The Urban Dictionary defines a "soft launch" as "a photo preview of a talking stage before it becomes an official relationship on social media, i.e., taking photos of their dinner plate and their hands, half their face or their shoes as to allude there's someone special in your life."
all mistakes are my own.
Chapter 8
Isabella
I angle my head, drinking in his words. Does he honestly think I go for forty-five and up? That makes me sound like a gold digging whore. I'm not either one of those things. Money is fun, sure. But I've got a big chunk in my savings account that I saved all by myself. And I have a perfectly okay body count for a young woman who's not being repressed. It's my body and I please it how I see fit.
"Do you think the numbers get me wet, Cabin Daddy?" I get crass because I feel comfortable. This place, even though it's filled up with motorcycle enthusiasts and loud music, has a sense of serenity. It's because everyone is exactly whoever they are. They're one hundred percent authentic. Not judged. They're free. That's what's so alluring. There's no frat boys drinking and ordering bottle service to impress the girls. There's no scantily clad dancers on platforms making you feel bad about yourself. There is no unspoken contest for which chick wears the hottest outfit. No. Everyone is who they want to be. That's a fucking breath of fresh air.
"You think that the age gaps are my kink?" There's no reaction, except for the slow blink, pupils wider, him touching the back of his neck like he's nervous.
"Do you think I have to call someone Daddy to get off?"
God, I need to remember this conversation when I get home. I'll need to write it down for my readers. This is better than just opening my Tinder archives. The Cabin Daddy Chronicles.
Ed takes a deep breath.
"I don't know about you, but I sure as fuck don't need to be called 'Daddy' in order to get someone off. I don't need some fantasy. I barely need a finger to do that, kid."
Green eyes smolder intensely. Fuck, I even forget how to breathe for a second. This man can talk. I wonder if he's as relentless in the sheets as he is right here. He's flirting back, right? I bet he doesn't do this with the usual crew that gets into this bar. He's doing this because he doesn't know me. And because he probably won't ever see me again after I walk out of here.
"You talk the talk, Barkeep. But do you walk the walk?" I ask overly sweetly, batting my lashes.
"You're a dangerous little cat, aren't you? I bet you've got claws."
"Don't you want to feel them, Cabin Daddy?" I drop my voice. "All over your back?"
I'm so turned on I swear animals might attack me if I step outside. I shouldn't have worn a thong. This feels dangerously slippery like a slip and slide.
Why do I enjoy fighting him this much? There must be a hitch in my wiring.
There's a beat of silence and people start whispering. So I stop my visual assault on Ed and wonder what's going on. When Ed dims the lights even more and hushes me, I know exactly what's up.
"Seriously, a surprise party? At a biker bar?"
"Bikers have birthdays, kid. Be quiet. Or the Denali's will have your head for ruining their baby sister's twenty-first birthday."
Sorry for the short chapter! Today was insane at work and my brain feels fried :")
hope to see you tomorrow!
