The Shepherd (The Game 6)

Could you miss a person in retrospect? Because that was what it felt like with Archie. Now, five years later, I was hit by a tidal wave of wistfulness and longing.

“I think I’m gonna call in sick tomorrow.” I hadn’t taken a sick day in at least two years. It wasn’t as if I left Ben completely alone. We had a crew of guys. I managed the storage and deliveries; my brother ran the office. “Will you spend the day with me?”

“I’d love to.”

Sweet relief.

I couldn’t imagine Sloan offering a simple response like that.

“So what is it you do these days?” I wondered. “I take it you’ve left the bakery industry if you’re working from home.”

He chuckled sleepily. A glance his way let me know he had his eyes closed.

“About four years ago, I decided that I wanted to be a dad as soon as possible,” he said. “So I sold my soul to the devil and accepted a job as a sales consultant with my father’s best friend’s company. It’s tedious, it’s repetitive, it’s…blah. But apparently I’m good at working in sales, and it allowed me to pay off my student loans in two years. My parents were very supportive. They told me they’d help me with money for the surrogate process if I was free of debt.”

That was generous of them.

“I have two calls to make tomorrow,” he yawned. “Luckily for you, I’m cute in a headset.”

I had a feeling he was cute in anything.

“Get some sleep, little one.” I rubbed his leg. “We still have another hour to go.”

“Uh-uh,” he mumbled in protest. “I want to talk about rules and kinky stuff.” He smacked his cheeks to wake himself up, then dug into the bag at his feet. “May I ask you some questions, Sir?”

That could be fun, although I didn’t think it was wise we discussed limits or anything vital when he could fall asleep at any minute.

“Ask away, but let’s save important things for tomorrow.”

He glanced over at me and opened a notebook. “I understand what you mean, but this is important too. I want my learning curve of anticipating your needs to be as short as possible. Now.” He extended the ballpoint of a pen with a click and held his notebook closely. “What kind of breakfast person are you? A little coffee and then a bigger meal around lunch? A big spread right when you wake up? Spare no details.”

I grinned to myself and checked the rearview. He was too sweet.

“If I have work, I grab something quick on my way out the door,” I replied. “Coffee and usually a bran muffin or a piece of toast. Then I have a late breakfast or early lunch around eleven before I start my deliveries.”

He started jotting things down. “Would you say that’s optimal or merely practical? And for the record, I’ve gone through your company’s website, and we will discuss the photo of you and your brothers wearing kilts later.”

I chuckled. “I wake up hungry and need something to fill my stomach till I can sit down for a proper meal.”

“In other words, a minor breakfast on the road,” he said, taking notes. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Straight up my vein. First cup of the day has some brown sugar, the rest black.”

I switched lanes to pass a couple long-haulers, and I started wondering how Archie viewed what we were about to embark on. By the way he spoke and tackled his questions, he didn’t come off as someone who would have a passive role, and I liked that.

I wasn’t much for subbies who sat around and waited for instructions. My slave would have responsibilities—as I would have toward him. But I didn’t want to say that outright. The fewer filters and barriers as possible would give me his version first, and then I was going to give mine.

When it came to meals and chores around the kitchen, I wasn’t picky. But he seemed to be, and I wanted to see how that played out.

“Do you eat out a lot, Sir?”

“Unfortunately,” I admitted. “At least twice a day, starting with lunch, then a smaller meal around three while I’m doing deliveries.”

He hummed. “I hope you will allow me to prepare meals for you.”

“I will try my hardest,” I replied soberly.

He snickered. “This is no laughing matter, Sir.”

But it was a cheesy-smile matter. I could barely recall the last time I’d had a sliver of what Archie was talking about. I’d had romantic relationships, and I’d had subs who were into that kind of servitude; they’d never been the same person.

Seemingly no longer tired, Archie fired countless questions at me about food, preferences, allergies, breakfast in bed—yes or no—and if I minded that he brought some of his own stuff to my kitchen. I couldn’t imagine what that might be, but I said go ahead. Then he called my late breakfast/early lunch elevenses, and I wanted to kiss him stupid.