I can't move on

Don't get me wrong; I trust myself a lot. I have been a man for 38 years. I know everything about myself, what turns me on, and basically what causes me to go against my better judgment. And I don't think I ever recalled a 5'4, selfless 21-year-old who has an obsession with knitting and a serious smoking problem being on that list.

He's been in my home for less than a day and he's already pushed me to my limits more times than I can count and now I don't trust myself.

I was watching him use his crutches as he talked to his family, who were there to help him move in.

He had changed because the nurse recommended he wear shorts so it was easier for him to take them off.

I don't trust myself. Especially with the way he was walking in those shorts. God, I am fucking horrible.

"You guys are really giving me up to this fuckwad," he said, turning around to make sure I heard him.

I took that as my cue to come over and hear their conversation. 

I watched his dad snatch him. "Don't say anything about him; he's my fucking boss."

I felt a part of me jump. I felt rage.

"Another part of our deal I forgot to tell you," I said, smiling, and I watched him quickly put his son back.

"I want him to recover fast, and I hope you do as well. And part of that recovery involves..." I stopped and got closer to his dad. "Not fucking touching him like that."

"I'm his dad; with all due respect, I will do what I want," he said, talking louder.

I will drag you; don't even.

"Who pays your bills?" I asked with a smile.

"My job."

"Who pays for your wife's flower shop when it doesn't make enough money?"

"My job."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Who pays your salary?" I asked.

There was nothing to say after that one.

"Good, I'm glad we are on the same terms," I said with a smile and went back to stand behind Ryder.

"Mijo, you don't have to do this; we can figure it out," his mom said.

"It's fine, Mom; this weirdo isn't even that bad to be around," Ryder said.

He turned to his siblings. "I'll come to pick you guys up still, but this time we are using Big Daddy's car," Ryder said, laughing, and his siblings smiled.

Why are all his nicknames for me something to do with Daddy or Poppa? God, he's cute.

"When's your next game?" Ryder asked Brandon.

"Not for a couple of weeks."

"And you? When is your track meet and what are you running?" he asked.

"I think this week. They got me running all 4 events. I'm doing the 100-meter dash, 400-hundred-meter dash, high jump, and the 4x400 because they don't have enough people," Eliza said all sulking.

"Okay, I'll come watch," he said.

God, he made my heart warm.

"Thank you," Eliza beamed.

"Mijo, we have all of your things and everything you told us to get," Ryder's mom said and he nodded.

"We don't want to hold Dominic for too long," his dad said and the rest of them nodded.

Ryder sighed and he looked irritated.

"Mom, can you help me move in?" Ryder asked.

His dad interrupted and put his hand on his wife's back. "We don't want to hold Mr. Caruso for long."

I smiled at him and he folded. "Uh, yeah, after we help Ryder move in, we can leave."

Good, fucker.

"Is getting up and down the stairs hard for you, Mijo?" his mom asked as we walked.

"Extremely hard, but I'll be okay. Grab my shit idiot," Ryder said and attempted to hit Brandon.

"Ryder," I said. He turned around and rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry, daddy-o," he said.

I didn't want him to hurt himself.

I watched as they all made it to the stairs.

"It's the first bedroom on the right; there are a few doors but it's one of the only ones that are open and if you somehow miss it and go into the wrong room, I'll show you," I explained and his family made their way up the flight of stairs with the boxes.

"Turn this way." Ryder turned around.

I bent down.

"We are not doing this again." and as soon as he went over my shoulder, he screamed.

I grabbed his crutches in one hand and made my way up the stairs.

I put my hand right below his ass as I walked up the stairs.

I pushed open the now-closed door and all of the boxes were there.

I gently placed Ryder on his feet and handed him his crutches.

"Am I still bottom-heavy?" he said, pushing me lightly.

I'm thinking thoughts that go against my better judgment.

His proportions just don't add up and I think that's why I'm getting this much of a reaction out of him.

Or maybe it's because I'm just really horny?

Or is it because he has a fat ass?

Or maybe all of the above?

"Close your mouth," Ryder said and I watched as he smiled and went to talk with his family.

I felt myself gulp.

He had a nice body.

It didn't take a genius to know that.

He wasn't toned or muscular, just like I don't know. He was small in a way but only his height.

He was, well, bottom-heavy and had a big ass. His legs were relatively thick and I was staring.

And I'm staring too much.

I looked around.

"Where's your fam-." I felt the words stop coming out of my mouth when he bent down in front of me.

I closed my eyes.

Against my better judgment.

I wasn't weird like this when I saw him at the school or when he was in the hospital, even when he went to the bathroom. I wasn't like this.

But now that he is in my home, everything is out the window.

