Page 4 of My Damaged Protector

In her smile, I still see that eighteen-year-old who tempted me so hard, and in the back of my mind, I register that she probably doesn't find me attractive anymore. I have more gray hair now, some of which I would have plucked if I knew I’d run into her here.

Who am I kidding?

She's probably married now.

“It's good to see you too, Sarah,” is all I say to her.

She chuckles at my words. Her laugh sounds like it used to back in the day. I guess not everything has changed, after all.

“So, how often do you go around paying for people's drinks, or is it just something you do for the special ones?” I ask her, my throat suddenly parched as I wait for her response.

I guess alcohol makes one dehydrated.

She shakes her head, her eyes dead on me as she speaks. “No. I only buy drinks for people I plan to put to use for the rest of the night,” she says and winks at me.

Oh my goodness, did she just… Did she just flirt with me?

Maybe I don't look so old after all, because if the way my blood is pumping so hard in my veins is any indication, I may be ending the night in Sarah's arms.

Hopefully!

2

SARAH

The lookon his face after I speak tells me that he has definitely misunderstood me, so I quickly open my mouth to clarify.

And oh, it's not that I don't like the look on his face, because it's Ian we are talking about here. The man I spent most of my teenage years wanting, needing, hoping to have.

But what I said has clearly been misinterpreted, and I have to clear the air.

I saw him the moment he walked in. At first, I couldn't believe it. The last time I saw him was fifteen years ago, but the more I looked at him, the more I ascertained that he is, in fact, Ian Peele, the man who saved my life all those years ago.

Now in his early forties, Ian looks like a dream come true. Tall, heavily built, blonde hair with speckles of gray that now make him look like a cover model for older men’s wear. He's dressed in a faded black shirt with faded blue jeans, something he paired with boots that make him look very manly, not that he ever didn't.

As I looked at him from afar, all I could think was that he could have been mine.

And then he started drinking so hard. At first, I remained in my seat, not wanting to bug him. But I couldn't just sit back and continue to watch as he finished his fourth bottle of beer in under thirty minutes of entering the bar.

So, here I am.

“So I’m a writer now, and I am currently working on a new book. I want my main male character to be very relatable, so I would very much appreciate it if you could tell me about what you've been up to the past fifteen years. See it as a way to pay me back for buying you a drink,” I explain.

Disappointment shadows his face, and I pretend not to see it.

To be honest, it's coming as a shock to me that he still finds me attractive. He made a big show of avoiding me back in the day. Of course, he kept hammering on the age thing, but if you ask me, I was already a legal adult. I didn't see what the big deal was.

“Oh, okay,” he says with a nod. I force a smile as I watch him take a sip of his drink. He's almost finished half of the bottle.

Why is he drinking so hard, anyway?

“What's in it for me?” he asks suddenly.

“I'm not sure I get you,” I said back to him.

“If I, you know, open up and tell you everything, what do I get out of it? Money? I mean, that seems fair, seeing as you may be using me to build a character for a book you'll make a lot of money from.” He gives me a slow once-over as he finishes speaking, and I have to keep myself from blushing.

He's not totally wrong.

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