Daddy Ink

by Ali Lyda

  Thankfully, the food Gordo had prepared was amazing: a seared pork chop with a shallot and apple gravy smothering it. Green beans with butter and garlic were on the side, cooked to crisp and juicy perfection.

  “Tell me more about the relay race,” Gordo said as we ate, after a few moments of not-quite-awkward silence.

  “It’s the b-best fundraiser the center has. We run it once a year, and this year we’re hoping to earn enough to g-get additional resources. Plus, I like t-to run.”

  “I’ll be there, too, though I don’t know if I’ll be running yet. Mostly I’m trying to get an idea of all the center does and means to people.”

  Something in my chest stirred. “It means a lot t-to the kids who c-come each day. S-sometimes it means food if they don’t have enough. Or a friend when there aren’t any at s-school. It is a place that’s s...s-safe, and kids need one place they c-can let their guard down.”

  His eyebrow arched as he looked at me. “You sound like you have a lot of experience. Is it just from volunteering?”

  “Not just,” I said, but looked away. “But the center is running on a s-shoestring budget. It’s hard t-to get visibility. S-so the race is one part of it.”

  “Well, now I get why Mike is so intense about the rebranding.” Gordo sighed. “This is a big project for me. I’m hoping I can get good word of mouth and networking from it.”

  “B-but don’t you have a job already?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’d been at a firm for years. But those hours could be crazy, and I didn’t want a nanny to raise Giuliana. I’m her dad, and it’s important that I’m there for her, no matter what she needs. So if I can get some clients from working with the center, I can keep building my own business. It’ll be a lot of work, but work that I can do from home, with the flexibility I need to take care of her.”

  When he spoke of it, Gordo’s voice took on a dreamy lilt, but I felt like I had snakes in my guts listening to him. What would it have been like to grow up with a parent like him? How different would I be if my dad hadn’t overdosed and my mom hadn’t run away from the responsibility of me after?

  “That’s awesome,” I said, mentally kicking myself for such a banal reply.

  “What about you?” He pointed his fork at me. “Mike said you volunteered at the center and… was it that you’re an artist?”

  I blushed. “T...t-tattooist. I work at Get Ink’d downtown. I’ve been d-doing it since I was a little older than t-twenty.”

  “I love looking at tattoo art,” Gordo said with complete sincerity. “A lot of the patterns we’re naturally geared to recognize. It was some of the first ways we had storytelling as a species.”

  I could have swooned. It was rare to hear someone who wasn’t in the scene speak with such love about the art—or really, who treated it like art in the first place.

  He went further by saying, “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

  While I knew he meant my portfolio, I couldn’t help but think about the ink all over my body—and for a second, I heard him asking to see it. All of it. Heat pooled in my belly, and I refocused all my attention on eating.

  “I’d love t-to show you. And t-t-to see what you’re thinking about for the center.”

  Talking was coming easier with Gordo. Too easy, really, especially after our disastrous start. I didn’t get close to people quickly. In fact, the crew at Get Ink’d were the only people I’d ever really let in. But Gordo was sexy and smart. He was naturally empathetic, leaning into the conversation with insight that spooked me as much as encouraged me to open up.

  He was my neighbor and way too good for me, and I knew that Gordo would never be truly interested in someone like me, not long-term.

  But maybe, I thought as we talked and ate, we could at least be friends.

  9

  Gordo

  It was nice for once not to have to rush to take care of Giuliana after dinner. Javi had offered to clean up, which impressed me, but I asked him to take Giuliana to the living room and give her a final bottle before bedtime, instead. It felt huge to ask him to do something so intimate with her, but he’d beamed like I’d given him winning lottery tickets. And I needed a moment to myself.

  In the kitchen, I scrubbed the dishes in tight circles, letting the warm, sudsy water prune my fingers. It was repetitive and it was comfortable. And most important, it allowed me a moment to process everything that had happened since I got home.

