Page 19 of Ruined

Get it together, idiot. It’s not like he asked you on a date. He just wants to hear about your life and stuff, as if he’s your stepdad again. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Good,” Logan says, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “And Oliver?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry about what happened back at my place. It’s quite normal at your age.”

My stomach flips as I realize what he’s saying. Hands clammy with sweat and heart pounding, I open the car door.

“Okaybye,” I blurt and climb out, refusing to risk another glance at him lest I pop another boner.

He said it’s normal at my age, but is it really normal to lust after your stepdad? Former stepdad, but still. Every little touch makes my dick rise in wonder and my chest explode with butterflies. My years-long forbidden infatuation with him is going strong as ever.

How am I supposed to hang out with him like we used to, all innocent, like father and son, without making it weird? I’m already making it weird.

Shit, shit, shit.

7. FIRST TIME

The next morning, I take Oliver’s bike down to the garage. The wheel is misaligned, and the tire’s flat, but both should be an easy fix. While my body gets busy working, it doesn’t take long for my mind to wander back to yesterday.

How long were we together? An hour at the most? In that short amount of time, I managed to make so many mistakes.

I shouldn’t have said the word “Daddy.” Anything but that word. It’s just that cleaning his wounds and patching him up transported me back to the times I took care of him as a father, and the word just slipped out. I didn’t mean anything by it, other than to reassure him. That I’d make things right.

But when I saw his face, I knew I’d fucked up. He knows. He knows about the other context in which that word can be used. I created a tension in the air that wasn’t there before. Maybe that was why his body reacted the way it did.

First, when I had his foot in my lap. Then, when I wrapped my arms around him, and he pressed his nose to my chest. Something else pressed into me, too, and I wasn’t going to say anything about it. I shouldn’t have said anything about it. God, why did I mention it in the car and embarrass him like that?

I said it’s normal at his age, but the way I remember, at the age of nineteen I’d largely gotten over the untimely boners. So why, then? Why did he get hard? I can’t allow myself to think too deeply about it, because the conclusion both disturbs and intrigues me, and that in itself is disturbing.

I’m his father figure, or at least I was. It’s not appropriate for his body to react that way, and it’s certainly not appropriate for him to have those thoughts about me in the first place. We were sharing a sweet moment of reunion and relief—maybe that was why his body reacted? The more I try to make up excuses for it, the more the obvious reason seems more likely. I don’t know what to think about it, but I certainly shouldn’t be so intrigued.

He’s your former stepson, for fuck’s sake. Not a potential partner. He might’ve been when he was a stranger on an app, but not now. No way in hell. Never. Not Oliver. Anyone but him.

This new, forbidden attraction only stands in the way of how I’d like our relationship to develop. I want to get to know him again, see him smile, and be there for him through thick and thin. That’s what I want. Be a father figure to him again, if he’d let me. Nothing else.

I spin the wheel of his bike, and the spokes make a satisfying ticking sound. Good. Next, I get to work patching the hole in the tire, kneeling on a mat on the hard concrete floor of the garage. It strikes me that he wasn’t wearing a helmet yesterday, and I make a mental note to go to the store before I text him and ask him to come over.

Mistakes aside, I’m really looking forward to seeing him again. Just thinking about it makes me smile as I press the repaired tire back onto the wheel. I lubricate the chain and make sure the brakes work as they should. At some point, I get a little carried away, and by the time I’m done, the bike is spotless and looks brand new. I stand back and admire my handiwork, and all I can think about is seeing Oliver’s smile.

“Did you fix it?” The moment I open the door, Oliver steps inside, buzzing with excitement.

“Come and see.” I lead him into the apartment, and when he sees his bike all fixed up and polished, his jaw drops in a gasp.

“Holy shit.”

I shrug, smiling at his reaction. “It needed some maintenance. I oiled the chain, made it run really smooth. And here.” I offer him the helmet I bought. “I want you to wear this from now on.”

His smile falls, and he looks like he’ll protest, but then he rolls his eyes and takes it. “Fine.”

By the look in his eyes, I know what he’s about to do before it happens. With the helmet in his hand, he all but runs toward me and wraps his arms around my middle.

“Thank you,” he whispers into my chest. And then, the faintest breath that I almost miss. “Daddy.”

My heart swells with pride and something else—something I can’t acknowledge. I didn’t expect him to call me that again so soon, unless… the word holds a different meaning than it used to.

It’s not the word itself but rather the way he says it: how breathy his voice is, how he burrows his nose into my chest and holds me tight. The memory of yesterday invades my mind, and I clear my throat and push him gently away.