An Offer from My Dad’s Creditor: An Age Gap Romance

By Isla Chiu

He takes one, two steps toward me. Red creeps into my cheeks as he places a hand on my hip. Involuntarily, I think, He smells good. Like pine with a hint of citrus.

 

"Lucky for you and your parents, I'm benevolent enough to offer an alternative method of payment," he says.

 

From the lust in his gray gaze, I have a pretty good idea what the "alternative method of payment" is, but I ask anyway, "What do you want, Mr. Ricci?"

 

"I want you to carry my child."

 

His words make me lightheaded. Today was not a good day to skip dinner. "Um, what?" I ask, my legs trembling with the struggle to stay upright. Maybe I heard him wrong.

 

No such luck. "I want you to carry my child, Paisley."

 

WORD COUNT: 5,000

 

A sexy short story about a young woman and her father's creditor!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isla Chiu
• Release date: Sep 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215473115

Isla Chiu

When I manage to tear myself away from taking Buzzfeed quizzes and watching unhealthy amounts of TV, I write romance and smut. My works feature alpha males, sexy times, and/or my sarcastic sense of humor. I hail from Cleveland, aka the best freaking city in the world, and believe LeBron James is the perfect human being. Despite all of my efforts, I have never truly been able to quit caffeine. My problematic favorites include Taylor Swift and Gone with the Wind. I love to hate/hate to love k-dramas. If I say I’m on a diet, I’m just lying to you and myself. One of these days, I'm going to get hypertension from an excess of salt, both literal and figurative. If I'm awkward around you, I probably don't know what to say to you and/or I think you're hot. And despite what anyone says, Forrest Gump so deserved that Oscar over Pulp Fiction. 

Book preview

An Offer from My Dad’s Creditor

PLEASE DON'T SAY IT, please don't say it, I think as I watch a smug gleam appear in the customer's eyes.

An Asian cowgirl, huh? he says.

I want to groan. God, he's going to say it.

He continues, I don't think that's very historically accurate.

Not for the first time, I curse my work uniform.

As a server at an Old-West-themed restaurant called the Lone Star Tavern, I have to dress up like a cowgirl. And because of that, at least once a week, some wise guy feels the need to comment about the historical (in)accuracy of my presence. Each time, I have to grit my teeth and resist the impulse to tell them, Why the hell do you care about historical accuracy? You’re dining at a restaurant that serves mediocre Tex-Mex food, not visiting a fucking museum.

I force a polite laugh out of my throat. The things we have to do in the pursuit of decent tips. Ha, yeah. What would you like to order, sir?

After I manage to write down his order without insulting him to his face, I go into the kitchen, where I can insult him behind his back.

What is with all these wannabe historian assholes? I exclaim to Charlotte, one of the cooks. "I'm pretty sure they weren't eating loaded nachos on the American frontier, but you don't see them commenting on that."

Should I spit in these loaded nachos? Charlotte asks in her Southern drawl. She's the only genuinely Texan entity in this