Daddies Taste Better

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” Noah yelled at his friend after they’d held his head underwater a little too long.

“What the hell!” he snapped, but the curse didn’t stop laughter from bubbling out of him.

And somehow that laugh was contagious enough to pull a smile onto my lips.

Yeah, for some reason, I always loved watching him in water.

There was something freeing about the way he moved there, like the world couldn't touch him as long as his feet were off the ground.

Today was one of those rare days when that version of him showed up again.

Sunlight glazed over his shoulders as he dove under, resurfacing with a grin I hadn’t seen in what felt like weeks. His laughter carried across the pool, mixing with the splash of water and clinking of ice from the drink he’d balanced on the edge earlier.

It made my chest loosen a little.

He’d been so serious lately, so tense around me, like every conversation had a hidden trap he was trying to avoid. And each time I tried to ask what was wrong, he dodged the question with a vague “It’s nothing,” or “Just tired,” or “Don’t worry about it.”

The kind of answers that weren’t answers at all and leaves you turning things over in your mind, inventing problems that may or may not be real.

But here he was… smiling. Laughing. Splashing water at his friends while downing another sip of his drink.

It was refreshing. Painfully so.

Part of me wanted to believe this was just who he was—easy-going, fun-loving, unconcerned with things. But another part of me, the part that refused to shut up no matter how hard I tried, wondered if maybe the reason he’d been so tense lately was… me.

I mean, who wouldn’t be bothered? I moved in with him and his father two months ago, after losing my job and failing spectacularly at finding another. I was still going to school, sure, but that didn’t make paying bills any easier. And even though his father had insisted—actually insisted—that I focus on getting back on my feet, that I was welcome… the guilt still found ways to crawl under my skin and lodge itself there.

Nobody wants a partner who starts to feel like a burden.

Least of all me.

And I had started seeing myself that way… like a leech that was feeding off whatever warmth he had left.

His cold shoulder these past weeks… God, it wasn’t helping. But after he invited his friends over for drinks by the pool, somehow the mood shifted.

He was… in a better mood.

“Oh stop it!” one of the girls squealed, splashing him as he tickled her sides. They both burst into loud carefree giggles, obnoxiously close to each other.

I tried to ignore the sting in my stomach.

I really did.

I wasn’t the type to get jealous over nothing. And I trusted him. But trust didn’t erase the little pangs when she touched him so casually.

Truth be told, I already felt left out.

They were having fun, lounging at the edge of the pool while I sat in the shade with my legs crossed, hands wrapped around a sweating glass of soda I hadn’t taken a sip from in twenty minutes.

They’d said hi to me when they came in, but after that… it was like I disappeared. Not out of malice—just out of that natural ease people have with their long-time friends. They slipped back into old inside jokes and familiar dynamics like slipping into shoes they’d worn for years.

And me?

I was the guest in my own house.

He glanced over at me then, brushing wet hair out of his face, his smile widening.

“Come in!” he called out, gesturing for me to join them in the water.

I shook my head quickly.

He knew I was terrified of deep water. I’d told him about the time I nearly drowned as a kid, how the panic had never left me. The most I ever did around pools was dip my feet in. Sometimes my knees, if I felt particularly brave.

He knew that.

Still, he insisted. “Come on, babe! Just for a little. It’s not even cold.”

“I’m fine here,” I called back with a smile that I hoped didn’t look forced.

But he kept urging. And urging. And urging. And the more he insisted, the more embarrassed I felt—especially when his friends turned to look at me with encouraging grins, as though my fear was something cute or silly.

It wasn’t cute.

I was trying not to hyperventilate at the idea.

Eventually his playful smile twisted into something else.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, half laughing.

And before I could react, or even fully stand up, he waded out of the pool, water dripping off him in sheets, and strode toward me.

“No… hey, stop, I’m serious,” I protested, bracing myself against the arm of the chair as he reached for me.

He didn’t listen.

He never listened when it came to this.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he grinned.

I grabbed the chair, digging my nails into the cushion.

“I mean it… please—don’t.”

But he laughed, hooked his arms around my waist, and hauled me up while I kicked and screamed and tried to curl away from him.

His friends cheered.

God. Please don’t do this, Noah.

My stomach twisted, heat rushing to my face because boo hoo, humiliation had a temperature of its own.

“Stop! Seriously, I’ll cry…. stop!”

“You’re fine.”

His wet arms tightened around me.

“Please,” I whispered, voice cracking.

But he didn’t hear it.

Or maybe he didn’t care to.

All I knew was that the moment my foot slipped off the last pool tile and the smell of chlorine filled my nose, my body locked up.

I couldn’t breathe and panic surged through me, my mind shrieking even though my mouth couldn’t make a single sound.

I tried to claw my way upward but the world twisted around me until up and down blurred together and every direction felt like drowning.

Please, someone save me!

And in that cruel moment of plea, I felt my lungs give that horrible and terrifying final warning—BREATH or DIE—and In panic, I inhaled water.