Page 19 of His Holy Chaos

"Hey, kid. I'm sorry for what I said. Don't take it personally. I meant no harm."

I'm expecting him to answer maybe in a couple of hours, or maybe even ignore me altogether. But I get a response back immediately.

My heart goes crazy because of it. I don't know why.

"Did you go after my number just to apologize? That is so cute." The text flashes on my screen. I feel myself out of breath. That boy knows exactly what to say to get on my nerves, and he knows he has that power. I realize I haven't even signed my message. He can't possibly have my number. So he knows it's me. Maybe it isn't that hard to guess, but even so, it proves I'm still on his mind.

For a second, I'm glad I sent the message.

"I just thought what I said was very inappropriate. We don't know each other, and maybe I hit some limit of yours. I apologize."

Again, he texts back immediately. "So prim and proper. That's adorable, darling."

This time, he makes me chuckle. I don't want to admit that.

Another text, right away.

"Don't worry about it. No one ever hurts me. Nothing can touch me. Don't worry this boring Dom head of yours."

And again I chuckle. That guy is incredible, unbelievable. What does he mean, he never gets hurt? In the short time I've known him, I know he's so self-destructive it's comical. And sad.

"Yeah, sure. I've seen the way you drink. That's not normal." I send it, and I immediately regret it. "Sorry, maybe that wasn't appropriate either. I apologize."

But he sends a laughing emoji back and says:

"I told you to not worry this boring head of yours. You got better things to worry about like bedtimes and eating vegetables or whatever Doms worry about. Listen to me and be good."

That makes my blood boil. It makes me want to teach him a lesson immediately.

"And why would I do something that you tell me to do?"

Again, the message comes seconds later. This boy is quick-witted. He's smart.

"Because maybe you want somebody to guide you. I know that many Doms just want to be dommed in secret. You can tell me. Your secret will be safe with me." And he sends a winking emoji.

"In your dreams, baby," I type, but it takes me a second before I delete the word "baby" and replace it with "kid." I'm ridiculously out of control with him. I don't need to get to his level. I can maintain my cool. That's what I always do.

☐

He comes to the next practice, and it's ridiculous how worried I am that he won't show up.

We do not mention BratWorld. We do not discuss the club, or Dave, or how he found me. We do not use words like dominant or submissive or dynamic. We are simply two people who enjoy music together.

I don't know what possessed me to banter with that kid over text. The worst part is that he's good, and he riles me up with each word. I find myself smiling like a buffoon at my phone and waiting for every text back.

And then, I remember how my mom loved him. Worse, how Angel loved him. And his voice. God, his voice. I've been a music teacher for a long time, and it's rare to find a voice like that. He's a tenor and he fits right in. At his first practice, when I introduce him to people, he's exactly how I imagine he'd be: charming, all smiles. The old ladies immediately love him. The old men invite him to play cards later. And he can actually follow directions. It's obvious he has musical training, and I can't help but be incredibly impressed.

Still, I should be in control. I'm an adult. I'm much older than him, while we're at that. I'm sure we both have a lot of things going on in our lives. I have to raise Angel. She's my utmost priority. He has to do whatever annoying brats do all day. He's barely in his late twenties, for God's sake.

But I also don't condone lying. It's one of the things I never accept under any circumstances. This includes lying to myself. I can't deny the feelings I'm having and how happy those little text messages make me. That kid followed me to my church, sat there obediently through all the choir practices, even after I told him no to his request to join (before my dear mother ruined it all), and even started attending service. If anything, I'm helping him get closer to God.

It's insane, but we're both single and experienced in the scene. He's eager, clearly attracted to me. And he's really handsome with that white-blond hair and big, round, honey-colored eyes.

I guess we could try something.

A brat. The last thing I needed in my life.

Chapter 12. Ford