It’s a no brainer that you have daddy issues. You knew it, your friends knew it, hell, even Smoke knew it.

Because why else would you be following after him like a lost little puppy when the man is over a decade your senior?

‘Oh, but age is just a number.’ It’s a sad excuse for a more or less lack of paternal guidance in your upbringing. But it’s fine though.

You were good company to Smoke and because he’s so anal retentive about having control in his life, he felt better having someone he could teach a few things around him.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t feel a little bit creepy for messing around with someone so much younger. He was a true believer that with age comes wisdom. But you’d tempted him, got him so deeply locked under your spell, your youth, that it was hard to convince himself to get out of it.

You both are grown, consenting adults. And that was all there was to it. So being in a club full of young people, surrounding by your young friends, talking about young people shit while celebrating your birthday, he was sweating.

The fingers of his left hand drum on your hip, mentally spacing out when you and your circle yap the night away about new aged shit he has yet to fully comprehend. In his right is a whiskey neat that he slowly sips on like he’s sixty instead of thirty-eight.