Punishment? What kind of punishment? And why does that sound appealing?
I really need to cut back on the dark erotic romance. One thing is for sure, if anything were to happen to me and my parents checked my Kindle they would question whether they raised a monster.
“You r-really need to stop with the K-Kung Fu marathons and f-find s-something else to watch.”
“That’s Cole’s thing. I’m merely a bystander,” he explains while I role play the punishment in my head. “Anyway, Master orders you to get your cute ass to my place tomorrow morning or face the consequences.”
All I heard is that he thinks my butt is cute. “Y-You’re taking this wingman s-stuff v-very seriously.”
“When I make a commitment, I keep it. Besides, corrupting the innocent is my superpower.”
Truth hidden in plain sight, under the guise of humor. Dallas is not full of beans. He keeps his word and shows up. His work at the shelter is a testament to that. I’m not even sure what Vi and Mika would’ve done without him. All the construction he’s helping with has kept costs down. Then there was the mysterious donation of thirty-thousand dollars in cash a law firm sent the other day on behalf of a client that wishes to remain anonymous. He refuses to admit it, but we all have a good idea where it came from.
“Dallas…” I start, remorseful, ashamed at how much I underestimated him. Like everyone else in his life, I expected nothing other a vain, shallow boy. When in truth, I haven’t even begun to reach the depth of him.
“Yeah…” He exhales and I can feel it everywhere. As if we’re connected in some profound way that I can’t explain.
This is the part where I learn you can’t break old habits all at once. Where I take a step backward. For all the progress I’ve made, there’s still a lot more work to be done.
I feel the words get trapped in my throat, the letters stalling, the stammer starting. So I give up, retreat, chicken-out. “Nothing. Thank you.”
He yawns and I know he’s about to fall asleep too. “Anything for you, D.”
“See you t-tomorrow.”
“Nite, babe.” His voice fades.
Babe. It’s the last thing I remember before sleep claims me as well.
“Nice pictures,” I say, standing in the middle of Dallas’s bedroom admiring the framed photos of surfers that cover the walls. He disappeared into his massive walk-in closet without explanation a minute ago and I’m patiently waiting to find out why.
This house is insanely big. You could fit my entire house in Del Mar in his bedroom alone. And obviously decorated by a professional. The style is modern. Masculine. Though it’s cozy. His bedroom is done in shades of blue with simple oversized furniture.
He returns holding a black wet suit. “Brenda found them. She decorated the house.”
I scrutinize the neoprene with suspicion. Seems tight. Revealing. It’s way too early in the morning for me to be stuffing myself into anything this tight. Even with all the walking miles I’ve logged in the past few months, I am not by any stretch of the imagination thin.
“You w-want me to wear this?” I’m not even trying to hide my discomfort at the prospect.
“Good work, detective. What’s next, the Epstein case?”
A giggle breaks free. “He d-didn’t kill himself.”
And now we’re both smiling like loons, which makes me forget that I’m nervous.
Taking the wet suit from him, I turn it upside down, try to stretch the material between my hands. A pang of jealousy hits fast and hard and my smile falls. Has he done this before?
“W-where did you get this?”
“I bought it for you when I picked up the surfboard.”
It’s definitely my size. Glancing up, the innocent look on his face makes me feel like garbage for assuming the worst about him.
“Oh…y-you d-didn’t have to buy me anything.”
“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”
He’s so darn sweet. I don’t deserve him. Not even as a friend. “Do I h-have to wear it?”
“Yeah. You don’t want to know what’s been running into the Santa Monica Bay. If I told you, you’d never step foot in the water again. Get dressed and meet me on the beach.”
“Gross.”
“Trust me, young grasshopper,” he intones, smirking as he walks backward to the door. “Would I steer you wrong?”
“No.”
He squints. “No, Master.”
And with that, an irrepressible smile is back on my face. “No, Master.”
Five minutes later, my dark red toes are digging into the sand, carrying me to where Dallas has both our surfboards set up. I glance out at the grey, unwelcoming water. One heaping portion of hepatitis coming right up––and I asked for it.
“Ready?” he says smiling big.
I give him a wide tight smile in return. “Ready.”
An hour and a half later, I’m ready for a long nap, my hair smells like seaweed, and I’m not sure I ever want to surf again. “A-And you d-do this all the time? Why?”