Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

BARRETT

As promised, I was on Owen's front porch at ten a.m. sharp. The first few times, I knocked politely. After that, I pounded but still no answer. My Daddy hackles raised, I used the emergency spare key in my pocket.

I threw open the door, expecting destruction and mayhem. Instead, my sweet baby was sound asleep on the couch with a paci in his mouth, an empty bottle on the floor, and his head pillowed on a minky light-blue blanket that was new to me.

I knew I should back out of the house and pound the door again or maybe call him. But instead, I gently traced my finger down the side of his cheek. The hint of morning stubble should've been incongruent with the paci, but it wasn't. Owen's hair was every which way and I could see the tell-tale puff of a diaper under his blanket. On the floor were soft blocks like you'd see a baby play with, although these were clearly for adult-size hands.

The entire vision in front of me made my heart hurt. Why hadn't he allowed me to see this part of him? Of course I'd known Owen was a little since that fateful run-in at the kink munch back in college. But he'd never played in public. I had to practically force him to come to the club, and even then, he was always in and out quickly.

To my knowledge, Owen never let anyone see him in any little stage. All signs of it were always put away, no matter who was in his space. We'd been friends with Jakob for years, and now Rory, both were absolute sweethearts, and even they hadn't been around him when he was in a little headspace.

He'd fallen asleep on the couch with his blankie still out, his bottle fallen to the floor, his paci in his mouth, and wearing his sailor jammies. He obviously never intended for me to see this.

Owen's breaths were even and strong, and every part of me wanted to pull him onto my lap and let him finish sleeping while I cuddled him.

In daylight hours, Owen had become progressively pricklier about physical contact. When we first met, he was quick to offer a hug or cuddle, but over the last couple of years, he'd drawn back, and I'd never figured out why. I was a Daddy. Why wouldn't I want to help take care of him? He was my best friend. I loved him.

Maybe I wasn't the kind of Daddy he needed? Or wanted?

All of this made my head hurt, and my single cup of coffee wasn't nearly enough to help me figure out a puzzle this complicated so early in the morning.

Despite knowing how much Owen didn't want me to see him when he regressed, here I was, crouched next to the couch with my hands where they definitely did not belong. The pull of Owen was just too strong. Sure, he was cute, but that was just a bonus. He was also generous, kind, and loyal. And holy shit, he was sexy as fuck.

If I wasn't the man he wanted, I could accept that. But I had this persistent, intrusive thought that I was the man for Owen and something had been preventing us from figuring that out. I had no idea how to get past that block.

I'd been patient. I'd been flirty. I'd given up seeing anyone else because that had been completely unfair to them. I didn't want to be platonic best friends forever, but if it was how I kept Owen in my life, then my right hand would suffice.

I was so lost in my head that I didn't realize Owen had stirred under the stroke of my fingers through his hair.

"What are you doing?" he hissed around this paci. "How did you get in here?"

"I knocked and called, but no one answered. I let myself in."

"But…but…oh God." Owen's expression was more than embarrassment. It was horror.

"I'm sorry. I was just a little worried because you never oversleep."

Owen scrambled up from his nest on the couch to his feet.

"Give me fifteen minutes," he said abruptly and ran out of the living room like his ass was on fire.

Fuck.

"We good?" Our trip started in silence, and I hated that Owen wasn't being himself with me.

"Yeah, we're fine. I was just surprised this morning. It threw me to see you."

Owen glanced over at me with a bright smile. It looked forced, but I wouldn't call him on it. "So, yeah, now you know."

"Now I know what?"

"That I'm a real little."

"What? Did I think you weren't a real little? I'm pretty sure I thought you were a real little. Are you fucking with me?"

"Maybe I am?" Owen asked with a laugh. "Maybe I'm not one at all, and it's a giant conspiracy."

"Babe, you gonna blackmail me? You already know all my secrets."

Owen looked thoughtfully out the window. The pine trees whizzed by in a complete blur as we drove higher into the mountains. It was too early for snow, so the ski runs were covered in Alpine grass. The meadows still had their late-summer wildflowers. The scenery on the way to the lodge was gorgeous, but I didn't think it was quite as fascinating as Owen pretended.

