the doorway. “Okay, I guess.”
“Thanks. Let’s go over to the sink and clean these brushes.” She follows me reluctantly to the kitchen area of the room. Together, we run the paint-filled brushes under the water. The reds and blues mix, washing down the sink in a royal purple. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
She nods, watching the paint swirl down the drain. “Red and blue make burple.”
I don’t correct her. It’s too cute. There’s a knock on the doorframe.
“Sorry I’m late!” Trevor, Ashby’s father comes into the room, rushing as always. His blue eyes lock on mine as he straightens his tie. He gets down on one knee, clapping his hands, a smile beaming across his face. “There’s my little pumpkin. Come give daddy a hug.”
Daddy is always here….
Shame fills me and I have to look away as Ashby goes flying into her father’s arms. He laughs, almost tumbling backward as he stands, holding her. He crosses the room to me. “Look, Reece—”
“That’s Miss Weece to you, Daddy,” Ashby laughs.
He gives a dramatic sigh. “My apologies. Miss Reece…here. Please. Take this.” He slips his hand in his pocket just like he does every Friday, pulling out two crisp hundred-dollar bills.
I look down at the money. I could really use it. Still, I say what I say every week, my hair brushing my shoulders as I shake my head. “I can’t. It’s no problem. Really.”
“Look at it as babysitting money?” Light lines crinkle around those blue eyes of his. “I feel terrible I’m always late and I’m holding you up and you should take it.” His fingers brush mine as he holds out the money.
“We do this every week, you know,” I laugh.
He shakes his head with false sheepishness. “I know. I know. You refuse and I find some way to sneak it to you anyway.”
“Like the taco buffet that a mysterious donor provided for the teachers on Monday at lunch?” I say.
He smiles, his handsome face lighting up. “Guilty?”
I push his hand away. “Really. It’s okay.” My hand lingers on his for a moment too long.
He holds my gaze a beat longer than appropriate. What am I doing? Am I truly this desperate, this lonely? To play text tag with a stranger and now borderline hitting on a parent? I must be going crazy.
Daddy issues…
I pull my hand away, rushing over to the sink on the other side of the room. My voice comes out high and strained. “You guys have a good weekend. Okay? And I’ll see you Monday.”
“Alright. See you, Miss Reece.” His gaze lingers a little too long on my ass as they leave.
I turn off the tap. My hands press into the counter. I’ve got to get a grip. Tonight is Mattie’s party. I’ll go and have enough drinks to forget about Jake, forget about the dirty man who’s texting me, forget about hot preschool dad.
I’ll go and be young and free and dance and drink and I’ll have fun.
I can do that. Right? I’m capable?
I laugh at myself. Who am I fooling? Ever since I buried my dad I’ve felt lost. That’s probably why I hung onto Jack for so long in the first place. Just to not be alone.
Sad, isn’t it… I thought being with a man who treated me like I was nothing was better than being on my own. But I like being a part of a couple. I like saying us instead of me. It’s high time I found a good boyfriend. Someone normal. Someone with a steady, boring job like an accountant…
…or a man of Wall Street.
I stare out the window watching Trevor load Ashby into the car seat in the back of his silver Mercedes SUV. A car that says I’m up for a good time, but also with a high safety rating, I’m guessing, for transporting his little girl.
He tickles her tummy and she giggles. He closes the door, his eyes finding mine watching him through the window. Could he be my next good time? He smiles, raising a toned arm, his thick silver watch catching a stream of fading sunlight as he tosses me a wave.
Embarrassed to be caught, I wave back, turning away.
I don’t date dads.
But your daddy waits for you…
That little chill dances up the back of my neck like I’m being watched again. Heat flushes my skin, the warmth a faint memory from last night’s texts. I spin around, checking the classroom. I’m alone.
I’m always alone these days. Aren’t I? Tonight that’s going to change. I’m going to forgive Mattie. Apologize to my friends for not returning their calls.
And…
I’m going to dance with a man.
Yes. A stranger. A man I’ve never even seen before. One that dresses well, possibly drives a Mercedes, and smells like an expensive musk cologne I imagine Ashby’s dad might wear on a night out.
With my mind made up, I head home to prepare for my evening out.
