Page 49 of My Damaged Protector

“I don't know. A week or two. Depends on how things go.”

I nod, already thinking of how I can squeeze myself into that little time. I didn't even expect that I'd get to speak with her again or even see her, not so soon. Not with how I left Glazer Ville. I know she wanted me to stay.

But I couldn't do that to her. She already has her life figured out. Mine is a sinking ship. Why drag her down with me?

I probably shouldn't have called her or even be thinking of spending time with her right now.

This isn't right, is it?

Pick a side, Ian. It's either you want her, or you don't.

But that's the thing, isn't it?

I do want Sarah. I've always wanted her, especially at a time when she was very much off-limits to me. I don't do off-limits. But she was, but I wanted her regardless, and that drove me mad.

Wanting her is not the problem. Having her is.

“Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“I said, can you let me call you back? I have my aunt on the other line.”

“Yeah, sure. Take your time.”

I end the call before she can respond.

Tossing the phone on the sofa, I plan to spend the rest of the day tormenting myself with thoughts of her and digging up whatever I can find on her father, which turns out to be a huge load of nothing.

Apart from the fact that he had his son Peter a year after Sarah, which technically meant he was cheating on her mom, there's nothing sketchy about him. He also has another daughter who appears to look like Sarah. I snooped around her profile on Facebook and found nothing interesting.

I'm about to dig further into this Peter guy when my phone starts to ring again. It's Sarah.

Thirty minutes.

Yes, I was counting.

I didn't expect her to call back, but you won't hear me complaining that she did.

“Sarah?”

“Ian, do you know the Blueberry Hotel?”

What is it with the universe messing with me? If she's staying there, then she's only ten minutes away from me. I can make it five if she needs me urgently.

“Yes, do you need me to come?” I ask, already on my feet and roaming through the house for decent clothes to put on.

“Yes, if it's not much of a bother to you,” she says softly.

She's trying to not be demanding, though I wish she would be. Maybe if she demands from me enough, I'll be smart enough to treat her just exactly as she deserves to be treated one day.

“It's not.”

“Oh, good. I don't really like the food here, and I'm very hungry so?—”

“I'm on it.” I cut her off.

She laughs at my words. “You haven't even let me say what I want to eat.”

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