Tie Me Up Daddy Page 2

  But fuck that. I’m a serial womanizer, and I’m here to fuck. Sure, it wasn’t grade A tonight, it was more grade C, but if there’s a menu, why not eat? So yeah, fuck it. It was time for a second dinner, and I led the new girl over to a bedroom across from the first.

  “In here baby,” I ground out, flinging open the door. And just like the first bedroom, this one had a huge, king-size bed complete with crisp new sheets, all done in blue.

  “Ooooh,” squealed the girl. “I like it.”

  I grunted, shutting the door. Because there was work to do, and I was on it. Some people would say I’m a womanizer, or even a cheater but I beg to differ because there are no explicit promises, not really. Woman just think we’re exclusive. They think we’re an item, not realizing that as soon as the door slams, there’s a new one waiting.

  But it works for me. I bought this apartment for exactly this purpose. Because why else would a single guy have a five bedroom pad? That’s right, I’ve got multiple bedrooms, each outfitted with a king-size bed and corresponding en suite. That way, I can entertain multiple ladies, and they never smell the others. They never detect the scent of pussy juice or bubbly jizz, they never see crusted cream on a pillow case or semen pooled on the floor. So yeah, I’m an asshole of the worst sort, the kind women love to hate. But what you see is what you get … and my life fucking rocks.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Laney

  I bent at the barre, stretching out my glutes. Oh god, that felt good. Somehow this morning I’d woken up a little stiff, my body like that of a forty year-old, even though I’m only eighteen.

  “Umm,” I murmured below my breath, bending my head towards the floor. Almost there … almost there … there! Did it! My hand touched the ground, small fingers trailing against the polished wood.

  Because I’m a ballerina. Well, more of an aspiring ballerina, I’m part of the junior corps at the NYC ballet, and I haven’t made it on stage yet. But I get to practice with the actual troupe, and we’re understudies for the big-name girls. So yeah, it’s been a lot of hard work, going to practice morning, afternoon and night, without a lot of payoff so far.

  And frankly, there isn’t that much time left. At eighteen, I’m already considered “old” in this job. Some of my fellow dancers are sixteen, seventeen, one girl’s probably fifteen, I think she faked her papers somehow. So yeah, I’ve got to get rolling, I’ve got to really pull out the stops if I want to dance with the prestigious NYC Academy of Ballet. Time’s running out, and my mom’s words rang in my head.

  “You’ll be fine,” she soothed, a worn, wrinkled hand taking mine. “You’ll be fine, Laney.”

  I bit my lip, looking at her as we sat on my twin bed. We were in my childhood room, the one with the pink and white décor, looking out onto our tiny patch of lawn.

  “I dunno Mom,” I said doubtfully. “Some of these girls have been doing ballet since they were five, and you know I only started three years ago.”

  Mary clucked.

  “I know honey, but what was it Miss Harrison said? You’re a natural? A real talent with an amazing feel for the music? Your teacher couldn’t have said nicer things about you.”

  I nodded but inside there were still doubts.

  “I know Ma, but we’re here in Janesville, population one thousand. There isn’t much competition, you know. With Rhonda down the street and Teresa from school as my fellow students, you can’t help but stand out, you know?”

  My mom laughed merrily because Rhonda and Teresa are great girls, I grew up with them. But Rhonda has two left feet, I don’t know how she’s stuck with ballet this long. And Teresa? That girl is so tall she’d be better off as an Olympic basketball player.

  But hey, this is Janesville, Kansas, and we’re lucky even to have a ballet studio. I’m not sure why Miss Harrison came and started one a couple years back, but I was so excited when it happened. The minute that “Open” sign appeared in the window, I’d begged my mom for lessons.

  “Please,” I’d pleaded. “Please, you know how much I love dance.”

  Mary had nodded.

  “I know sweetheart, I know. But we don’t have that much money left over from your Dad’s life insurance, and I don’t want to leave you with nothing. We have to budget honey, and ballet lessons are bound to be expensive.”

