Page 40 of My Damaged Protector

“Alright. I guess we'll see each other when we see each other, then?”

“Guess so. Take care?”

“You too.”

When he ends the call, I toss my phone very far away and spend the rest of the afternoon moping in the bed. He would get in front of a truck to save me but he'd rather leave than ever be with me.

Well, guess what? I'm done with him, too.

No more longing for him or wishing he'd do right by me.

I'm tired of having to beg for the affection that I deserve.

When I eventually get out of bed later that evening, I do so with a new determination.

I'm writing Ian out of my story, but I need to find someone to build a new character from.

So I shower, get dressed like a woman on a mission, and head out to the very bar I met Ian at days ago.

Thirty minutes into the night, and I'm already tired.

All the men I've met so far either want to talk about themselves or me. None of them fit into the manly and attention-grabbing arc I'm looking at.

Ian is a confident man. His presence alone exudes class and demands respect. And there's the fact he carries himself like he owns the whole world when in fact he may as well be broke.

I still don't know what he was doing in Glazer Ville, but something tells me he wasn't exactly honest with me and may be in need of that job he said he was here for after all.

I'm deep in thoughts after brushing off the third man to approach me for the night when another man comes to stand in front of me. He seems to be around my age, and there's this air of superiority around him that draws me to him.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks.

I glance at my now almost-empty cocktail and smile.

“Sure.”

He motions at the waitress and places another order of my drink while he asks for a glass of whiskey.

I smile as he sits, my head already thinking of the right words to strike the conversation off with.

My drink comes, and I take a sip.

“Peter.” He offers me his hand, and I take it quickly, grateful for the rescue.

I can't seem to think of the right thing to say, and I blame it on Ian and my father.

“Sarah,” I say. He takes my hand and shakes it.

“I know.”

He's a fan. I immediately start to withdraw at the realization.

“Looks like you visit here often for inspiration.”

An observant fan. Just great. Let's hope I don't end up on the news tomorrow about how I hound men for inspiration in my books.

“Oh yeah? What gave me away? The fact that I'm relaxed, or the ‘I'm a writer on a mission look?’”

“Both, I guess.”

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