by Jaye Diamond
I tell myself that’s why I feel pulled in the direction of older guys, but the truth is my heart and body have been biased toward hot daddies since puberty hit.
Some people just think “attractive older man with money” when hot daddies come up, but their wealth, or looks alone, have never been what does it for me.
I’m drawn in by how they can make you feel safe from anything that would want to harm you, just by the way they carry themselves around you. How they know what they want and aren’t afraid to put it all out there. How they can be tough and charming, without overdoing either.
Dating one of them was out of the question when I was younger, but I hope saving myself for one pays off soon.
I wonder if he’ll let me call him daddy?
Chapter 3
Wes
Besides treats, there’s one other thing about Halloween that I appreciate immensely: There are no cases of mistaken identity when I go out in a mask. No one sees me and thinks I’m Jeremy Novack. No one needs to be told “I’m the other one.” I’m just a tall guy in a costume.
But it’s been a while since I enjoyed this part of the holiday. Even in high school, before I limited myself to one pig-out-session per year, I often chose eating snacks while watching a scary movie over going out. It’s not like people would have mixed me and Jeremy up back then though. He was fit and athletic. I was athletic and chunky.
His high school hockey career got him endless amounts of female attention and turned him into a local celebrity. Mine gave me goofy friends, who became close like brothers, and a few new teeth after the originals were broken out on the ice. I was never jealous of Jeremy, but I have to admit, it was hard having everyone assume I was—and that everything I strived to achieve was an attempt to match or surpass his accomplishments, or distinguish myself from them.
Tonight, however, I’m wearing a mask, and I won’t have to feel like I’m trying to compete with, or separate myself, from my brother’s public image when I’m pursuing Daisy.
I stalked my darling doll’s social media pages and found a post that told me where to find her tonight. She’ll be at the annual Halloween festival that’s thrown at our large dog park. It’s a roped-off event, and you have to wear a costume to get in.
I still play hockey, every winter with my buddies and their kids. So, instead of rushing to a costume shop—where everything good must be gone by now—I dug out a white goalie mask I’ve been practicing with for years. It used to be my father’s, and because of its old-school design, and how worn out it is, it looks like something out of a slasher film. I pair it with a tattered utility jacket I’ve been meaning to throw out, after putting on jeans, a black tee, and big black boots.
My heart goes wild, from the moment I step out of my house to the moment I step foot in the park. It tries to beat out of my chest like it wants to escape and offer itself up to the new center of my world.
Scanning the crowd of classic monsters, popular parodies, and sexy versions of not-particularly-sexy characters, I catch a glimpse of a white puffer jacket in the distance.
I'd know that coat anywhere. I have pictures of Daisy in it on my phone. I might’ve gotten a little carried away, taking several screenshots of her photos while looking through her posts, but it would've been harder to find her if I hadn't done my research. And I didn't want to reach out to her in a private message and say, “You seem like an amazing girl and you're a total knockout. Can we meet sometime?” I didn't want to come across like I was one of those guys who wants to trade nudes—and she must get several messages like that every week, so mine would’ve gotten lost in a sea of unsolicited dick pics anyway.
I take my time moving through the long lines where people are gathering to play games, working up the nerve to speak to Daisy.
I find her standing off on her own, looking flustered.
“Oh, thank goodness.” She lets out a sigh of relief and heads straight toward me. “You were able to make it.”
She talks like she knows me, and before I know what is happening, her arms are wrapped around me. It takes Herculean restraint to stop myself from hugging her back. I stand stiffly, hands in fists at my sides, only allowing myself to breathe her in. I smell on her the aroma of vanilla scented candles she wrote about buying for her room. That’s enough to drag me toward the edge of sanity, as my heart beats in my neck, my wrist, then—most strongly—in my pants.
“Ned and April are waiting to play a game,” she says, nuzzling her gorgeous face in my chest. “They’ll be so happy to see you.”
“Miss, there’s been some confusion,” I say, managing speech after a hard swallow. “I’m not who you think I am.”
Who does she think I am? I found no evidence of a boyfriend online, or anyone she had dated in the past. But what if she had plans to meet a man here? How will I get rid of the bastard without freaking her out?
“You’re not my dad,” she says with wide eyes as she pulls away from me, and it’s not a question. She realized the second she heard my voice that I’m not her father.
She’s sounds let down, and it’s hard to witness her feeling anything but joy, but it’s good to know she was waiting for a relative.
“No, I’m a friend of the ghost of gluttony,” I tell her. “He wanted me to tell you there’s a special place in hell for Honeychoc hoarders.”
“Damn,” she says under her breath. “I thought taking every bag from the vending machines might come back to haunt me.” We both snicker at our own cheesy jokes before she asks, “Who ratted me out?”
“Heather.”
“Well, while she was doing that, she should have warned you: you’ll have to enter a fight to the death with two children if you want any of those bags.”
“Eh, that doesn’t sound so bad,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I think I can take them.”
She snorts in an adorkable way that does things to my stomach. “Who are you?”
