#dfb!joel

It was a casualty that you found out, you were there to pick up the food you ordered when you spotted the small squared white sheet of paper on the counter, the words spelled out in big red letters.

Blind Dates Rodeo, Saturday at 8pm. 

Send your application by email to the address below and wear your best clothes, your mystery person is waiting for you.

You chuckled to yourself while going back to where you were standing, placing the piece of paper in one of the pockets in your shoulder bag.

Your mom certainly would stop bothering you with annoying questions about your love life if you told her you were going on a date, or even better, bringing home someone in the future.

It’s actually been two years since your last relationship and you are just taking time for yourself, focusing on your growth and well being.

Your dad, on the other hand, was not so worried about this aspect of your life. He wanted you to be happy, he didn’t care if you managed to do that with a man by your side or on your own.

And you, well, you were focused on your freshly new career, the internship at the offices of a well known fashion magazine was taking taking up most of your time but you always felt a void caused by the lack of something, or better someone, when coming home, your parents house, from work.

You felt your cheeks become warmer, they blushed while you were filling the email to the restaurant, as if somebody was in your room watching you fill the application. 

The light coming from the screen of your phone was reflected in your eyes and when you pressed “send”, in the comfort of your bed, you couldn’t help but start to fantasize about who your mistery date would be. 

Will he be taller? Shorter? Blue or brown eyes? You hope he’s funny, but not too full of himself. Humble and not conceited, kind and… just a person you would enjoy going on a date with. 

You don’t feel any pressure, actually a bit maybe, but if this date won’t turn out to be what you expect, that’s just how things are supposed to go and you’ll find the right one for sure sooner or later. 

The days prior to Saturday go by pretty slowly, exactly like when you’re waiting for something to come so bad that days feel like an eternity. You have to admit you’re pretty excited about your blind date, nervous at times, but still happy that you applied. You even treated yourself to some new clothes on Friday after leaving the office. It was mainly because you wanted something cute to wear the next night, driven by the desperation you felt the late afternoon before when opening your wardrobe and finding, to be precise, fucking nothing you felt like wearing the next day. 

Now, Saturday at 8 pm, you are cursing yourself for applying to this damn game of blind dates.

You feel terrified and anxious. The mirror in your bathroom probably unhooked itself from the wall, tired of how many times you checked yourself before leaving the house. 

You loved your hair down, lightly wavy. You went to your room, paced around for a minute, then went back to the bathroom and totally hating what you were seeing in the reflection.

You were feeling insecure, too. The little voice in your head appearing from time to time, telling you that whatever you did you were not going to look good enough.

And yes, you were worried but you were not going to be late.

You collect all the strength and courage you have in your body and jump in your car, locking the doors in case you are going to regret what you are doing and drive off to the restaurant.

It was probably the most nerve-racking fifteen minute drive of your life, even your radio was off. Bad decision, your thoughts took over and spilled out of your head to overflow the cockpit of your car.

Now you’re standing right at the entrance of the restaurant, right after making your presence known to the workers. Nobody prepared you for how embarrassed you would feel, waiting among other people, who are well aware of the reason why you are here. 

Some of them are waiting to be seated, like you, and others are already waiting at the table in the dining room, you can catch a glimpse of them from where you are. 

Walking after the waitress directed to your table, you sense your legs might fail you and your heart as well. 

You stop when you reach your destination, the waitress offering you a sympathetic smile before disappearing among the tables.

Your mystery man is sitting with his back towards you. His neck, covered with the slightly curly ends of his hair, is the only visible trait you can see, besides his broad shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice your presence.

You lower your lids for a split second, gathering anything useful you can inside of you to break the silence and introduce yourself to your date.

You make a step to his right, protruding your hand to shake his, displaying the most sincere and beautiful smile on your face.

Your date’s brown eyes spot you and his most sincere and beautiful smile disappears from his face almost at the same time as your does.

“Joel?” You can’t control the nervous chuckle coming out from you, covering your mouth with your index and middle finger as you start choosing the right words for an explanation and hide your embarrassment.

“Shit, I’m so, so sorry. I-“ you shake your head. You can’t believe you’ve mistaken the table he’s sitting at with the one you’re probably assigned to, the one right beside it. There’s no way one of your dad’s closest friends is your blind date.

“I’m here for, uh..—“ you take a deep breath, “There’s this blind date game the restaurant organized and.. Well, I applied for it but probably got taken to the wro-“

“Me too.” Joel simply said, he probably and apparently figured it out quicker than you.

Joel Miller is your blind date.