  God, I’d thought I was drowning earlier. Sometimes everything with Giuliana happened all at once, and it was like my brain just stopped working. If Javi hadn’t helped, I’m sure I would have managed—but it had been so much simpler with the help.

  Dinner, too, had been nice. Unexpected. It had been a long time since I’d had an adult conversation that wasn’t with Mason asking about Giuliana or a work colleague pestering me about a project that I’d been working on remotely. It had been good food and good conversation with an unbelievably good-looking man. I felt relaxed in a way I hadn’t in a long time.

  And grateful to Javi.

  I dried my hands on the towel to go relieve him of baby duty and walked into the living room to see Giuliana fast asleep on Javi’s chest. Maybe I should have been jealous—after all, she’d only really been held by close family and myself—but instead of the green hue of envy, it just made me feel… right. Javi had offered help, but he’d done more than tick some boxes off a to-do list.

  He’d brought peace to my home.

  “I’ll show you where she sleeps,” I said.

  I listened to Javi’s footsteps as I led him upstairs to Giuliana’s room. I expected him to hand her over as soon as we were across the threshold, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved in the low light of her nightlight to the crib, grabbing a blanket on his way.

  Before I could protest and tell him no blankets in the crib, he began not to tuck her in, but to swaddle her. My body tensed, waiting for her to wake and shriek at being confined. Instead, she seemed to drop deeper into sleep, her eyelids twitching with whatever dreams she was seeing.

  “I’ve never been able to do the swaddle,” I admitted as we left her to go back downstairs. “She squirmed too much and always busted free.”

  Javi’s chuckle was warm and not mocking. “It took me a bazillion tries to get the swaddle right. I had a lot of practice. But it always seemed to make the sleep last longer.”

  My heart skipped a beat at this possibility. A stretch of sleep that lasted more than two or three hours? “She won’t get too hot?”

  We moved into my living room, where I tried to ignore the toys and various baby supplies scattered all over. I was doing the best I could on my own, and I needed to believe Javi understood that. Even if tonight only proved how much I was getting wrong—how badly I needed the help.

  My couch provided a welcome respite. I sank onto it, only to startle at the feel of the cushions dipping with Javi’s weight.

  “They d-don’t get t-too hot,” he said, “when you use a light b-blanket like that one. B-being wrapped reminds them of b-b-being in the womb.”

  Javi’s cheeks flushed pink, and I hoped he wouldn’t clam up. He tended to keep his answers concise after stuttering, limiting his responses to as few words as possible. For a moment I wished I could tell him that it didn’t bother me—that I didn’t want him to feel nervous, or embarrassed.

  But not only was I pretty sure that calling attention to his stutter would make it worse, or might even make him leave again, I was also dealing with why I didn’t want him to feel nervous—why I wanted him to stay.

  “Do you have kids of your own?” I asked, trying to distract myself from Javi’s beauty and how much I wanted to touch him.

  “No kids,” he replied.

  “Then how are you so fucking good at this?” I knew a tinge of frustration was audible in my voice, but I couldn’t help it—Javi was such a natural while I felt like I was bungling things up daily.

  “I was in foster c-care,” he said slowly. “From
when I was a k-kid. There were a lot of families I lived with that had b-b-babies. I think most of the t-time I was b-brought in as a b-babysitter instead of a k-kid who needed c-care. I d-didn’t like that, b...b-b-but taking c-care of the b-babies was my favorite thing.”

  It was grueling to listen to him—not because of how his story seemed to trip up his tongue more and more, but because of the flat way he told me. As if the way he was treated was okay. He was sitting on the couch, stiff and unable to relax, and I wanted to wrap him up in my arms, assure him that he was cared for, that he was wanted. But I knew that was crazy.

  And if my heart was softening toward Javi, my cock was doing exactly the opposite. While I didn’t study much fine art when getting my graphic art degree, I had an appreciation for lines—and Javi was all lines, from the cut of his collarbones to the sharp jut of his hips, accentuated by low-slung jeans and a worn-thin t-shirt.