“I’ll let you guess.”
“Do we know each other?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Then how will I guess who you are?”
“I’m sure you know someone who knows who I am.” Since she grew up here, there’s a good chance she, at least vaguely, knows who my brother is. Which is exactly why I won’t give her my name yet. I don’t want her thinking about him while she’s getting to know me.
“I can see why you want to play mystery man tonight,” she says, looking me up and down. “You have to do something interesting to make up for that lazy costume.”
“Ouch.” I hold a hand to my gut like I’ve been wounded, but laugh. “I thought this one would never get old, but it does seem to be going out of style.” I haven’t run into one other person with the same costume. Most of the scarier ones are from recent movies or creepy memes. I saw three different people wearing white, faceless masks, and walking around on stilts. “Next time I won't wait until the last minute to choose a costume. I just put mine together an hour ago.”
“I could never wait that long! I love Halloween. I decided I was gonna be a doll months ago.” She takes off her coat to show me her costume, and I suck in a breath like I’m seeing it for the first time.
She was stunning in her doll dress, in photos, but a camera could never capture how tantalizing it looks on her, in person. She tied the look together with some makeup—but not enough to distract from her naturally lovely features—and a big white bow on her head. “That’s an incredible costume.” And you look incredible in it.
“Thanks,” she says, beaming with pride. “I made it myself. And those dinosaur ones, for the Honeychoc addicts.”
She looks past me and I turn, following her gaze to two little dinosaurs, one blue and one pink, who are bouncing with excitement as they move to the front of a line for a ring-toss game. Like Daisy’s dress, their outfits are a perfect fit and stand out because of their handcrafted design. Shiny spikes run down the back of the heads of their costumes, all the way down to the tips of their large tai
ls. She used the same material for their claws and teeth.
I don’t know as much about her as I’d like to yet, but she's clearly very talented. After scrolling through hundreds of her pictures, I didn’t come across one forgettable creation, and could tell she put her heart and soul into everything she made.
“Do you have a business card?” I ask, turning back to her. “I’d like to hire you to help me with some decor updates I’ve been meaning to do.” The common room in my bed and breakfast is beginning to look dated. “You seem to have an eye for that sort of thing, and the skills to go with it.”
Her face falls, her expression suddenly wary.
“You’re unbelievable,” she snaps. “Why do guys use job offers to worm their way into girls’ lives?”
She sounds so upset, I can tell she’s been through a lot of bad situations with a lot of men in the workplace.
“You’re right,” I say, forcing myself to maintain eye contact, although it’s difficult when the look of disappointment in her beautiful, hazel orbs is punching me in the heart. “I shouldn’t ask you if you want to work for me when I’m also planning to ask you out.”
It’s actually something I'm sure my brother would do. Why the hell am I using the tricks he uses on his playthings on my wife material? I love that Daisy’s too clever to fall for it, but I hate her getting the wrong idea.
“I just—I’m a bit rusty,” I add. “I haven’t asked anyone out in years. But I took one look at you and knew, if I didn’t figure out some way to see you again, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
She flushes, cheeks turning noticeably pink—even with the two big circles of blush that are drawn on them—and a smile tugs at her lips. Thank God.
“I’ll let it slide this time,” she says, “but you better be handsome under that mask.”
“You want me to be in your league?” I ask with mock offense. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible for any man.”
She shakes her head at the remark as her flush deepens. “You claim you never do this, but I have to say: that’s hard to believe.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep talking and prove it to you.”
She blesses my ears with a giggle as she puts her coat back on. “No, you’re doing the opposite, mysterious guy.”
“Let me put another nail in my coffin then, with a sore subject,” I say, incapable of moving on from the trouble she’s had at work, without attempting to correct the situation. “I really do believe you’re gifted, and I have a friend who’s an interior designer. He’s fairly well-known in creative circles.”
She sighs and says, “Let me guess, I have to give you my number so he can contact me?”
Shit. She thinks I’m trying to pull a Heather.
“I was thinking I could give you his information,” I clarify. “He’s always happy to help someone who wants to move up in that line of work. I don’t need anything but your name, so he’ll know he’s supposed to vouch for you, when someone calls and asks about your work ethic and expertise. He’s fine with making things up on the fly that will sound good to any client, based off whatever they’re looking for. I swear, he’ll be a killer reference for any job you want.”
“Oh God,” she says, “don’t do that.”
Uh-oh. “Do what?”
“Fuel my hope that there are generous, sweet gentlemen in this town. I’m already too much of a romantic for my own good.”
Holy shit. We’re flirting.
Has that been happening this whole time? I must’ve missed it when I was unwittingly sabotaging the conversation. I’m lucky she showed me mercy and is moving past it.
“I promise, no more chivalrous behavior.” I hold up my right hand like I’m taking an oath. “You can get the door and buy your own drinks, baby.”
“Now you sound like the single men I’m used to. All that’s missing is the groping.”
I go from playful to pissed in a flash of red hot anger. “Who groped you? Give me their names.”