  I’d been thirteen then, a sulky, self-absorbed teen, stalking off to my bedroom in a huff, slamming the door. Surely Mary could see how important this was to me. And besides, we were fine. Dad’s insurance had left us with a good amount after he died, mom didn’t even have to work. So how bad could it be?

  But soon a soft knock sounded on my door.

  “Laney, may I come in?” came Mary’s voice. “Laney?”

  I snorted again, still huffy and upset. But fine. We could talk.

  “Come in!” I said sulkily.

  And the door opened to reveal my mom’s pudgy form, her hair in a graying bun. I feel for Mary, I do really. After my dad died, she fell into a tailspin of depression and sadness. Grandma Nancy had had to live with us for a while to take care of me and make sure food got on the table because Mary couldn’t even get out of bed.

  But in the decade since, Mom has recovered. She’s disabled, so she doesn’t work a formal job. Instead, Mary stays home most days, doing some tailoring work for a nearby shop, but really, we’re living off of the proceeds of my dad’s life insurance policy.

  “Honey, you’re old enough so that we can have an adult conversation,” began my mom gently, the bed creaking a little as she sat next to me. I moved Raggedy Ann out of the way, refusing to look at her.

  “What?” I mumbled, staring out the window. “What?”

  “Honey, we didn’t get that much from life insurance, you know that,” Mary said gently.

  I interrupted.

  “But you don’t work! I mean, not really, just helping out with a couple things from the shop.”

  My mom nodded.

  “That’s true, your late dad had the foresight to set us up well,” she began, eyes tearing up at the thought of her husband. I know they’d been in love, that they were high school sweethearts who never had eyes for anyone else. But the truth is, I had no memories of George. Zero. Zip. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mary that her precious husband was merely a ghost to me. He was my father sure, but he also wasn’t because I couldn’t summon a face, a voice, not anything. He was someone who lived in stories and pictures only, tales of “George this” and “George that.”

  And like she could hear his name, Mary took a big breath and tried again.

  “Like I said, Laney, your father had the foresight to buy insurance. But have you ever heard of something called the stock market?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s where you buy stocks, right? Buy and sell them? Why, what does that have to do with us?”

  Mary took another deep breath, her eyes tearing again.

  “I think that’s right, honey. Honestly, I’m not so sure myself, you know I’m not good with financial things. But from what our accountant tells me, we were invested in the market and things haven’t been going so well. We don’t have much anymore. In fact, we’re almost down to nothing.”

  I shook my head, confused.

  “How is that possible? How could that happen? I thought Daddy left us plenty!”

  Mary gulped again, one slow tear trickling down her cheek this time.

  “He did honey, but I guess I trusted the wrong people. You know I put the money with a financial adviser that I found on the web. They had such a fancy website! There were so many colorful graphics, and the customer representative was very nice when I called.”

  I gasped.

  “Ma, you used an on-line financial adviser? With no references?”

  “Well, there were testimonials on their website,” she said sadly. “There were so many reviews that gave them five stars and I thought that was enough.”

  I groaned inside, shaking my head. Even at thirteen, I had more com
mon sense than Mary. Because there are so many scams on the web, you can buy Facebook likes, you can pay people to review your product, saying, “Oh yeah, XYZ is amazing, thumbs up!”

  But my mom is living in the past, and besides, she’s innocent. Mary grew up in the time of typewriters before there was a world wide web, so in some sense, you couldn’t blame her.

  “How much did we lose?” I asked, voice trembling. “How much do we have left?”

  Mary swallowed heavily, her spotted hand grabbing onto mine.

  “We have enough for another year,” she said in quiet voice. “We can survive another year.”

  “Another year or what?” I cried, gesturing helplessly. “And then what happens?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “I don’t know honey, I don’t know. We’ll have to move, we’ll have to find a cheaper place to live. We’ll have to economize, we’ll have to give up meat maybe. Would that be okay? I know you’re almost vegetarian already, Laney.”

  I goggled at her. This was way worse than what I expected, even my thirteen year-old brain recognized big trouble on the horizon.