My type is all out the window.

I liked tall people, like anything above 5'8 and under 6'2. I don't know.

I liked well-toned, athletic people. Muscular or lean.

I liked confident people who were self-assured but not in an egotistical way.

I liked smart people who shared the same interests I have in economics.

I liked ambition and people who had goals and a life plan.

I liked elegance and grace—people who had nice manners and were just over-presented with grace.

I liked loyalty, where they respected my decisions and didn't fight and if they didn't then we talked about it like civil adults.

I liked passion—people who had drive and genuinely loved me.

He was 5'2.

He was a little chubby and bottom-heavy.

He wasn't really confident.

He dropped out of high school at 16, but he had quick wits.

He didn't have ambitions, goals, or a life plan.

He wasn't elegant and instead, he was rude and would snap at me.

He fought everything I had to say, even if it helped him.

He didn't like me.

So why was my brain so infatuated with him?

"They left and you looked like you were lost in thought so I didn't bother," he said, limping around the room.

Because he was considerate.

"And the more they stayed, the more my mom would have changed my dad's mind and I don't want to be the reason my younger siblings don't go to the private college of their dreams."

Because he was selfless and considerate.

"Do you need help?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Yeah, everything in that box is my knitting stuff so, uh, I'm not sure where I would put that, but I would like it accessible," he said.

Because he had cute hobbies that didn't fit him, and because he was selfless and considerate.

"Uh yeah, I will put them over here and then you can sleep on this side so you can grab them or sit at the desk," I said.

He turned around and looked at me.

Because he was drop-dead gorgeous, because he had cute hobbies that didn't fit him, and because he was selfless and considerate.

"Hey, wait, is this your room?" he asked and I laughed.

"You are sick and twisted, daddy-o," he said, shoving a box in my hand. "Go move that over there."

Because he was expressive and drop-dead gorgeous, because he had cute hobbies that didn't fit him, and because he was selfless and considerate.

"I just want to take care of you just in case you need to go to the bathroom and need my help," I said.

"Whatever you say," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Now come over and help me," he said and I felt myself walking over quickly to help him.

Because he was short, expressive, and drop-dead gorgeous; because he had cute hobbies that didn't fit him; and because he was selfless and considerate.

"Where's Isabella? Is she in her room?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, Leo and here are doing their own thing again," I said and he nodded.

"I can tell you have a soft spot for her so maybe I can cook for her sometime," he said, not even looking back at me.

Because he cared about my daughter because he was short, expressive, and drop-dead gorgeous, because he had cute hobbies that didn't fit him, and because he was selfless and considerate.

"Oh, that would be nice," I said and he nodded.

I watched as he sat over on the bed.

My brain was so infatuated with him because Cupid had me in a chokehold.

God, I'm a weirdo.

"Okay, I'm hungry now," Ryder said and I nodded.

"Okay, I will go get you food. Anything in mind or are you fine with anything?"

"I'm fine with anything; just get me some water too, please, and thank you," he said, sitting down on the bed with his knitting.

Cutie.

"Okay, I'll be back."

I walked out of my room and down the stairs.

I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen.

"What's up?"

"Don't what's up, me. Did you see my text?" leo asked.

"No, I was helping Ryder unpack; what was it?" I asked, opening the fridge and grabbing leftovers and a water bottle.

I put them in the microwave.

"Matteo's men are planning on attacking La Notte Nera."

"My favorite club?"

"Yes, I don't know, but he's planning something. I don't know if it's a shooting or what but I already had our men scope out the area and he said he wants you to come there with me," Leo said.

"You specifically?"

"Yes."

"Sounds suspicious."

"Very, especially after the whole Ryder thing. He was such a pervert," Leo said and he shivered.

"You still haven't told me what he said besides the whole wanting you as his bitch thing?"

Leo gave me a look and then looked embarrassed.

"Whatever, tell me when you are ready; I'm going to go give Ryder his food and then head out," I said. I grabbed his food out of the microwave and grabbed Ultenisis and his water bottle.

I went back up the stairs and into my room.

"You wear glasses?" I asked and Ryder looked up.

God, he just keeps getting cuter.

"I hate them but as you can tell, I am impaired and can't take my contacts out or put them in," he said and I nodded, handing him everything.

"Thank you, daddy-o," he said.

He makes my world stand still and makes me forget about my job and everything around me.

"Anytime," I said and I went to put back on my shoes.

"Where are you going?"

"One of my favorite nightclubs to stop the fucker who shot you," I said and he nodded.

"Have fun."

"I won't but thank you," I said and I grabbed my phone.

"Text me if you need anything; I'll be back in a couple of hours," I said.

"Bye-bye, daddy-o."

Cutie.