Your dad’s friend, his mate for football games and fishing. The same Joel Miller who your mom would invite over for lunches or dinners almost every week. Whose fingers accidentally grazed your fingers, or thighs, more than once and sent jolts of electricity through your body. 

“They probably made a mistake, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to them and t-“ you are about to walk away but the same girl who walked you to the table seems to notice the confused look on both of your faces, so she quickly comes up.

After checking her tablet on which all the matches are laid out, she assures you that you’re both at the right table.

“We’re both here for the same reason, I don’t think this is a mistake.” You can’t decipher his tone, but your anxiety convinces you that he’s probably disappointed his blind date turned out to be you.

“Oh.” It escapes from you without warning, and there’s nothing left to do for you besides sitting on the chair opposite to Joel and fully realize that you’re having a date with the man you often dreamed about.

You can’t deny his physical attractiveness, neither can you say that he was not the main protagonist in some of your secret fantasies. And how could you blame yourself? 

Plus, he’s smart, funny, caring and kind and all these things made him so desirable. You were a witness of how he used these qualities with your dad, always being there for him and helping him. 

He’s just a dream.

“It can’t get more embarrassing than this.” You whisper and you thought your voice was low enough for only you to hear but Joel chuckled amused, “’S fine, sweetheart. Just pretend it’s one of the many dinners at your house.” and with that said, the evening passes quite quickly. 

You conversed about your and his job, hobbies, movies, books, whatever exists in this world.

He congratulated himself on you freshly new job, always knew you were a step ahead of others he said, and that made your heart skip a beat.

Talking to Joel is so easy, it’s like talking to an old friend. It’s not that you didn’t hold conversations with him when he was over, but it’s different. Your parents are not around, you can let your thoughts flow around without being worried of judgement. 

You feel as light as a feather, reaching the end of the dinner. You haven’t felt this good in a while, as if going on a date with your dad’s friend and talking about anything, even silly things, was the key to any problem in the world.

Your car’s tyre has a puncture? You can’t solve a math problem? You dropped a glass and broke it? 

Go on a date with Joel Miller and everything will solve on its own.

You almost get annoyed when he insists on paying for you both, ‘M sorry, Miss I’m independent now he jokes, keeping the door open for you to exit the restaurant. 

Joel is a step before you as he walks you to your car and that’s when you have the chance to check him out. He’s wearing a black shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons out of their holes. The black trousers he’s wearing perfectly wrap his muscular thighs, his big hands covered in their pockets. 

You can’t deny there was, and still is, some kind of tension between you two throughout the whole meal. Stolen glances, him focusing some seconds too much on your lips as you trapped a cherry between them to eat it. Or when his fingers lingered against your fingers while passing you salt.

There’s no way have imagined it. What if you were the main protagonist of his fantasies too? 

It’s not just now, but the past year too. There’s been a glint in his eyes whenever his focus was on you, a gleam of adoration mixed with guilt and bad, bad guy. His smiles thrown at you through a crowd of people at family gatherings, he was invited too because he’s like family your dad always says.

He has always been interested in your studies, what you were up to, your opinions on topics brought up at dinner. It always seemed like he wanted to know more.

That can’t be, you’re his buddy’s daughter. He’s too good, too loyal, too honest to get caught in this. And you’re younger than him.

When you get to your car, the same embarrassment felt at the restaurant fills the air. Should you hug him after thanking him for the great night? Kiss him on the cheek? A pat on the shoulder?

“Thank you, Joel. I had an amazing night and-“

“Thank you,” he starts talking at the same time you do, causing you both to erupt in a light and contained laugh. The pad of his thumb slightly scratches the end of his mustache, the smile adorning his face, directed to you, does not disappear.

He then drops his gaze to the ground, contemplating it for a couple of seconds. He shakes his head and almost chuckles again, Fuck it he whispers and with two big steps he closes the distance between your bodies. His veiny hands are planted on both sides of your face and he traps your soft lips in a needy but gentle kiss, not giving you time to even blink.

No need to say your heart almost broke your ribcage, hitting against it as if wanting to get out. Your fingers quickly find the curly hair at the nape of his neck, pulling it once your tongues touch.

“Fuck, Joel” you whimper, as his face is deep between your legs, your body laying on the backseats of your car. 

Your fingers are tangled in his chocolate brown hair, his mustache grazing the soft skin of your folds as he moves his tongue up and down, then in circles before tapping the tip of it at your entrance, inserting it.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” Joel lets you know and you whimper from his warm breath against your centre.