"I don't know all of them," he finally responded. "Who are you dating? I haven't heard anything about them."

"That's because I'm not dating anyone."

"C'mon. You go to the club all the time. You have to be hooking up with someone."

"First off, shitting where you eat is a bad plan." I ignored his gagging noises. "Second, I've had my eye on someone, but he doesn't seem interested in me."

"Ooh, I knew it. Is it someone I know? Is it someone I like?"

"I don't want to jinx it. If I say it aloud, the universe will shut me down."

"That's not how it works. You have to manifest it."

"I can manifest that shit in my head. When I make a move on him, you'll be the first to know."

Owen's laughter was definitely forced this time. It wasn't the biggest hint, but it was at least something.

"You haven't mentioned seeing someone. Are you?"

"You know I'm not," Owen scoffed. "If I was, you'd know about it."

"Are you interested in someone?"

My question was met with complete silence. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. A flush had worked its way up his neck.

"How will it work with the lodge being so far away from the other places you have?" Owen asked as he glanced through the portfolio my assistant put together.

"Yeah, that's a real concern. It's been…what? Two hours? With traffic, it could add on another hour. In the wintertime, would it be too difficult? They do a good job of keeping the roads clear, and, of course, they have other lodges up here, but will it work with our systems? I don't know yet."

"The bones look good, and the structural engineering report was pretty decent." Owen flipped through a few pages of photos. "This place was lost in the eighties. Has it ever been updated?"

Owen hooted in laughter while he cataloged the design sins of the 1980s. "It's so bright! How did they find a neon-pink couch? And how did they find so many of them? It hurts my heart."

I would show Owen nonstop photos of ugly furniture if it meant I heard his real laugh. "C'mon, look at those lines! Look at those mirrors. They are totally…tubely?" I knew that wasn't the right word, but it was as close as I could remember.

"Tubular! What does it even mean?" Owen snorted.

"Beats the fuck out of me. How many neon colors are enough? There can't be a limit to that. We should just keep all the furniture and call it a day. We can advertise as a time machine," I said with a cackle.

"Done. Call it the Totally Rad Like Awesome Dude Ski Lodge. "

"Oh, I see why you're the designer and not the…errr, namer."

"Namer? Really? Yikes to the max. My suggestion is like totally rad." Owen sounded ready to throw down for his name choice.

"There's no way we can fit that on a sign. It has to be shorter. How about Mullett Mountain? Legwarmer Junction?" Mine were naming gold and way better than his clunky suggestion.

"You can't just name it after random trends. Pink couches and mirrors won't be captured without an equally sweet name," Owen said with a pout.

"Sweet? Babe, I'm pretty sure that's from the nineties."

"Dude, I'm from the nineties."

"Barely," I answered with a smirk.

The rest of our car ride dissolved into a litany of jabs and jokes about which one of us was older. Not that it mattered since our birthdays were within weeks of each other, but I loved hearing the laughter in his voice. Normally, his voice was pretty deep, but his laughter was a tinkling tone that reminded me of the bells my grandma collected. It was so unexpected for someone his size that it never failed to make me smile.

When we weren't poking at each other, we'd occupied the rest of our time by pointing out the trees hidden among the evergreens that had already turned their brilliant fall colors of red and gold. The remainder would catch up to the early turners in another week or two. The snow would follow a few months later. The remaining miles of our trip flew by, and before I was ready to end our silly arguments, we pulled into the lodge's driveway.

Our real estate agent originally planned to meet us there, but she'd called and said she had a sick kiddo. The other agent wasn't available either but gave permission for us to poke around on our own.

It was a little unusual, but I think they were desperate to unload this property. It had been on the market for close to a year, and the seller's representative let slip that it hadn't been shown in months.

The lodge had been privately owned, but once the original owners passed, no one in the family still lived in the area or desired to take it over. It wasn't one of the fancier resorts with ski slopes attached, so it didn't have the draw the owners had hoped. Still, it had plenty of potential for how our hospitality properties worked.

We often picked up locations adjacent to attractions. We got the benefits of the bigger draws without the maintenance. Here, there were opportunities to expand. There weren't slopes on the property, but there was sufficient land for snowshoeing and perhaps cross-country skiing trails within the relatively flat valley we were in. The property came with decent acreage. At one point, there had been a sleigh ride business, and a few sleighs came with the property.

