Please, Daddy (Love, Daddy)

So, it’s been a long fucking time since I considered dating. Even in a small town, I’ve seen the worst of people. I’ve watched more times than I can count love turning to hate in the blink of an eye.

The whole soul mate, love of my life? Well, from what I can tell it’s precarious at best. And I guess I’ve never met anyone that made me want to take that risk.

I’ve come to think I’m just not wired for it, no one has ever given me that ‘thing’ people talk about, that ‘boom’ or whatever it is. And, even if I found it, I’m still not sure the odds are in favor of it lasting. My parents are the exception, but doing my job, I’ve seen far too many former soul mates become sworn enemies.

The bells on the door jingle again as I heap a fork full of hash browns into my mouth savoring the salty buttery flavor, and Margaret and I look up to see her partner, Dawn, smiling as she comes through with a handful of flowers.

“See? Isn’t it nice to have someone to love you?” Margaret gives me one last look before Dawn comes up and hands her the bouquet, pressing a solid kiss on her red lips.

“Hi, Sheriff.” Dawn glances my way then right back to Margaret. “Just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re too good to me.” Margaret presses the mixed bouquet of roses, lilies and daises to her face on a deep breath.

Dawn’s arm slips around Margaret’s shoulders and she leans in to whisper something in her ear, which makes Margaret’s cheeks go red.

“Uh, you ladies need some privacy?” I chide, but there’s always something oddly uncomfortable when I’m around people showing affection.

Maybe I just don’t want to admit to myself there is something missing in my life.

Dawn pulls her face from Margaret and kisses her softly, then steps back. “I gotta go. Just wanted you to know I love you. Back to work.”

“Thank you.” Margaret sniffs the flowers as Dawn waves at me, then at Summer, who chirps at her from the open service window between the kitchen and the dining room.

I chew and swallow my bite as Margaret turns toward another table waving her over as my radio goes off and I hear Malcolm, one of the other deputies, come through.

“We’ve got a few reports coming in from that medieval fair deal out there on Baldwin Road. Wallets being lifted, jewelry missing…the word is, most of the thefts are happening during a sort of belly dancing or some such music sort of show they have going on. You want to go out there? Or I can head out? I hear there’s a dancer there…like total smokeshow chick.” He pauses and I hear the hope in his voice. “I’m happy to go check it out.”

I push the button on my radio and turn my mouth to where it’s clipped on my shoulder, an odd twitch in my dick I’ve not felt in forever when he said, ‘there’s a dancer there…’.

It makes me pause for a second, not remembering the last time even the sight of a woman made me hard let alone the mention of one. “I’ll head out. Leaving The Over Easy now.”

Malcolm’s staticky voice answers, sounding less enthusiastic than his words would suggest. “Sounds good. Say hi to Margaret from me.”

She nods as she walks away. Turning, she tosses a final comment over her shoulder. “Be careful with those dancing girls. I hear they cast spells on lonely men…wouldn’t want you to fall under a spell.”

I shake my head as I leave my money on the table and slide out of the booth, then out the door and into my cruiser.

The heat of the late summer morning is ramping up, the interior of the car blasting me as I pull out of the parking lot, down the street, wondering if I’ll ever know what it’s like to fall under a woman’s spell.

Chapter 2

Kezia

“Please don’t screw up again.” Genevieve, one of my ‘sisters’, fixes the sparkling hair piece at the back of my head, then spins me around by my shoulders to stare into her glaring blue eyes. “Got it? I really don’t want to find myself on rations for a week because some dude figured out we lifted his wallet.”

She’s three inches taller than me but it always feels like more. She’s older as well, but I’m not sure by exactly how many years because I never have birthdays and don’t even know how old I am for sure.

From what I can put together, I’m around nineteen. But I look younger, and that—along with the genetic jackpot I won from whomever my birth parents were—is the reason I’m on task with lulling unsuspecting men into watching me dance while others in our group take care of business.