“Are we still talking about the cake?” she asked in a breathy voice. “Please tell me we’re not still talking about the cake.”
Smiling, I stood, lifted her up, and set her down onto the granite counter.
“No, Syd,” I whispered, spreading her legs wider. “I’m not talking about the cake.”
Her eyes closed and she panted, “Thank goodness.”
“I want to taste you, Syd.”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I want that, too.”
I was about to lay her back when my phone rang. I looked over to make sure it wasn’t the station.
“Dad?”
Sydney glanced over at the screen.
“He’s FaceTiming me. Now!”
“Mike, you should get it. What if something’s wrong?”
With a frustrated groan, I answered it. The image on the screen was jumping all around. The ceiling, the floor, dad’s bed.
Dad’s bed?
“Dad? Dad?”
Then we heard mumbling.
“It sounds like he’s with someone,” Sydney said.
“For the love of all things, my dad butt-dialed me.”
Sydney covered her mouth and giggled.
“Oh, you look so hot.”
I froze.
No. No. No. No. God no!
“Oh my gosh!” Sydney whispered. “Your dad’s about to get lucky, too!”
Snapping my head around, I shot her a dirty look. “Don’t say that!” I hissed.
We heard a noise and looked back at the phone, which had apparently been dropped on the floor. It was facing up and I could see…
“What the fuck! Whose leg is that! Dad! Dad! Hang up the phone! For the love of God!”