  His body was lean and strong, made fierce and proud by the ink that covered almost every inch of exposed skin. I wondered what he had on his stomach. What design was decorating the tanned skin of his back. My heart started racing.

  “G-G-Giuliana is l-lucky to have a d-dad l-like you.” He winced, and again I wanted to shake him and tell him I didn’t care about the stutter.

  “I feel lucky to have her. And lucky you came home when you did. I was losing my mind. I didn’t expect you to be home for another few hours. You usually get home around eleven or twelve,” I said, then realized how much I sounded like a stalker. His eyebrow arched and I laughed, thin and unconvincing. “I’m usually feeding or rocking Giuliana around then, and the rocker is by the window that faces your house.”

  It was true, but my cheeks burned, because there was more to it, and I was pretty sure we both knew that. Because I also enjoyed seeing Javi get home, somehow feeling better knowing that he was close by, even when we barely knew each other.

  I’m in so much trouble, I thought, and it was the goddamn truth.

  Javi’s shoulders pulled even tighter than they’d been. His foot tapped in rapid, staccato beats against the floor, and he looked everywhere but me. Something wasn’t quite right, and it seemed like it was more than him just being embarrassed about his stutter, or uncomfortable about my obvious attraction to him.

  “Hey, did something happen? Is that why you got home early?” I asked, suddenly worried that he had been fired or worse, and I felt like an ass for not having realized earlier, just commandeering his time with my own mess.

  When my words sunk in, it wasn’t just his face that fell—it was as if his whole body sank in on itself, and a tremble started in his hands that seemed to spread like wildfire to the rest of him. My heart lurched, and I almost wished I hadn’t said anything.

  “I had a b-b-b-bad encounter with a c-client,” he said, so soft and tight that I had to lean in to hear him. “The b-b-b-bastard—”

  Javi got so frustrated with himself he punched the couch, a swift jab that I could feel the power of through the cushions. Then he was signing as he spoke, and I realized that his stutter must be why he was so fluent in ASL. “He t-t-tried to f-f-f-fuck m-me. In the b-b-bathroom at work.”

  I didn’t doubt that Javi had been able to protect himself, but something inside of me raged that he’d had to protect himself. And at work, no less. That someone had thought they could take from him without his permission, this man who’d already been through so much. I’d only heard a fraction of his story tonight, I was sure, but it was enough to know he’d had it rough growing up and didn’t need more bad memories added to that.

  “Are you okay? Did you know him? What happened to him?” Javi shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake off the encounter, so I quickly added, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  He inhaled deeply and held it. When he released the breath, he squared his shoulders. “It’s okay. I d-didn’t know him. B...b-but he grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go, s-s-so I punched him. Reagan k-kicked him out and let me g-go home.”

  Oh, God, how I wanted to sweep in and make everything okay for him somehow—but I couldn’t. We weren’t...well, we didn’t have that kind of friendship, at least not yet. I had no idea how I could make any of this better for him.

  And after all that had happened to him, he’d come to my rescue tonight. That kind of generosity was rare, and I snuck another glance at him. His brows were pressed tight and he was chewing on his lip, looking truly vulnerable for the first time. He was so, so beautiful. Without thinking, I reached over and grabbed his hand to reassure him.

  When I did, there was a spark so visceral, I felt rocked to my core. A flash of his hands on my hips when I’d been a drunk idiot came back to me. Something happened when we touched, something magical and primal, and it scared the hell out of me.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought, even as I held onto his hand. As I caressed the sensitive skin along the top of his thumb to the delicate inner side of his reach, his pulse danced to life under my fingertips.

  Our gazes met and heat sparked in his eyes. Or maybe I just hoped it did. It was like being trapped in a magnetic field, where I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to. And I definitely didn’t want to. His story had created a rawness in the air, a vulnerability and openness that was oh, so tempting to lean into.

  Don’t do it, Gordo, my brain yelled as my heart yearned for the gentle, fractured man next to me. Intensity built, creating a static charge that had the potential to change everything.

  It was too much.

