Page 3 of Protector Book Boyfriend

The four of us nod in unison.

“Woah. That fucking sucks,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “She was cool as hell. Who’d want to divorce her?”

“Obviously, a complete fucking asshole,” I mutter as I rip the lid from my plastic to go cup, guzzling my mint tea. I wipe my mouth with the back of my arm as Sable watches me sheepishly. Her hands are fists resting on her lap and when our eyes meet, she gazes at me for a hot minute before looking away. Dylan’s holding his beer by the neck, posted against the white painted railing. “You okay, Sabe?” he frowns as Sable shifts again under his scrutiny.

She doesn’t answer him, but turns her attention to me. “So, you really had a crush on your babysitter back in the day, huh?” Her voice is lithe, sweet, teasing. She forces a smile.

“How’d you figure that?” I ask. She cocks her head to the side.

“Let’s just say I can just tell. You’re quiet about her. You’re not saying much, but the look on your face... I just... know that look.”

Of course, she does. My best friend knows me well.

These feelings have been bubbling under the surface for so long, simmering quietly until they threaten to boil over. It wasn’t just a crush or a passing infatuation; it was something deeper, more profound. I’d thought of Porsha a lot over the years. More than I’d ever expected.

I was a fucking kid when I knew her, and I thought she was the best thing since slow roasted brisket. I didn’t need posters of pop stars and movie starlets on my walls because Porsha Smith (her last name was Smith back then) was my absolute dream girl.

Every time I saw her smile, heard her laugh, felt her touch on my shoulder as she comforted me from the disappointment of a Dallas Cowboys loss, my heart swelled with longing.

The memories flood back–lazy summer afternoons spent playing in the backyard, Dylan and my friends filling our swimming pool while Porsha passed out slices of pizza and cans of soda. Cozy movie nights snuggled up on the couch, binge watching episode after episode of the old-school Jersey Shore. Whispered secrets shared under the blanket of darkness. I, unlike so many of my friends back then,was still a virgin with way too many prospects to keep up with. I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. She was more than just a babysitter to me; she was a confidant. Cool as hell, with the insane superpower of thrashing my ass when we played Call of Duty. I don’t answer Sable right away. Hell, I don’t think I have to. She stares at me, waiting, her lip holding a tiny quiver.

“So cliché,” she says.

Later that evening, I consider cancelling my date tonight with a girl I’d met at a local softball game last week. All this talk of Porsha has me seriously doubting my entire existence, and I ain’t in the mood for small talk with a woman I barely know.

At dinner, the two of us make as much small talk that our lack of chemistry will allow, before she calls it a night. She declines my offer to walk her to her car, which pains me a little.

Shit, was it that bad?

I sit for a moment longer, collecting the bill as my eligible bachelor status fucking strangles me. To my surprise, just as I’m about to make my way to my car, I spot Sable sitting alone at a table. Her face is a cloak of sadness and disappointment, tugging at my heartstrings. I head towards her table.

“Sable,” I say, my voice gentle as I slide into the chair across from her. “What happened?”

She looks at me, holding back tears. “I had a date. He never showed. And he’s not answering my calls or texts.”

My chest tightens. “I’m so sorry, Sabe.”

She shrugs, looking down at her hands. “I mean, I thought about working out more. Toning up a little—maybe drop like twenty pounds. What do you think?” she asks, gazing at me. “I’d be hot then, right?”

“You’re already hot,” I snap. “Stop that shit. You’re so pretty and so perfect. Real men love curves—so fuck all that.” I hate, and I mean hate, when she says shit like this. I hate how some idiot could inadvertently send my best fucking friend into a tail spin just because she’s got hips and ass. Sable is a ten out of ten hands down. Great style, great humor, smart as shit, a total fucking catch.

I shake my head, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Sable, you’re gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to have you. You’re just... picking assholes.” A small smile breaks through, and I can see a bit of the light return to her eyes. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Of course,” I say, smiling. “You wanna have dinner with me?” I ask. “Let’s turn up, c’mon.”

“You paying?” she ask tilting her chin playfully in my direction.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m paying. Girl, you already know.”

Sable giggles as we flag down a waiter. As we sit and talk, I do my best to keep her spirits up, cracking jokes and reminiscing about old times. We’re a good hour into our dinner when, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse someone who takes my breath away. She’s having dinner with a friend and a small child and looks stunning. Even more beautiful than I remember. My heart pounds in my chest, the boyhood crush I had now a grown man’s obsession.

Porsha. I can’t stop staring at her, the way her smile lights up her face, the way she interacts so lovingly with the little girl seated next to her. I’m captivated by her all over again.

“Asa?” Sable’s voice pulls me back to our table. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, tearing my gaze away from Porsha. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

She follows my gaze, then looks back at me. “Is that her?”

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