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"If Bryce was my Daddy, I’d have access to any construction site I wanted. His reputation precedes him here in New York City and no one turns him down."
That’s when a shadow falls across Bob’s forehead. It’s a big, round, fluffy shadow, one that instantly fills my heart with hopeful expectation.
When I glance up, I lay eyes on Bryce.
Bryce
Well, well, well. If it’s not the boy who used to bug the crap out of me at the Hug Club.
If I’d run into BJ a few months ago at this very construction site, I’d be annoyed to see him. He was always teasing me, provoking me, or should I say, tempting me.
At barely five feet tall, he’s so pint-sized that I was afraid I’d crush him. Seriously. I’m a big guy. At six-foot-eight and three-hundred-pounds, I can be quite intimidating.
I was taken aback by this tiny nineteen-year-old Little who didn’t seem to run from me. In fact, the instant he found out that I was a real estate developer, he started to pay extra special attention to me.
There’s something about BJ that speaks to my inner protector. The coveralls he wears, along with his obsession with diggers, make him seem super innocent and vulnerable, and I’ve been a Daddy long enough to know that can be a red flag.
Sometimes, boys often think that they’re ready to be with Daddies when they’re really not. They’re dipping their toes into the scene, and a huge, meaty Daddy like me, one who’s cuddly yet also commanding and fierce in the boardroom (and bedroom) is more than they can bite off.
When BJ and I hugged at the Best Hugger competition, something in me softened. I thought that BJ wasn’t so bad after all, and I couldn’t deny it, the way his petite body molded into my enormous one melted my heart.
I even felt his dick get hard under his coveralls, and I nearly had an aneurysm when I realized that it was as petite as the rest of him.
BJ has a crush on me. A massive one. One that’s almost as massive as my big and tall frame.
Still, nothing ever happened between us. We’ve hugged every time we’ve spotted each other since, but the conversation rarely goes where I thought it was heading during the competition.
I can’t help but wonder if I’m waiting for the right moment to make a move. The perfect time.
"Look who’s trespassing on my construction site." I let out a pretend growl, feigning fierceness when in reality, all I want to do is wrap this little hug bug in my arms, set him on my lap, and learn why he likes diggers so much. Maybe I’d even read him a storybook. Oh, the price I’d pay to watch his curious eyes follow my finger.
BJ’s wide eyes stare up at me. I try to resist the urge to glimpse directly into them, because part of me knows that it’ll be like staring into the sun, and yet I can’t resist.
They’re green. The most adorable, effervescent shade of emerald green I’ve ever been privileged to bear witness to in my life. Deep, lush, and sparkly, they give the most verdant meadows a run for their money. Almost, I spot tall trees sprouting inside of them—huge, towering trunks that’d provide gentle shade for my workers, who labor hard to build affordable housing for underprivileged communities.
Helping those less fortunate than me is my passion. Recently, I got the permits to begin work on my new affordable housing development for under-housed LGBTQ+ community members here in Upstate New York. A lot of people don't know what under-housed means, and they question what I’m doing. I tell them that it’s a term that encompasses those who currently experience houselessness and those facing housing insecurity. You don't have to be houseless to be under-housed. You can live in a government project that doesn’t meet your needs.
This is especially difficult if you have children you don't want growing up in an unstable environment. I will give these people a safe, stable place to live. Away from homophobic landlords who’ll reject them for who they are.
My grandmother is the reason I’m so passionate about this project.
A growl threatens behind my pursed lips, but I nip it in the bud. Now is not the time to think about the sad situation that my grandmother found herself in toward the end of her life. She’s the reason I’m so passionate about my work, and the push I need to deal with the headaches that come with being a full-time socially conscious investor every single day.
BJ pushes out a gasp. "Your construction site? No, that can’t be right. I looked up the owner. It’s a corporation."
"Yes, Little BJ. My firm."
"All I was doing was bringing the working guys doughnuts. I swear."
BJ raises his hands in the air which tugs at my heartstrings. I try not to smile, but he’s really too cute for his own good.
"I heard a little birdy was dropping off doughnuts every morning for my employees," I growl, bringing my fingers to my chin. "They suspected it was a curious boy in the neighborhood."
"Well, I don't live in this neighborhood, but I am a curious boy."
That you are, BJ. That you are.
I take another good look at this bite-sized Little, then fight hard not to grin. The teddy he won at the Best Hugger competition is now wearing a tiny construction hat, one that’s almost as cute as the one on BJ’s head. BJ’s coveralls and suspenders definitely don't belong on a construction site, but they do belong in a playroom with lots of blocks and dump truck toys.