Back at my apartment, I slip into a tight little shimmery black dress. The fabric is almost sheer where it stretches across my breasts, showing a glimpse of my strapless black bra. I wear the matching satin panties as well.
Why not? Who knows where this evening could go?
I find a bottle of flat Prosecco in the back of my empty fridge. There’s a block of cheese with a little mold on it. I scrape it off, slice the rest prettily, and put the jelly jar of wine on the tray.
I take my tray to the window ledge.
Staring out the cold glass, I nibble at the cheese and sip the wine. It’s turned, the taste is sour. Who needs food when you can watch the city that never sleeps? I stare at the sparkling lights, the steady stream of cars, the bustling people who always look like they’re running late for something, phones glued to their ears.
I sense the ding, I feel the sound of the notification ding before I even hear it. I’m Pavlov’s damn dog; I’m starting to get wet every time I hear the sound. My phone is right beside me, resting on the window sill by my bare thigh, my short dress having slipped up around my hips.
Excitement pulses through my hand as I reach for my cell.
It’s him. It has to be him. Unknown Number flashes at the top of the screen. My palms go damp as I hold the phone in my hands and read his texts.
Be a good girl tonight
Don’t talk to strangers
Daddy’s watching
Daddy’s…watching?
Is he watching me now?
Or will he be at O’Toole’s?
How does he even know I’m going out? Those baby-fine hairs stand up on the back of my neck again. I glance up at the penthouse suite of The West.
No shadow behind the curtains tonight.
I re-read the texts. Be a good girl…Daddy’s watching…phrases that should make me sick to my stomach—especially coming from a stranger, but all I feel is a flutter of nervous butterflies in my stomach and a hint of hope in my heart.
I’ve been lonely. So. Fucking. Lonely.
Is it so crazy to get messages like these and feel a pulse of warmth run through me? Maybe not.
What does his voice sound like? I imagine it sounds deep and stern, the kind that could give you a serious talking to that would make you press your thighs together.
I can picture his height, his build, wide shoulders that demand respect as he enters a room. I’m sure he smells like expensive, woodsy cologne, the kind older, wealthy men wear, like preschool dad. Maybe he has a six o’clock shadow, a hint of dark scruff along his jawline…
Do I respond?
Or do I end this madness, delete this number like a normal human being, and never tell anyone I let it get this far? Let it be my dirty little secret…my temporary lapse of judgment?
Or do I keep my secret?
And keep him…keep this…madness…going?
My fingers graze over the screen as I decide. My phone dings.
My heart drops when I see it's Mattie and not him.
Caaaaaaaaan’t wait to seeeeee you!!
Don’t be late
I wish I felt as excited as her texts sound, but the truth is I don’t want to go. I’m still confused by her betrayal. But, I’ve already committed. And made my decision to let loose tonight and find a man to dance with.
And I’m one to keep my word. Even if no one else around me does.
I’ve got to get going if I’m going to be able to teeter there in my heels by the time the party starts.
Leaving my phone on the sill, I hop down, going to my closet to dig around the discarded pile of dirty clothes for my black leather stilettos. I painted the bottoms red myself—homemade Lou Boutin’s—a little inside joke with myself. I will never be able to afford the real thing.
Three coats of mascara and a couple of swipes of knock-off dollar store lip-gloss in Fire Engine Red and I’m ready to go. There’s a smile at the corners of my lips like I’m holding back a secret. I look…seductive.
Daddy would approve.
Ugh. Did that thought really just cross my mind? Seriously, Reece? Get a grip. This is madness. What the hell is wrong with me?
Before I leave my apartment for the night, I find myself glancing up at The West. One last goodbye stare. No shadow in the window tonight.
A quick cab ride later, I’m standing alone outside of O’Tooles. The music is thumping at the door to the bar. I hand the bouncer my ID.
“Legal.” He flashes a gold-toothed grin at me. “Just barely,” he says, slipping the neon pink band around my wrist. His fingers linger too long, making my skin feel cold.
A people pleaser, I flash him a smile as I flinch, moving away from him as quickly as I can.
I go to text my friends but realize I’m forgotten my phone. Damn. That sucks. What if he texts…
As I breeze through the door that familiar eerie feeling crawls up my spine.
Am I being watched?