13. Chapter 13

"Daddy."

Silence.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy."

I press my lips together tight.

"I can see you smiling," Kipp says. "Just because your eyes are closed, that doesn't mean you're invisible."

I do my best not to laugh, I really do, but a snort sneaks out.

"Aha!" Kipp cries triumphantly. "You're awake."

"What do you want, brat?" I ask, peeling an eye open.

Kipp is sitting on the bed next to me, dressed and ready for work. He gives me a grin. "I made you breakfast."

"You did?" I ask, not having expected that.

He nods, grin widening. He looks so damn proud of himself that my chest swells about two sizes bigger. "You mentioned taking care of each other," he says. "When, uh, we were in the shower."

Oh, I remember. Based on Kipp's sudden blush, so does he.

"And, anyways, I liked that," he goes on. "I want to do nice things for you, too, to show you how much I appreciate you taking me in like a stray dog."

"You're not a stray dog," I say with a chuckle, sitting up.

"Well, no," he agrees. "I don't piss on you. Not that I want to piss on you. Christ, I don't know why everyone thinks that."

"Who's everyone?" I ask a little warily.

He waves me off. "Breakfast isn't much, but I make a mean pancake, if I do say so myself. I put blueberries in them because you seem to like being healthy or whatever. Which, solid choice, I guess. Have you seen you? And I ran into the market on the way home from my run to grab syrup. The good kind 'cause I swear to God, Teddy, for being Canadian, your choice in maple syrup is deplorable. What?"

I grab Kipp by the back of the neck and haul him in for a kiss. He makes a surprised noise but melts instantly, tasting of maple syrup and something uniquely him.

"What was that for?" he asks when I let him go.

For making me pancakes? For calling this home? For being so damn sweet it's impossible to keep my walls up?

"Do I need a reason to kiss you?" I ask instead.

His smile is decadent. "No. Kiss me anytime. Very pro kissing."

As if I could forget.

Kipp stands as I swing out of bed, his eyes dropping to my crotch. A groan follows. "Dude."

I snort. "Not your dude."

"Your dick is just right there, goddamn happy to see me, by the looks of it."

I tug on a pair of briefs, and Kipp makes an unhappy sound.

"That's oppression," he says. "And suffocation. Can the poor guy even breathe?"

"You want to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?" I ask, lips twitching. I pull on jeans next.

"Uh, yes," Kipp says. "Obviously. But someone won't let me. My husband is a cruel man."

"Your husband wants to try your pancakes."

"Oh, right!" he says, heading for the door. He pauses as I start to follow him. "You're not going to put on a shirt? You know what? Never mind. Stupid question. In fact, I've heard eating in the nude is a really great—"

"Kipp."

"Yep."

I shake my head, smiling as Kipp walks ahead of me into the kitchen. He pulls out my chair, looking damn giddy as he does so. There's one plate set out on the counter, a couple pancakes on top. They're perfectly golden and dotted with blueberries having turned purple around the edges as they cooked.

"You're not joining me?" I ask.

"Can't," Kipp says, checking the time on his phone. "I have to get going, like, now."

"Okay," I say, pouring the syrup over my pancakes. Kipp doesn't make a single move to leave, only stands less than a foot away, staring at me as I cut into my meal. I bring a bite to my mouth and give an approving moan. Kipp wasn't kidding. He makes a mean pancake.

"Good?" he asks quietly, eyes on my lips.

"Mhm. Perfect. Thank you."

"Yeah," he breathes, eyes still on my mouth.

I make a show of my next bite, groaning low as I pull the fork tines from between my lips. Kipp's mouth pops open. "So. Good," I say slowly.

He exhales. "Yeah."

"You okay?" I ask, licking some syrup off my thumb.

Kipp whimpers.

"Don't you have to go?" I remind him, enjoying this far too much.

"Do I, though?" he whines.

I hum. "I think so."

He groans. "Then you've gotta stop making porn noises, Teddy. I mean, Christ, how am I supposed to walk away when, at any moment, you're bound to invite your lonely neighbor in who needs a cup of sugar, you'll say sorry, no sugar, sugar, but I've got syrup, he'll say swell, and then you'll rail him against the counter while he jerks himself off with the good dark amber syrup that you should have had stocked in your fridge in the first place? You really expect me to miss that?"

It takes me a moment to respond, so many different thoughts cycling through my head. One stands out the most. "Why wouldn't it be you?"

"Pardon?" Kipp asks, looking dazed.

"Why wouldn't I be railing you in this fantasy?"

"Because it's porn," he says, like it's obvious. "Porn isn't real life. It's fiction. And you would never treat me with anything but honesty."

The way my breath punches from my lungs.

"You're right, though," he says, grabbing his keys off the counter. "I do need to go. I'm probably already going to be a few minutes late, which, not a big deal, but still." He leans in and smacks a kiss against my cheek. "Enjoy your orgasm pancakes, honey. Later."

And then he's out the door.

I sit there for a long minute, reeling. "And you would never treat me with anything but honesty."

When I finish my thoughtfully made breakfast, I clean up and pull out my notes for Phillip's case. I'm hoping his landlord will agree to a settlement, but whether or not we take him to court, Phillip shouldn't have to remain in that building. It takes most of the morning to find a suitable alternative: an apartment with similar cost of rent in an area that would be safe enough for an eighteen-year-old kid. I make an appointment with the realtor to check it out this afternoon.

When I call Scott to make sure I'm not overstepping, he insists I'm not and that it's a good idea. He also says he'll join me for the viewing.

"You don't have to," I tell him.

"I know that, but if the idea comes from me, Phillip might be more agreeable to moving. This way, I can say I checked out the place and approved," he says, which I can't really argue.