"Holy shit, look at this place," Owen said with a voice full of awe. "It's amazing."

I was equally spellbound. The lodge was straight out of the Alps. I needed to check, but I'd bet money the front porch columns were hard-turned. I had no clue why they elected to do a traditional facade and an eighties interior, but the pictures in the listing weren't doing this place justice.

The lodge itself was about four stories with balconies that faced the valley, and the adjacent lodge's slopes in the distance would be visible through the valley. My suspicions were high that there was likely some hidden repairs needed, but the location and the building exterior were breathtaking, which counted for a lot .

"Where should we start?" Owen asked.

We stepped out of my car and looked around.

"Let's check out the lodge."

We made our way over to the entry doors—again with the hand carving! I typed in the code the real estate agent had texted me this morning, and the lock clicked over.

Whatever feel-good vibes we got from the building's exterior disappeared when we entered the lobby. The only saving grace was that it was clean. The family had a caretaker on the property to keep away squatters and critters, but beyond that, it was awful. Dreadful and horrifying wouldn't be too strong of a description.

The couches were more pink than I could've imagined from the pictures. They were somehow neon and yet still that dusky rose. I wasn't sure how it was possible the color existed, but there it was in all its terrible glory. There were several conversation areas, but all were more of the same color and in a "modern" angular style. Maybe they got a deal off the back of a truck?

The gorgeous timber and stucco walls had geometric mirrors stuck on them in a seemingly random pattern. The pictures were not of the slopes or the local area but rather cityscapes of unrecognizable skylines. Wherever they were from, it wasn't Seattle, Portland, or even Vancouver.

The front desk area was made from the same variety of wood as the wall timbers, but for some reason, they'd tacked cityscape scenes on the wood with an honest-to-God neon sign on the wall overlooking it.

I swung around to ask Owen what he thought, but he was still standing in the doorway.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" I asked with a smirk.

"How…how…oh my God…what…?"

Poor Owen was speechless .

"It's…it's just…awful. What were they thinking? Christ on a cracker, it's like they planned for it to be ugly," he sputtered.

"Ya think? I doubt they wanted it to be ugly. Maybe this was great forty years ago?"

Owen's look put me on death notice. "This was never great."

"So what you're telling me is that you'll suggest keeping everything, and we can open for this season?" Owen threw his jacket at me in response.

I tossed it over my arm because I knew him. He'd soon be cold and looking for it.

"That's absolutely correct. There is nothing for me to do here. Hire some staff and call it good."

"I almost want to do it so I can see my dad's face."

"Your dad isn't your favorite person right now," Owen said with a thoughtful expression, "but he doesn't deserve the heart attack that phone call would give him."

"You're right." I sighed. " Let's go poke around upstairs."

Following Owen up the staircase was an exercise in restraint. It was rude to stare at people, but Owen's ass was right in front of my eyes. And that ass was rounded, peachy perfection. I only had the length of the staircase to imagine eating his ass out and fucking him with my tongue until he was screaming my name. I was going to savor every step. Sadly, it was over too quickly. I needed days, maybe weeks, to satisfy that particular fantasy.

The upstairs rooms were repeats of the horror show downstairs. The only bright spot was the caretaker's room at the end of the hallway. That one was decorated more traditionally, with a comfortable-looking couch and recliner. The bed was in an attached alcove and there was a kitchenette. With the separation, the room would make a nice perk for a general manager if we bought the place .

Owen wandered back downstairs. His furrowed brow indicated his concentration on how he would rehab this design monstrosity.

"Hey, I'm going to go down and check out the stable area. You okay here?"

He waved me off without actually answering. I hoped he'd actually heard me, but that was a fifty-fifty proposition when he was deep in design mode.

"Bear, where are you going?" Owen called to my back

"Down to the barn to check it out."

"Have you seen my jacket? It's getting cold in here." With a secret smile, I turned around and tossed him back his jacket. "Did you lock the car? I want to get my file on this place out of it."

I put the keys in his pocket as he wandered away. "I'll be right back."