Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I needed a goofball in my life. My past few relationships had given me the reputation for being a high-protocol Daddy Dom, and while I enjoyed high-protocol, it wasn’t one of my core kinks. With the job I had, I wanted to come home to an adorable clown who could brighten my mood. Someone who could ramble about his day while I made us dinner, and he—
“Here’s your coffee, sir.” Gael came around the counter and set a big cup of coffee next to my laptop.
I thanked him and took a sip. “Perfect.” First step in becoming human every morning—a good cup of coffee.
“May I ask how you got your nickname?” he asked. “Are you from Chile? I went to your Mclean profile, but there’s very little information there.”
He’d looked me up, huh? Smart boy. Information was always good.
“My mother’s from there,” I replied. “Dad worked with the DEA in the seventies and eighties, and they met while he was working a case in Santiago.”
“Ohh, I see.” He bobbed his head. “Okay, now I know. Thank you.” He returned behind the counter.
I grinned into my mug and took another sip.
Over the next few minutes, things got busy for Gael as early commuters wanted breakfast on their way to work. His opening line went on repeat with each customer who was unfamiliar with the types of waffles. “We have Belgian, American, and Scandinavian—you can see the differences here—and then you choose the flavor, plain, chocolate, or blueberry.”
The woman joined him within a few minutes, and by then, I had a tab up for every social media account Caleb was active on, including Snapchat on my phone. Up until December 23rd, he’d been very active, posting almost daily, and now, almost nothing. A single post. His Twitter was all but dead, his Instagram hadn’t been updated since November…
I logged in on Mclean House under my own name and decided to browse through new members.
Then I sent Reese a text.
Any chance you can have your web admin let me know if you have any members logging in from California? Visitors on Gael’s profile would also be helpful.
I scratched my forehead, knowing my account would pop up frequently on that list.
Under different circumstances, I repeated to myself. I wasn’t going to be the dick who made a move on someone who was hurting from an ex who refused to let go. Besides, work and pleasure didn’t mix. No matter how personally invested I was, this was work.
My stomach started tightening in hunger around nine o’clock, when the breakfast rush was over and I’d had two hours of inhaling the scents of freshly made waffles and all the toppings. One woman had ordered a plain Belgian waffle with bacon and maple syrup, and I was weirdly intrigued. Another had ordered a blueberry-flavored American waffle with something they called creamy lemon whip, fresh blueberries, and white-chocolate chips. Last but not least, I’d seen two men I was fairly sure were kinky—I recognized the older of the two—and he’d ordered a chocolate waffle with chocolate mousse and dark-chocolate chips.
Fuck it, I wanted something sweet.
I left my seat in the back and brought my coffee mug with me, and I timed it so that my spot in the line would give me Gael as my waffle maker. The woman took care of the customer in front of me, and then it was my turn.
“Oh—hey.” He was a little flushed from working nonstop, and his apron was stained with waffle batter. “Time for breakfast?”
“Yeah, I can’t resist any longer.” I smiled and scratched my jaw as I eyed the menu on the wall. “I think I’ll try a Waffled Sampler.” It would give me a quarter of eight different waffles.
I had a big appetite.
“Yes, sir.” He got started right away by pouring batter into the biggest waffle maker I’d ever seen. “Would you like them all sweet or savory, or maybe a few of each?”
So many options. “Do the flavored ones sweet and the plain savory.”
“Good choice. But…may I recommend a Scandinavian quarter with just whipped butter and syrup?”
Abso-fucking-lutely. “That sounds fantastic.” Crispy sweet with salted whipped butter—just send me into a food coma right now, thanks.
Someone entered behind me, and I looked over my shoulder. Nope, not Caleb. Unless he was now a high-school-aged girl.
In the photos I’d seen of him, he’d liked to show off his physique. He was average height, he definitely skipped leg day to put all focus on his abs, and he put too much gel in his hair.
I gave Gael free rein with my order, and I merely watched him turn the waffles into divine little creations I couldn’t wait to devour. Sunny side up, just the way I liked my eggs. Extra bacon, fuck yeah. The chocolate waffle was loaded with chocolate mousse, chocolate chips, and then drizzled with melted white chocolate.