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ONE
BJ
"Bob," I pout, giving my teddy a stern look. "You’re not supposed to stare at the working guys like that. They’ll think you’re flirting with them."
My teddy, Bob, named after my favorite character ever on the bestest show ever, Bob the Builder, ignores me. He continues staring at the construction workers who are presently busy eating doughnuts that a little angel delivered to them earlier this morning.
I can’t help but wiggle behind the tree where I’m spying on them.
Now—let’s get one thing clear.
I’m not flirting with these working guys like Bob is.
No, I’m obsessed with all things construction. Building sites, diggers, cranes, huge dump trucks with tires that are bigger than my body. Buying working guys doughnuts is something that I’ve done since I was a boy, for reasons I can’t for the life of me explain.
Contributing in any way I can to the building process, even if only through purchasing treats, makes me feel like I belong. At my size, I’ll never be approved to work on an actual construction site.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
At sixteen, I marched to a build site with a resumé in hand and asked to speak to the foreman. They asked me what I thought I was doing there, and I said that I wanted to help them. The working guys burst into laughter, and I think they assumed I had a screw loose, because they told me that someone as little and small as me would never be welcome, even though I was old enough to work. It was too dangerous for my small frame, and if a brick fell on me, it’d crush my head.
So, I figured out how to contribute behind the scenes. The workers typically assume their corporate overlords are the ones who buy them doughnuts, because I dash away before they can catch me.
At my size, I can’t risk getting into a row with an irate worker. I’m nineteen now, so they wouldn’t get a serious prison sentence if they beat me into a pulp like they would’ve if I were still a teenager.
Sometimes, I sigh and wish that I was still a teenager. It’s tough being an adult, especially when, because of the way you look, most people still treat you as a kid. You’re expected to pay bills, buy food, cook, wash laundry, dry laundry, fold laundry, and put laundry away, on top of a bazillion other things.
I’m too hyper and easily distracted to focus on too many big boy things. That’s why I love entering my Little headspace, leaving real life at the door, and losing myself in play.
One construction worker glances around. "Who keeps leaving us these fucking doughnuts?"
"Some kid," another one growls. "His teddy is poking out from behind that tree over there."
"Damnit, Bob," I all but holler, then remember to keep my voice down so I don’t come across as mentally unstable. That’s something of a challenge for me. "I told you not to spy too obviously."
I adopted Bob after one of my bestest friends in the world, Calloway, gave him to me after he won Bob in the Best Hugger competition at the Hug Club. He loved the teddy, but he didn’t want to bring him home because his teddy, named Constable Charlie, would grow jealous.
Calloway is a very conscientious boy—much more than me. Both he and my other friend, Waxley, are some of the sweetest boys I know.
Me? I’m more of a sassy type, although I’m not super sassy. I’ve met some really sassy Littles before, and though I can be a handful compared to Waxley and Calloway, I fall on the sweet side of the spectrum.
A sigh escapes me as I pick up Bob. I sling him over my shoulder, then sit down with my back to the tree trunk, my proverbial tail tucked between my legs. Why is that none of the construction workers ever want me to be around them? Even when I used to deliver doughnuts in person and not hide afterwards, they rejected me.
All I wanted was to be their friend, and hopefully get to sit with them on a digger. Like friends do, like they do with each other I assume when there aren’t enough diggers for everybody and they have to share.
"Bob, you can’t throw me under the bus again. Next time, I’m leaving you at home."
Only one thing could make me feel better right now.
Err—not a thing. A man.
Bryce.
A flurry of warmth fills me as I think of the strong, fluffy Daddy at the Hug Club I have the biggest crush on. He’s a real estate developer, but he’s not a typical one. Unlike most, he doesn’t put profit over people. He genuinely helps the communities he serves, and he always applies for special grants and funding to keep his home prices down so underprivileged people can purchase them.
When we hugged at the Hug Club before we were disqualified from the Best Hugger competition, I was convinced my time had come. I’d found my Daddy. My perfect, cuddly, construction Daddy who gave the best hugs in the universe.
Though Bryce and I hug each other every time we meet at the Club, nothing comes of it. I know he doesn’t hate me like before, but neither of us is taking the next step.
