Page 27 of My Damaged Protector

I've always wanted to live through my characters, and I guess I'm finally getting the chance. I'm writing a story about Ian and me.

Although it won't be a perfect love story because there's clearly no happy ending in sight for us, I know it'll be a good romance book.

Who wouldn't love to read a real-life story about unrequited love?

9

IAN

I watch Sarah walk away,wishing I had it in me to man up and stop her from leaving. But I can't.

I don't know what hurts the most.

That she wouldn't let me talk and walked out on me, or that she let me off the hook so easily.

Lying in the scent of our copulation, I stay in bed for about an hour or so. I don't know, I’m honestly not paying much attention to the time. I just want to remain in the sweet scent of Sarah's and my passion and never have to worry about anything again.

Reality catches up with me way faster than I wanted it to, though.

My phone starts to ring, and I have to force myself out of bed to go pick it up.

“Hello,” I grumble into the phone. Whoever is on the other end of the better have a good reason for pulling me out of my comfort haze. I could die in the spot where I was and wouldn't have any complaints.

Damn, what sex we had, and what an orgasm, too. It just keeps getting better. If I knew sex with her would be this goodmaybe I wouldn't have dallied on it all those years ago, but I know it's the pleasure haze still talking.

There's no way I would have touched Sarah then. She was eighteen while I was thirty-one. The age gap was just too much back then, and as much as she tried to break me, I refused to give in.

Besides, I've always known she could do so much better than me. She still can, which is why I don't understand why she's still putting up with me.

Is it out of of pity?

Before I focus long on the thought, a demanding voice comes from the phone, pushing me out of my head.

“Mr. Peele, can you hear me? Hello!”

“Yeah,” I murmur.

The voice is familiar.

“Okay, great. You went silent on me for a while there.”

“Sorry.”

“It's alright. This is Christopher. I've been waiting to hear from you all morning.”

Christopher? Who's that?

The voice does sound familiar, but I can't think of any Christopher I'm supposed to reach out to.

“I'm your aunt's lawyer,” he says in explanation, probably sensing my confusion. His tone is calm, but there's no missing the irritation beneath it.

I've managed to piss him off, too.

“Yeah, sorry. How are you?”

“Good. Where are you?”

Where am I? The motel, I guess.

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