  “We won’t have enough money for food?” I asked quietly, my hands twisting in the bedsheets. “Really?”

  “No, I didn’t say that!” rushed Mary, her face flushing. “I just said that we need to eat more cheaply, maybe by giving up meat. Maybe we’ll go on a fun vegan diet, you know, beans, rice, no animal products. How does that sound?”

  My mouth remained closed even as I stared at her, dumbfounded. First, because clearly my mom had no idea what she was talking about. Veganism can be really expensive with all the special items you have to buy to maintain a balanced diet. There’s special tofu, special supplements, and a host of vitamins to make sure you don’t wither away.

  And second, a vegan diet sounded bad. I don’t want to eat like a rabbit, I don’t want to eat truckloads of salad and beans to stay alive. I appreciate veggies, but all the time, non-stop? Not my cup of tea.

  So yeah, ballet lessons were definitely out of the question given our dire financial circumstances, and slow tears began to roll down my cheeks. I was thirteen, remember, and this seemed like the end of the world.

  “I’m sorry honey!” cried my mom, leaning in for a hug, cuddling me close. “I’m sorry, we’ll figure it out, I promise! I’ve already asked for more work from the shop, I’m sure they need help.”

  I remained stiff in her arms, my heart sinking. Because there was no way Mary could support us with her part-time job. Even if she went full-time, which wasn’t an option, her hourly rate just wasn’t high enough to make a living. So we really were up shit creek, and ballet lessons were out of the question.

  But miraculously, things took a turn. The stock market swung wildly upwards for no apparent reason, and this time, I made sure Mary got her hands on the money.

  “Put it in a bank account,” I commanded, eyes serious. “Really Mom, we can’t go through another scare, it’s not cool.”

  “Oh of course, of course!” she babbled, waving her hands wildly. “I already put it in our local bank.”

  I frowned.

  “No Ma, put it in a real bank, not that weird investment club that Mr. James has going downtown. That’s not a real bank, and he’s doing something bizarre. Put it in a national chain, one that we know won’t disappear overnight.”

  “Oh of course!” said Mary, airily this time. “Don’t be such a worrywart Laney, I don’t need a thirteen year-old looking over my shoulder.”

  I snorted under my breath, but there was nothing I could do. After all, I was still a minor and the money wasn’t in my name, not technically. But hopefully this time, Mary would be a little wiser.

  Besides, now I was at Miss Harrison’s dance school, and the lessons were going amazingly well. Even though I’ve never done ballet in my life, the steps were like magic, the music moving my soul. I loved every part of it, rising to the challenge.

  “Higher, higher!” Miss Harrison would call. “Lift your leg straight up, like a string’s pulling it from the ceiling.”

  I arched backwards while raising my toe, and evidently, that was the right thing to do because Miss Harrison applauded wildly.

  “Bravo, bravo Laney! Beautiful, girls, look at Laney, isn’t that the perfect arch?”

  Even with my head almost touching the ground, I flushed. Because compliments have always made me embarrassed, and now was no exception. But I love ballet, I love the passion of the dance, how it takes me away from things like high school and money problems, and the compliment made me flush happily.

  So when the scholarship to NYC Academy of Dance came through, it was a dream come true.

  “Oh my god!” I squealed, running into the kitchen where Mary sat in front of her sewing machine, hemming a pair of men’s pants. “Oh my god, I got it, I got it!”

  I’d received a two-year apprenticeship with the corps, a starting position that would pay for all room and board while giving me the opportunity to train with the most elite instructors.

  Mary hugged me, pulling pins out of her mouth.

  “Sweetheart, I’m so happy for you,” she said in a low voice. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

  “Then Ma, why are you crying?” I asked. “It’s going to be awesome.”

  She raised one withered hand to stroke my cheek, tilting that gray-haired head.

  “My baby girl is growing up, that’s all,” she said softly. “Growing up faster than I expected and flying the nest. But it’s time,” she said to herself sternly. “It’s time, you’re seventeen now, and this was always going to happen. You’re talented Laney, really talented, and I’m so proud of you.”

