Dad Bod: Minotaur by Alana Khan

Author:Alana Khan [Khan, Alana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Temptation of the Horizontal LLC
Published: 2024-04-04T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Zoey

Seemingly out of the blue, I ask Theo, “Have you ever considered a career in politics?”

In wide-eyed surprise, he says nothing, simply gestures upward toward his horns with one hand. “I think tonight’s media circus would have made it clear that I’m not built for a career in the public eye.”

“Yes, but… let’s pretend.”

I turn to the little kitchenette area and grab a handful of spoons, then put them in front of my mouth as though they’re a microphone.

“Is it true, Senator Foster, that there’s a big vote coming up next week?” I use my most intrusive mock-reporter voice.

Quick on his feet, he doesn’t pause for more than a second before he’s playing along with me.

“Yes. It’s a serious issue,” he responds, though he has no idea where I’m going with this.

“So, Senator, you’ve gone on the record that you want to go slow with Zoey Hawkins. Is that correct?”

He drops out of character for a second, tipping his head in an unspoken question, then resumes his charade and answers in a serious, stentorian voice I’ve never heard come out of his mouth before. He channels his inner senator as he intones, “Yes. That’s been my stance.”

“So tell me this, sir, what are your thoughts on cuddling?”

His hand flies to his chin as he thoughtfully plays with the short tuft of hair there. “I would say I come down in favor of that.”

“So, you’re pro-cuddling, Senator?”

“Yes. I will go on the record as a pro-cuddler.”

“Sir! Sir!” I step closer, as though to catch his attention in a sea of other reporters. “May I ask a follow-up question?” Perhaps that was out of character. Are reporters ever that polite?

“Yes, Miss Hawkins.”

“And what are your thoughts on spooning, Senator Foster?”

“Oh…” He does that adorable thing where he scratches the spot between his horns, apparently deep in thought. Doubling down, he pulls on his ear. “Well, I might have to commission a white paper or two on the subject, but at first blush, I imagine I would firmly stand with the pro-spooning faction.”

“You’re willing to go on the record with that?”

He’s thoughtful, cagey. I guess he didn’t grow up with a politician for a father and not walk away with some next-level skills at hedging, obfuscating, and double-speak.

“Yes. On the record with the caveat that it deserves further study.”

“And one more question if I may, Senator?”

He looks heavenward, as though I’m the most irritating reporter he’s ever encountered. “Go ahead, Miss Hawkins. I imagine you will anyway.”

“Would you say, sir, that you prefer to be the big spoon or little spoon?”

I assumed he’d claim the big spoon position. I mean… look at him, but he adorably pooches out his thick black lips and appears to give it deep thought.

“Do you follow baseball, Miss Hawkins?”

I nod, my forehead wrinkling in question because I have no idea where he’s going with this.

“I’d say, I could be a switch-hitter in the big-spoon-little-spoon department.”

Something bursts in my chest. It’s not an imaginary warmth. It feels palpable, but not in a bad way, like I imagine a heart attack would feel.

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