  Javi pulled his hand from mine, practically jumping up from the couch. The absence of his touch felt way worse than it should have.

  He turned to me without actually looking at me. “I should g-get some sleep. Thanks for d-d-dinner.”

  I watched, feeling stunned and rejected and confused as he hurried away from me yet again. When the front door shut, I felt even more alone than I had before Javi had swooped in to rescue me from my grocery bags earlier. My body buzzed with the shock of it.

  What had I been doing? Had I come on too strong? Obviously, he’d been shaken up—I mean, who wouldn’t be? Fuck, I shouldn’t have touched his hand at all. But he’d seemed just as caught in the moment as I was, and...shit. Shit.

  Oh, I could have blamed my insensitivity on sleeplessness and stress. After all, what better way to a stressed father’s heart than by helping with the baby? It wouldn’t be lying to say that I was exhausted and overwhelmed and not thinking.

  But the truth was much simpler, if harder to swallow: I was just undeniably attracted to Javi, and there was no more pretending otherwise.

  I am really fucking this whole thing up. Whether my brain meant my friendship with Javi or my entire life, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter—both were true.

  Cold shower? Check. Ugly boxers and old, ratty t-shirt? Yep, I had those, too. It was over an hour since Javi left, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t remove the sex-tinged heat of the look that Javi and I’d shared from my limbs. I played that moment over and over again in my mind, each loop bringing us closer and closer to a kiss. To touching with intention, with passion.

  Touching like more than neighbors, more than coworkers, more than friends.

  Falling into bed, I scrubbed at my face. That look had been the kind of potential-ridden moment that could lead to adult activities that I missed. I desperately missed them.

  My hand was in my boxers before I could think better of it. And really… what was the harm? Giuliana was still asleep thanks to Javi’s swaddle, and maybe if I indulged, I could get Javi out of my system. My cock had been semi-hard since those intense moments right before Javi fled, his hand in mine.

  It only took a few strokes of my hand to bring my cock fully erect. Shutting my eyes, I pictured what it would be like to finally, finally kiss Javi. His lips were so full—were they as soft as they looked? What would he do if I bit them? If I kissed him until they were swollen?

  Blood surged through my cock, and I wa
s fucking hard. Sliding my thumb along the slit of the head, I spread the precum around the sensitive skin, working it up and down until my hand began to glide up and down the shaft.

  Javi’s hands were so beautiful. Sleek and strong. I even loved the knuckle tattoos, how every inch of him was art. I wondered what it would feel like to have those hands on my body, pinching my nipples or cupping my balls.

  My groin tightened as heat began to build. My hand moved faster.

  I’d love to see Javi naked. I wondered how much of him was tattooed. His lower abdomen? His ass? If there were tattoos on that gorgeous, taut ass, I’d trace them with my tongue. I’d lick and bite the plump skin there before spreading his cheeks to lick his hole.

  My orgasm took me by surprise, hitting me as hard and fast as a gust of wind in a storm. My hips rocked up as I came, spunk coating my abs and the bits of my t-shirt that I hadn’t moved far enough up my chest. I kept stroking, drawing it out, and then lingered even longer, stroking the too-sensitive skin.

  Fuck, when was the last time I’d come like that?

  When I got up to retrieve a towel to clean up with, it wasn’t just my knees that felt weak and shaky. All of me did. That hadn’t just been a simple fantasy—it had felt… real. I hadn’t just wanted to fuck Javi. No, in my fantasy, we’d had the same kind of connection that we’d shared earlier.

  “What am I doing?” I asked myself, throwing the towel and shirt in the laundry basket. My balls ached and my cock was still hard. Like I was twenty and in love, not just an old dad lusting after his hot neighbor.

  As I crawled back into bed, I looked at the empty side.

  Javi had proven himself a good friend tonight. He’d helped me when I’d needed it. Knowing that he’d been shaken up at work so badly and still managed to handle Giuliana like she was a treasure was beyond endearing and admirable, and I knew Javi couldn’t begin to imagine how much I appreciated it.