If Only In Our Dreams (Christmas Daddies, #3)

by Fae Quin

You know you’re fucked up when the best thing to happen to you in years is falling asleep while leaning on a stranger’s shoulder. I know what you’re probably thinking, “That’s fucking sad, bro”. And you would be right. It is sad. Pitiful, probably. Stupid? Maybe. Rude, absolutely. I mean, who does that? Just fucking commandeers another dude’s bicep? Me, motherfucker, that’s who. In my defense, it was a very nice bicep.

In my defense, Ben Montgomery was a total snack. Not that I’d tap that, because I wouldn’t. Family, duh. And I was only here temporarily. I’d be leaving right before Christmas Eve, so there was no reason to shake the foundation that Miles had painstakingly built. But still—I could look at him and think that, couldn’t I? In the privacy of my own head. It wasn’t illegal to want to climb him like a tree.

Praise kink. He might have a praise kink. My head spun. Stop thinking about his kinks, Ben, and feed him. He looks hungry.

The girls watched me approach, twin sets of eyes narrowed like they weren’t sure what to make of me. Which was fair. If this was the wild, I’d be the hyena panting after their hot lion dad. Wasn’t that how The Lion King went? Either way. I was a predator.

“We could use another adult,” I hummed, eyeing him up and down. “You look fast.” Faster than the toddlers, anyway. “How would you like to be on our team?” “Be on your…” Robin stared at me, then the girls. I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe for him to laugh? To say, “Hell no.” Or for a polite yes, best case scenario. What I didn’t expect, however, was for his eyes to grow wet. For his lips to curl into a wobbly little smile. For a certain sort of reverence to spread across his features as he nodded his head jerkily. “You really would…you know…want me on your team?” My heart lurched. Oh, sweet baby. Sweet, sweet baby.

“Bet you get sexy a lot,” I blurted like an idiot. “Hot.” That was worse somehow. “Gorgeous?” “Says the man with eyes like sea glass and hair like snow.” “I see you, writer man,” I joked. “You and your…metaphors.” “Simile,” Ben corrected. “Gesundheit.”

“There it is.” “There what is?” “My eyebrow.” He reached up with one painted finger and gently poked at my brow. I snorted out a laugh, amused. “I’m pretty sure that’s my eyebrow.” “Nah. I adopted it. It’s mine now.”

“This is why you need me around,” I told him. “I’ve got fresh perspective.” “That’s not the only reason I need you around,” Ben said, sweeter than sugar. He leaned down and kissed my pursed lips. I could taste wine on his, familiar and musky sweet. “You’re after my bussy,” I mumbled against his mouth, delighted when he jerked back so he wouldn’t laugh right in my face. “I just know it.” “Jesus Christ, Robin,” Ben cackled.

He and Miles hadn’t had big Halloweens like this when they were kids. He’d told me the saddest, most adorable stories about making Miles’s costumes for him when he was a kid—only for most of the houses to close up early, and their bags to remain mostly empty. We were healing his inner child, one cavity at a time. And I couldn’t be mad about that. Especially when he made sure to give all the kids with beat-up sneakers the king-sized bars.