And that's how I find myself inside a shoebox apartment a few hours later with Scott and the realtor, Allison.

"It's small," Scott points out.

"So was his last place," I note. I looked up the building online.

He nods, walking around the tiny living space and peeking out the window. "Decent neighborhood."

"It is," Allison puts in, a collection of information about the apartment on a clipboard in her hands. "Low crime rate, lots of older couples nearby or families starting out. Are you shopping for your son?"

"Not quite," Scott says, leaving it at that. "Would you be able to hold the place for twenty-four hours while we make a decision?"

"I can do that," Allison agrees before handing off a pile of papers.

We thank her, the three of us heading out of the building. Allison gets in her car with a wave and drives off.

"You'll check with Phillip?" I ask.

Scott nods, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "Yeah, as long as you don't mind. It's not that I want to steal your thunder, but he knows me. I think he'll listen if I suggest he get out of his current place."

"It might not be safe for him there," I say. The landlord hasn't threatened Phillip directly, but his words and actions are not congruent with a kindhearted man. There's no telling what he might do when we serve him papers.

Scott nods quickly. "No, I know. Which is why I'm glad you thought of this. I'll let you know what Phillip says."

I nod, checking the time. "Are you heading back to the community center?"

"Nah, no point. I'd just turn around and go home. Want to grab a bite?"

I consider it. "We could do that, so long as you don't mind me inviting my husband. Or you could come back to my place and I'll cook us something."

"Well, shit, let's do that," he says, clapping me on the shoulder. "I'm not one to turn down a homemade meal. Lead the way?"

I nod, and after texting Scott my address just in case, we get into our respective vehicles. Kipp isn't home yet when we arrive, and I show Scott around, giving him a brief tour of the apartment. He walks the living area with an appraising eye.

"This is nice," he says. "Love the black-and-white artwork."

"Thanks. Most are pictures from Quebec."

He hums.

"Want a drink?" I ask.

"Sure," he says. "Anything's fine. I'm not fussy."

I grab a couple beers and hand one over before looking through the pantry. "How do you feel about pork chops and sweet potatoes?"

He doesn't have a chance to answer before Kipp walks through the door, a wide grin on his face. "Honey, I'm—" He cuts off when he sees Scott. "Oh. I'm not interrupting a sugar exchange, am I? Hi, I'm Kipp."

I huff a laugh as Scott walks forward, accepting Kipp's hand with a quizzical expression.

"Kipp, this is Scott from the community center I told you about," I say, offering introductions. "He's here for dinner. Not sugar. Scott, my husband, Kipling Lavoie."

Yeah, I have no clue why I added that last part, and by Kipp's widening eyes, neither does he. But fuck it. I like the sound of my name attached to his.

"Well, damn," Scott says, letting go of Kipp's hand. "Teddy, you didn't tell me your husband is a damn GQ model."

Kipp's grin widens. "Oh, I like him. And just Kipp is fine. Tell me, Scott, have you ever spotted Teddy in a singlet?"

Oh Lord.

Scott's amused face turns my way. "There's a story here."

"There's really not," I assure him, grabbing a beer for Kipp. I twist the cap before handing it his way.

"Thanks," he says, planting a kiss on my cheek before taking a seat at the island with his drink. He pats the chair next to him for Scott, who accepts the invitation. "Here's the thing. I'm half-convinced my husband is a superhero. But I don't know where he stores the spandex."

Scott barks a laugh. I just shake my head, grabbing the pork chops from the fridge.

"I've never seen him in spandex," Scott says. "But there was Halloween a few years back."

Kipp perks up. "Tell me."

"He came to the party at the community center dressed as Aquaman. Momoa Aquaman."

Kipp nearly spits out his beer. "Holy fuck," he breathes.

Scott laughs again. "Totally rocked the vibe, minus the long hair. Did you never show him pictures?" he asks me.

Kipp's eyes meet mine, wide and unblinking blue. "Teddy. Teddy, are there pictures?"

"Christ," I mutter, lips twitching as I pull out my phone. I find my one and only picture from the event and flip the screen Kipp's way.

"Sweet baby Jesus," he mutters. "Why do you look wet?"

"Broke a couple hearts that night," Scott says, an almost wistful tone to his voice.

"Probably broke a couple dicks, too," Kipp puts in rather inappropriately, to which Scott laughs. "You realize you likely have a standing role in many guys' spank banks, right? I mean, especially considering…"

Kipp trails off, eyes flaring wide as he realizes what he almost let slip—my job at Elite 8 Studios. Although, in truth, I wouldn't mind Scott knowing.

Scott simply makes a pft sound. "I'm well aware Teddy works in porn."

"You are?" both Kipp and I ask at once.

Kipp looks relieved. "Thank fuck. Not my fault," he says, hands raised.

Scott huffs a laugh.

"You never said anything," I say to Scott.

He shrugs. "Neither did you, which is why I didn't bring it up. But c'mon, Teddy. I run a queer community center. Someone recognized you the second time you stopped by. I had to explain that yes, that meeting in my office was strictly professional."

Kipp snorts before covering his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"I hope that hasn't caused issues for you," I say seriously.

Scott gives me a look. "You know we're a ‘no judgment' zone. You're a good person, and that's all that matters."

"The best," Kipp puts in.

Well, shit. I shake my head, cutting up the sweet potatoes for dinner.

"So, Kipp," Scott says, moving on from that minor bombshell. "Teddy tells me you guys knew each other for a while before you got together. What precipitated the change?"

Oh boy.

Kipp's smile spreads slowly across his face, his eyes meeting mine for a drawn-out moment. "Well, you see," he says theatrically, "like any good story, it began with a crown of dicks."