It doesn’t take you long at all to come the first time, wetting his beard with your spent, as you try to set your breath to a normal pace.

And you don’t think about the consequences of your actions when Joel is sitting in the middle seat, his pants lowered to his ankles and you, slowly but needy, lower yourself on him, engulfing his cock in your warm folds.

You are straddling his legs, while his hands secure the end of your dress to your waist.

“You’re takin’ me so good, baby.” His long sighs make company to your moans and whimpers of his name, “Who would’a thought this pretty pussy could take my cock so good.”

Joel’s hands are now on your asscheeks as he guides your movements on him, slapping the right one every time he would touch the spongy spot inside you with his tip.

He bites your jaw close to your chin to suppress some of his moans. At some point he places his hands firmly on your hips, pushing into you harder. 

“Look at me, babygirl. Jus’ look at me,” he fixes his eyes on yours, making your foreheads collide. The moment feels way more intense, you grip his shoulders to help you stabilize.

“You feel so good, you’re.. ah” you whimper his name again and again, like a one-word poetry.

It doesn’t feel wrong at all, knowing how your dad’s friend’s hands feel around your throat as he praises you, while pushing his cock far into you. 

 “‘Ion know,” you slurred back, rubbing your eyes. The digital clock on the wall read barely six in the morning. “D’you wanna go check? Or hand me my phone so I can look at the app?” Your phone sat on his side of the bed, plugged in. There wasn’t a close enough outlet on your side to keep it next to you at night. 

 He seemed to consider it for a moment too long, so long you thought he might have fallen back asleep. Finally, he murmured, “No, baby, just c’mere. Come back to me.” 

 His hand found your wrist and pulled you back down, under the thick comforter, and towards him until your back laid flush with his chest. His arms enveloped you and held you close and tight. Nose nuzzling into your neck, Joel murmured, “Go back to sleep. We ’ont have to get up for a few hours. ‘M sure they’ll go away--” 

 Another knock, this one louder. Your phone vibrated on the nightstand. 

 “Joel, just hand me my phone so I can see--” 

 “No,” he huffed into your ear. His warm breath caused a shiver to run down your spine. “Who in their right fuckin’ mind is bangin’ on your door this fuckin’ early?” 

 You loved when Joel slept over. He did it a couple of times a week, usually when he didn’t have to wake up early for work. You enjoyed keeping your apartment cool at night, and when he came over, it was like having a built-in furnace in your bed. Before you started your little… arrangement, you would never have pegged him for a cuddler. However, sleeping Joel did not know how to let you go -- he slept either spooning you, his arms wrapped around your middle, or when he got uncomfortable and wanted to turn the other way, pulled you with him so you could koala-wrap yourself around his back. If all else failed, he wanted you on top of him, your cheek pressed to his chest. 

 You’d never been with someone so cuddly at night. It was a stark difference from the way you first found yourself entangled with him. Sex with Joel was always rough and hard and left your limbs trembling. Having him so intimate and relaxed with you felt like a boon sometimes. 

 The knock sounded a third time, this beat with what sounded like the flat of a fist instead of knuckles. A bang, really. With a growl, Joel unwrapped himself from your body and threw off the comforter. You watched him from your spot, not moving to follow, as he grabbed his previously-discarded shirt and pajama pants off the floor next to the bed and pulled them on, grumbling the entire time. 

 “‘M gonna go yell at that fucker,” he said, stepping over your cat, who darted in between his legs on their way to open the bedroom door and flick on the hallway light. “Move, cat.” 

 While he stomped his way to the front door, you reached across the cooling empty space to unplug your phone. You squinted at the bright screen in the former pre-dawn pitch of the room. The Ring alert was secondary to the first notification, which unraveled a series of texts from your dad, the first one from around one in the morning and the last one sent about a minute ago. 

You awake baby? 

Supposed to be bad storms tonight. Wanted to make sure your okay 

You and that damn cat of yours stay safe tonight baby call if you need anything

 Only after his first couple of texts did you realize it was indeed raining outside. And hard. 

Hey I know your asleep but a tree fell on the house 

The big oak from the backyard 

I’m inviting myself over to wait out the storm hope thats ok. 

I’m here 

Wake up open up

 Fuck. You voiced it. “Fuck,” you whispered. The big oak from the backyard? That tree was huge. It had to have messed up the house big time if your dad invited himself over. He’s always valued your privacy over anything and felt bad for even coming to hang out for a couple of hours at your apartment. You moved out of his house a few months ago, insisting that it was time you get your own place. That was the only reason you and Joel even ended up together. If you were still living with your dad, you doubted anything would have happened between you two. 