“Don’t be silly. Listing them would take forever. You’d be stuck with me all night.”
“I’d be more than fine with that.”
A broad grin lights up her face, threatening to stop my heart, as it distracts me from an intense urge to break the bones of every horny douche who made her question if good men exist.
It’s hard to control myself when she’s so near, tormenting a sex-crazed side of me that I didn’t know was lurking within. It rushed to the surface when I saw her picture, and jerking off twice before coming here did nothing to tame the beast that’s raging to break free from the confines of my boxer-briefs. But I’m still holding my shit together and being respectful, because treating her right is worth the pain of unfulfilled lust, and any man who doesn’t see that is a lost fucking cause.
“How ‘bout we make a deal? You can spend at least part of the night with me if you help me watch those kids, since my father had to bail. And at the end of the trick-or-treating, I’ll give you some names and Honeychoc Bites.”
“I’m yours,” I say, heart racing as I offer her my arm, “for as long as you want me.”
Chapter 4
Daisy
I take the gigantic arm of the masked stranger without thinking twice—because he doesn’t feel like a stranger. As we head into the festival crowd, being close to him makes me feel as safe as a princess with a bodyguard.
I wonder if that’s his job, some sort of security work. He definitely has the build for it. He’s so big and brawny, if I could’ve picked his costume, I would’ve told him to go as Goliath and carry around a tiny doll he could call David. Or to dress up like a gargoyle. Something more fun, and less scary. A scary costume looks good on him, but he can’t really sell it. His striking green eyes—the one part of his face that isn’t hidden by the mask—are too soft, and his voice, however rugged, has too much warmth in it to belong to a sadistic slasher. There’s something familiar about it, but I can’t quite place it...yet.
“So, what’s with you and that candy?” I ask him, shamelessly taking in his fresh, clean, woodsy smell, as I cling to his arm, which I swear I can feel his muscular strength in while it’s just hanging at his side, not showing its power. “You don’t look like someone who eats sweets much.”
“I had a pretty bad addiction to them when I was out of shape.” He sweeps a hand through his thick, dirty blond, mid-length hair that I wish I could thread my fingers through for hours. “But it’s under control now.”
He was out of shape? I’m not sure I buy that.
Is this masked man trying to throw me off so I can’t guess who he is? God, I hope he’s not married.
Or maybe he’s self-conscious about something physical that his mask is hiding? The former manager of my Angel Spot, who was basically running the place before Poppy took over, knew a guy whose face was messed up a bit in an accident a few years ago. Could this be him? Otherwise, I don’t know how he’s still available, and I can’t figure out why he would play hard to get with his name alone. But I have a feeling, if I demanded to know it, he’d give it to me. I have a feeling he’d do anything I asked to keep me happy—and not just to get my panties off, like every other guy who hit on me in the past. I really think this man could be my forever guy.
The suspense over who he might be is killing me, but I’m afraid when I discover who he is, my instincts about him will turn out to be wrong, and the illusion of a perfect gentleman will shatter. I’m enjoying it so much, I can’t bring myself to ask forcefully for his name.
“Oh my God!” someone shrieks, and bloodcurdling screams follow, near the booth where Ned and April are playing.
“We should—” I break off, because he’s already on it, walking fast and pulling me toward my little dinosaurs.
All around them there’s chaos: kids yelling, and shoving, and fleeing the area.
“Get it off! Get it off!” April is crying, and Ned looks like a stuffed animal who’s hopped up on caffeine as he dances around her tail.
“And he dropped it on me!” April breaks in.
“Dropped what?” I detach myself from my hunky slasher to take a closer look, and have to cover my mouth to hold in a scream.
A furry, brown, fucking enormous spider is clinging to the end of April’s tail.
“K-kill it,” I choke out, throat tight with panic. “S-someone. Anyone!”
“That won’t be necessary.” Slasher guy leans down and gently scoops the spider up in his hands. “Let’s find you a place to do your thing away from these scaredy-cat humans.”
“We’re going with him,” I tell Ned and April, and we follow slasher guy over to the south end of the park, where the moon shines through the high trees of the adjacent forest.
“Here you go, little friend.” Kneeling, he lowers his hands to the ground, and the spider slowly crawls off his palms and into faded grass.
I shiver and look away, hating how its wiry legs move. “How can you touch that thing?”
“I’m used to it,” he says, dusting off his hands. “They pop up at work all the time with other creepy crawlies, during hotter months.”
How is it possible that every clue he gives me, about who he is, makes me less convinced that I know the answer? “What the hell are you? A lumberjack?”
A rumbling chuckle comes from his chest. “Not even close.”
“He’s cool either way,” Ned says, because a man who picks up a spider without fear could have the most boring job on the planet and still win a nine-year-old boy’s approval.
“Is he your boyfriend?” April asks, her gaze shifting suspiciously between us.
“He’s a friend,” I say quickly.
“Ew, who wants to be friends with a boy?” April rolls her eyes at the idea. “That’s stupid.”