  I threw myself into her arms then, burying my face in her shoulder.

  “You’ll be fine here, Mom, totally fine. And I’ll call, okay? We can always talk on the phone, and there’s the internet too. We can video call, doesn’t that sound cool?”

  I didn’t think Mary was going to be able to figure out how to use the camera on her phone, but maybe, just maybe, it’d work.

  “Video calls do sound wonderful,” she said softly, murmuring into my hair. “Seeing your pretty face on camera does sound amazing. And I want you to have a good time in the big city, I want you to knock the socks off all those big-city folks, you’re good enough. They’ll adore you, the same way I do.”

  I’d sniffled then, sad to leave my mom. But again, the scholarship was like a gift from the heavens, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to see the bright lights of the big city, to train with the best instructors, to work with the best ballerinas and to be spun around by the most talented male dancers.

  Except that now, I’ve been in NYC for three months, and it hasn’t exactly worked out according to plan. I practice with the corps for sure, I’m surrounded by dancers day in and day out, but it hasn’t been easy. A lot of the other girls are really competitive and mean, their words like daggers coated in honey.

  And my heart dropped when the queen bee of the group, Viola, strolled into the studio early one morning. It was just the two of us so far, and bowing my head once more in a stretch, I tried not to look at her, focusing on the floor.

  But no such luck. Immediately, Viola dropped her bag in the corner and turned to face me.

  “Laney, did you put on weight?” she asked, voice as sweet as sugar. “Looks like you’re having a little trouble there.”

  In answer, I tilted forwards even more, hiding my face. Because the truth is that I’ve always struggled with being heavy. Ballet dancers are supposed to be whip thin, but I’m on the curvy side. I’ve got real tits, a real ass, and thighs that are strong and sensuous, not the gristle and bone that a lot of professional dancers have.

  So I gritted my teeth where Viola couldn’t see.

  “No I haven’t,” I replied in a low voice. “I’m fine.”

  But Viola couldn’t be deterred.

  “Really?” she asked in an arch voice. “There’s definitely some jiggle there.
Have you been eating cheeseburgers again?”

  My face flamed as I stared blindly at the floor, fighting the urge to hit her, or cry. God, why did people in New York City have to be so mean? Why did this girl have to be so awful? Why did we have to be the only ones in the studio this early in the morning, warming up? I cursed, eyes flooding with hot tears, but made myself keep it together.

  “No, I haven’t eaten a cheeseburger since the time in the cafeteria, thank you very much,” I said in a low voice, standing to look her in the eye. “And besides, it wasn’t a cheeseburger, you know the cafeteria doesn’t serve stuff like that. It was a turkey burger made from lean meat, very healthy.”

  Viola sniggered, her eyes going up and down my body like it was a garbage dump.

  “Well it must have been the cheese,” she giggled nastily. “I swear I saw you chowing down on a burger oozing with cheddar, that shit’s full of fat. Real ballet dancers don’t eat dairy,” she said with a huff, spinning on her heel, blonde hair flying.

  And at that moment, other dancers began entering the studio, chatting and talking, interrupting us. Of course, Viola was all smiles, greeting our seniors.

  “Hi Anna! Hi Rebecca!” she called to the prima ballerinas. “Hi … oh!” came her gasp.

  I didn’t want to look, there were tears in my eyes still and I fought to make them stay down. I didn’t want anyone to know how Viola had just body-shamed me, how ugly and disgusting she made me feel. So swallowing thickly, I made myself take a deep breath and look up. Because I wasn’t going to be a loser, I was here to make the most of the big city, and Viola wasn’t going to win.

  But when I looked up, I too gasped. Because standing there was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Thick black hair dropped over penetrating blue eyes, topped with a strong square jaw and straight nose. But it was the man’s physique that made my mouth go dry. He wore a black suit, but the loose fabric couldn’t hide the body of a former dancer, perfectly balanced and symmetrical. This awesome specimen was toned and athletic, with muscled thighs and strong arms, perfect for lifting girls in the air.