Page 38 of His Choice

He smiled. “Yeah. It was hard to fit the sparkles on that little bathing suit I drew. But the depiction is intentionally abstract to reflect the daddy-little boy relationship we’d have.”

I didn’t desire being a daddy, and I wasn’t into treating a boyfriend like he was my kid. I knew it was a thing for some guys—but not this one. I subtracted the point I had just mentally given Dani. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to crush his spirit. He’d been honest about what he wanted, and he seemed like a nice enough person. While he wasn’t a match for me, I hoped he’d find someone soon who’d give him what he sought.

“I like the sprinkles,” I said, to give him a boost. “They’re very you. And drawing the sun in the background reflects your positive attitude. Nice job, Dani.”

“Yay!” Dani clapped and even jumped a couple of times.

Emilio was suddenly at my side, speaking to the camera. “Could Dani be the one to fulfill a daddy kink for Cliff? Looks promising.”

I scowled. “I didn’t say…”

“Let’s move on to Ted, shall we?” Emilio suggested, guiding me to the second station where Ted stood, appearing befuddled. It looked like he had just added green food coloring to his frosting, then spread it sloppily over the cake.

“It was going to be a football field if I had more time,” Ted explained. “I was supposed to make white lines, but I realized I hadn’t saved any of the white frosting before turning it green.”

“Oh, well, you probably needed more time to smooth out the… hills of icing, too, huh? This would be a treacherous football field,” I joked. He nodded, appearing to take the comment seriously as he studied his work.

“And what is the significance of a football field?” Emilio asked.

Ted looked confused. “To have something to play football on.”

This wasn’t going well. I thought it might be helpful to intervene. “Where you’d score a touchdown with me?”

Now he seemed even more baffled. “No. You know two guys can’t score a touchdown together. I just figured you said you like the New England Patriots and so do I, so we could watch games together.”

“Ah.” I acted as if that was the perfect answer. I wanted to tell Ted that I already had friends who enjoyed watching football with me, like Adam, Mitch and Keller. I didn’t need one more. I hoped he would surprise me with something more romantic during the next challenge.

Emilio didn’t hide that he was unimpressed. He pulled me to station three where Daryl stood. I tried not to appear shocked when I looked down at what he’d done with his cake.

“Is that what I think it is?” Emilio asked.

Daryl smirked. “If you need to ask, I’m worried for you.”

Daryl had cut the cake into the shape of testicles and an erect penis, with white frosting dripping from the tip of the clearly defined crown. I thought Marv would scream to stop filming, then remembered that the show was on cable and was known to get racy.

“I wasn’t expecting a porn cake,” I admitted.

Daryl was unfazed. “It’s a preview cake.”

Presumptuous little shit. “I see,” I said, likely sounding less enthusiastic than Daryl wished.

“And yes, the size is true to life,” he added with a smutty grin. “And it’s all for you.”

“Oh, uh… I think it would be too filling,” I replied, unsure what to say. Though I had meant consuming the cake, I realized too late that my statement could be misconstrued. I flushed, but Daryl winked and nodded.

Alex was next, and his cake looked nice—but like a decorated cake from a bakery.

“Lovely, but what does this mean?” Emilio questioned.

Alex remained stoic. “I’m not into gimmicky things. I wanted to show you that when given a task, I rise to the occasion. I’m reliable and deliver. That’s what everyone should be able to expect from their partner.”

“Yes, makes sense,” I responded, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. While I agreed with his sentiment, I hoped to feel a spark at some point, too. His cool efficiency and workmanship hadn’t done it.

“Let’s see what Brighton has created, shall we?” Emilio asked, guiding me to the next station.

“I swear I wasn’t copying Dani,” Brighton interjected, a bit red-faced and hiding his cake. I was ready for the disappointment of learning he’d turned his cake into a baby rattle or some other metaphor for wanting a daddy. It seemed odd to me, considering he was older. When Brighton moved the cake into my view, I was relieved. There was a depiction of three people, all with their backs turned. There were two men and a shorter woman between them. Brighton had expertly used the piping bag to draw the men’s arms extending over the woman to hold onto each other’s shoulders. The woman had an arm around each man’s waist.

“You’re a very good artist,” I praised.