 Your eyes widened at the reminder of Joel. Bigger fuck. “Fuck,” you hissed again, your turn to throw back the covers and yank on your pajama pants. “Joel,” you called, desperation evident in your tone. “Joel, wait, don’t open the--” 

 The door. You heard the click of the locks and then the slide of the hinges. You heard Joel’s sleep-heavy, gruff voice grunt out, “Can I help you?” just as the door cracked open and you stumbled into the living room a few feet behind him. 

 Your dad stood before the door, his brows knotted in confusion at the sight of his best friend opening the door to his daughter’s apartment. At barely six in the morning. With pillow-tousled hair and no socks or shoes, pajama pants on, and your cat tucked snugly and comfortably in between his legs. Your testy and oftentimes fractious cat, who hated strangers and barely tolerated even your father. 

 “Joel?” Your dad questioned, confusion lacing his voice. His brows knit even deeper. “Joel?” he said again, more intently. “What the hell?” 

 Joel stood there, frozen, hand still on the doorknob. He seemed to be at a loss for words. In any other situation, you would laugh; Joel Miller, speechless? That was definitely a phenomenon for the books. 

 But not this situation. You stood off to the back for a second, not knowing what to do. What was the protocol for this? What were you supposed to do, to say? You saw your dad start to get angry and rushed forward, putting a hand on Joel’s chest to push him away. 

 “Dad,” you said, a little breathless. “Hey. Um. Good morning.” 

 He didn’t say anything, just stared at Joel, who stared back, face pale and unmoving. You snapped your fingers in your dad’s face to get his attention. 

 “Dad,” you said again. He looked at you this time, lips pressed tightly together. “Just come inside, it’s fuckin’ storming out there.” 

 He didn’t say anything else as you dragged him inside by his arm, closing and locking the door behind him. Joel and your dad stared at each other wordlessly while you stood off to the side, unsure how to snap the tension without everything unraveling all at once. Truly the worst case scenario. 

 The truth was, you were planning on telling your dad sometime soon. Ish. You didn’t like keeping secrets from him. Ever since your mom passed when you were young, you and your dad had always been more like best friends than anything else. Best friends that looked out for each other, rather than just your dad looking out for you. Which might have been a dynamic that a lot of people would find exhausting -- however, it just felt natural to you. He’d always said you’d been too independent for your own good. Even so, he’d teared up a bit when you moved the last box from your old room to your new apartment. 

 Joel caved first. He cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of its sleepy gravel. “Hey, man, listen--” 

 “What the fuck, Joel?” your dad snapped. “Are you fuckin’ serious?” 

 You took a step forward, trying to get in between them. “Dad--” 

 He held up a hand to you. “Don’t. I’on want to hear it from you.” He jerked his chin towards Joel. “Wanna hear it from him.” 

 Joel lifted a hand to rub his beard, face contorted in a grimace. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. His voice sounded tight, tense. 

 “Start with what the fuck you’re doing here at six in the goddamn morning. At my daughter’s apartment. In your fuckin’ pajamas.” 

 You threw your head back with a groan. “What does it look like, Dad? He was sleeping over. C’mon, I know that’s obvious.” 

 “Why the hell were you sleeping over.” 

 Joel kept rubbing his beard. Must be a nervous tick or something. You’d never seen him nervous (before now, at least), so you wouldn’t know for sure. “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” was all he said. 

 A beat of silence. You inched your way in front of Joel, facing your dad, like you were shielding him. In a way, you were; your dad had a right to be a bit peeved, you guessed, but since you were well past the stage of “Consenting Adult” and you even had your own place, he couldn’t have much to say. 

 “I didn’t want you to, either,” you said. “I was meaning to tell you soon, I just… didn’t know how to bring it up.” When your dad said nothing, just kept glancing back and forth between Joel and you, you continued. “Dad, Joel and I have been… seeing each other. For a little bit. It’s nothing weird--” 

 “Sounds fuckin’ weird, Joel,” your dad muttered through clenched teeth, ignoring you. “She’s a fuckin’ kid--” 

 “No.” You held up a hand, scowling. “I’m not. I’m twenty-five. I’m a full-ass adult.” When he didn’t acknowledge you, you snapped again. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, Dad. Not at Joel.” 

 Your dad, finally, looked at you. 

 “I’m sorry we didn’t say anything sooner, but we only been seeing each other for a couple months. Just since a little after I moved out. Nothing happened before that on either side, so don’t get weird about it like that. Please.” You held his gaze for a moment. “I didn’t know you were coming over. If I had, I wouldn’t’ve sprung this on you like this.” 

