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A rush of warmth spread through me. I chuckled softly, assuring him, "I have stranger danger. I wouldn't talk to him anyway."
Mike, who had been watching the exchange with a curious gaze, shook his head and chuckled.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
Mike flashed a playful grin. "Who, me? Oh, nothing," he responded, his tone coy.
A light shrug of his shoulders, and he let out another bout of infectious laughter. He turned to me, his voice dropping to a sly, almost teasing whisper.
"You know, Lina," he started, a coy grin playing on his lips, "sometimes people don't say what they really feel."
Joe, perched beside us, looked up at Mike's cryptic statement. "Are you talking about that guy?" He asked.
But Mike was evasive, his grin unwavering as he shrugged nonchalantly. "Who said it was about anyone?" he retorted.
Was he suggesting Hank had feelings for me? My heart fluttered at the thought, a flicker of hope igniting at the prospect. In the quiet moments that followed, I stole a glance at Hank. Could the unimaginable be true? Could Hank possibly reciprocate my feelings?
As the last of our meal disappeared, Joe and Hank rose from their seats to tackle the bill. Hank, in his usual authoritative fashion, insisted on settling the account, brushing off Joe's protestations with a wave of his hand.
Mike and I watched them walk away before turning back to each other, a giddy excitement fizzing between us. "So," Mike began, his eyes shining with anticipation, "looking forward to our evening at the club?"
Chapter 12: Lina
The sensation of transition from the mellow, intimate warmth of the diner to the pulsating energy of the club next door was almost surreal. The vibrant hum of music and laughter immediately enveloped us as we entered. The club was in full swing now.
Among the crowd, a tender vignette caught my attention. Mike, his cheeks rosy with joy, cradled in Joe's arms, a pacifier peeking out from his contented smile. He was practically purring, nestled securely against his Daddy's chest, oblivious to the chaos and clamor around him. The sight stirred a deep longing within me, a yearning for a sense of security and belonging, the kind that only a Daddy's embrace could provide.
Instinctively, my gaze drifted towards Hank. I imagined myself cocooned safely within the sanctuary of Hank’s strong, muscular arms. I visualized the comforting warmth that would radiate from him, the steady rhythm of his heart against my ear, his steady breaths resonating in sync with mine. I imagined him holding me close, the world around us fading into insignificance. I wondered if he'd smell like the faint musk of cologne and the fresh scent of the diner coffee he loved so much.
The fantasy was so potent, so vivid, that I nearly missed the moment his eyes found mine. His gaze was piercing, and I felt a jolt of surprise. I quickly averted my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest, as a shy blush painted my cheeks.
Once ensconced in the tranquility of the club's Little playroom, Joe set Mike down on the plush carpet, his eyes warm but stern. "Mike, behave yourself tonight, okay?"
With a cheeky grin, Mike looked up, mischief dancing in his eyes. "But Daddy, I always behave," he retorted, the twinkle in his eyes belying his innocent tone.
Chuckling, Joe ruffled Mike's hair affectionately before leaving us to join Hank in the Daddy lounge area. Once they were gone, Mike and I scuttled over to the pile of toys spread across the room.
In the midst of our exploration, a Little bounded into our orbit. Kristen, as she introduced herself with a bright smile and sparkling eyes, offered a friendly greeting. She cradled a porcelain doll lovingly in her arms, her fondness for the beautiful object evident.
"Want to play ‘Porcelain Doll Picnic’?" she asked, her voice filled with an infectious enthusiasm.
Intrigued, we eagerly agreed. As we gathered around, Kristen began explaining the game. Each of us had a turn playing 'Mommy' or 'Daddy' to the doll, caring for it, feeding it, and making sure it was tucked in for a nap.
"Alright, Mike, you're up. You're the doll's Daddy," Kristen directed, handing over the doll to him.
With his signature sass, Mike held the doll at arm’s length. "Now, now, don't be a grumpy doll like Daddy," he said, his tone a mock imitation of Joe’s gruff one. Our corner exploded with laughter, the atmosphere light and joyful.
As we moved into the final stage of our game, Mike found himself back in the role of the doll's Daddy. His face took on a comically exaggerated sternness, his eyes wide in mock seriousness.
"Now," he began, placing the doll over his knee with an elaborate flourish, "it's time for your punishment, Miss Porcelain." His voice, purposefully stern, echoed across the room, the playful twinkle in his eyes belying his serious tone.
With each playful smack he delivered to the doll, Mike conjured up a ludicrous charge, his imagination running wild. "Leading a secret double life as a notorious cookie thief? That's a spanking!" He exclaimed, prompting giggles to ripple through our small group. "Conspiring to take over the world? That's another one!" The laughter escalated, filling the room with a contagious joy that was impossible to resist.
Suddenly, in the middle of his theatrics, Mike paused, adopting an expression of sage wisdom. "Now, little Miss," he advised the doll solemnly, "you need to learn a thing or two from a well-behaved Little known as Mike." He gestured to himself with an air of faux modesty. "Why, my impeccable behavior is celebrated throughout the club!"
At his outrageous claim, I couldn't help but burst into laughter, my incredulous gaze meeting Kristen's equally amused one.
"Oh, I'm sure Uncle Joe would have a catalogue of hilarious counterpoints to that boastful statement," I retorted, grinning at Mike's playful arrogance.