 Your dad grunted. “I texted you. About comin’ over ‘cuz of the tree.” 

 “What tree?” Joel said. 

 Your dad just stared at him. 

 “The oak in the backyard,” you explained for him after a beat of awkward silence. “It fell on the house from the storm. I didn’t see the text until just now.” 

 Joel got out a strained, “I’m sorry, man.” Your dad didn’t reply, only kept staring at his friend. “Lemme help you fix it up. Once it’s done stormin’ outside.” 

 Silence again. You rolled your eyes and turned away, heading for the linen closet in the hallway. “Dad, I’mma set up the couch for you. You been up all night.” Grabbing a spare pillow and a few blankets, you carried them over to your couch and began setting up a small pallet. 

 Behind you, Joel’s footsteps echoed down into your room, the soft pattering of your cat following. Your dad sat at the edge of the couch and watched you unfold the blankets. 

 “I’m gonna head out,” Joel said, emerging from the bedroom once more. You glanced over your shoulder at him. He had his shoes and jacket on, keys dangling from his finger. “Let y’all talk a bit. Jus’ be over at my house.” 

 You narrowed your eyes at him. His already-present frown deepened, and you decided not to press it. Not with your dad here. 

 “‘Kay,” you said. “Drive safe. It’s storming.” 

 He nodded. “I’ll call you.” 

 And then he left, your cat meowing at his absence immediately after the door closed. The scrape of the key in the lock sounded and the deadbolt clicked into place, Joel locking the door after himself. 

 Your dad turned to you with a raised brow. “I see he has a key.” 

 “God.” You threw your hands in the air. “He does.” 

 “And that damn cat seems to like him an awful lot.” 

 She did. She’d been obsessed with him since she met him. She liked him a thousand times more than she liked you; she cuddled with him at night, sat on his lap during TV or movie night, and followed him around wherever he went. If he closed the bathroom door before she joined him inside, she would sit in front of it and yowl until he opened it again. 

 “I think she likes him more than me.” You waited a beat. “What are you thinking?” 

 Your dad shook his head, hands rising to rub at his temples. “Baby, I don’t -- I’m too tired for this conversation right now. I haven’t even slept yet.” You nodded and stood up to let him get some rest, about to retire to your room and call Joel. His voice stopped you mid-motion. “He treating you right, at least?” 

 Your expression softened. “Of course he is.” You sat back down, knees touching your dad’s leg and legs folded underneath you. “It’s nothing weird, Dad. I promise.” 

 “How… how did it start? Do I even wanna know?” 

 You laughed. “Remember when I bought that Ikea furniture after I first moved in? The dresser and bookshelf?” 

 He thought for a moment. His brows lifted in recognition. “Yeah, I do.” 

 “You were out of town for a week for work. I needed them set up but didn’t have a drill. You told me to ask Joel, so I did, and we just got to talkin’. Just realized we got on pretty well.” You shrugged. “Been getting on pretty well since, I guess.” 

 Your dad nodded. “It’s gonna take me a minute to get used to this, baby. And I still gotta talk with him first, too. It’s different with me ‘n him.” 

 “Okay, Dad. I understand. Just as long as you don’t kill him or something.” You patted his shoulder, standing again. “I’m gonna go back to sleep for a bit, okay? You get some sleep, too.” 

 You retreated back to your bedroom, waiting for your cat to follow you before closing the door. As soon as you slid back into bed, you unlocked your phone and sent a text to Joel. 

u home? 

 His reply came quickly. 

Yeah

Just got home

 You pressed the button to call him. He picked up on the first ring, gruff voice sounding muffled through the line. 

 “Hey, sweetheart.” 

 “Hi, Joel.” Your voice sounded small. “It’s gonna be okay, I think.” 

 “You talk to your old man?” 

 “A lil’. He’s gonna talk with you.” You paused. “I wish you didn’t leave.” 

 A sigh. “I know, honey. But it’s for the best right now. We’ll take it slow while your dad is there. Sucks about the house -- I’ll hav’ta get my guys to help patch it up once the rain’s over.” 

 You nodded before you realized he couldn’t see you. “Okay. I’m gonna sleep some more, okay?” 

 “Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you later. Sleep well.” 

 You smiled. “You too, Joel. Bye-bye.” 

 The soft beeps through the speaker indicated he hung up. You rolled onto your other side, facing the side of the bed he normally sleeps on. Your cat sat in his spot, tail flicking in irritation, eyes reflecting the soft light from in between the blinds.