13. Ian
13
IAN
I’ve spent the better part of the past two days castigating myself for letting my dick get the better of my common sense. I haven’t acted with the reckless abandon I displayed, pressing Sadie against the side of a barn Saturday night, for a long time.
More specifically, since my rookie year in the NFL and the decision to forego a condom with Monika just that once because she wanted to really feel me inside her and she was on the pill.
Spoiler alert: she was not on the pill.
I don’t regret the outcome. Riva is the best thing that ever happened to me. Even my twenty-two-year-old idiot self recognized it. But the comparison confirms how impulsively I acted with Sadie.
And it’s not cool.
I don’t care about the principal’s not-so-subtle innuendos, or what anybody in this town thinks about me, but they should think a lot better of Sadie than most of them seem to. If I mess this up, and she decides she doesn’t want my daughter as her summer helper…
Well, I know who Riva will blame. And she’ll have every right.
Let me be clear: my body has waged an all-out war against my brain and the willpower I’m trying to muster. For a guy who spent most of his career leading with his body and not his brain, it’s a hell of a battle.
I dream about Sadie. I think about her every waking minute. I walk past the window that faces her house so often, I’m wearing grooves in the hardwood floor. Still, I haven’t done so much as wave at her this week because I’m a damn coward. It’s been easier to give her the cold shoulder while I try to lock down my emotions.
No doubt, the unofficial neighborhood watch is keeping track of both of our comings and goings. Hers involves dogs and my daughter, while mine includes early morning runs to work off pent-up frustration, mostly of the sexual variety.
We’re touring the local country club this afternoon, and Riva invited Sadie to come along. Thankfully, it doesn’t sound exclusive or snooty like the country club I belonged to in Atlanta. Joining might give Riva an opportunity to make friends. Plus, until I figure out the next move in my career, I need a hobby—something other than obsessing over my fake girlfriend and how good she felt in my arms.
Golf should do the trick.
At least it’ll give me an excuse to hold something between my legs that won’t derail my future or tarnish my daughter’s opinion of me any further.
I walk out of the house when I see Sadie’s garage door open.
“This is Beast,” Riva announces as she moves toward me, glancing down at the bundle in her arms.
I try to hide my visceral reaction to whatever it is she’s holding. The creature certainly doesn’t look like a Beast.
“Are you sure it’s a dog?”
Wrong reply based on the exasperated sigh that comes from my daughter.
“He’s a Yorkie Apso.” Sadie exits her garage and hits the code to shut the door. At my blank look, she explains, “A mix of a Yorkshire Terrier and a Lhasa Apso.” Her nose wrinkles. “We’re unsure if there are other breeds in the mix.”
“Perhaps a half-plucked chicken?” I’m only half joking.
“Dad, that’s so rude.” Riva snuggles the dog closer. The animal is trembling like he’s facing a firing squad. “Beast has a skin condition, and you’re making fun of him. That’s as bad as body shaming.”
“Whoa, now. No shaming intended, but you gotta admit that is one ugly mutt.”
“He has alopecia, which causes patches of hair loss,” Sadie explains in a patient voice like she’s talking to a three-year-old. “The vet has him on a treatment plan.”
“How’s that going for him?”
I notice she hasn’t made eye contact with me. Believe me, I’m watching.
Sadie sighs. “Slow. His owner passed away a few months ago, and now the woman’s son has him. He’s a pilot, so he travels for work and has an active social life. He isn’t around a lot, and?—”
“He wants to date Sadie for real,” Riva announces with a grin. “It was so obvious when he dropped off Beast this morning.”
“Daniel does not want to date me.” A blush colors Sadie’s cheeks.
Add this Daniel dude to the list of men I want to stab—along with Sadie’s soon-to-be brother-in-law.
“Beast’s condition has gotten worse because he isn’t giving the dog the medicine or daily oatmeal baths that keep it under control.”
I’m feeling stabbier by the moment. “Why doesn’t he take the mutt to the pound?”
“The pound?” Sadie and Riva chorus, giving me twin looks of…I hope the right word is horror, but it could be disgust.
“Dad, just because an animal or a person isn’t social-media beautiful doesn’t mean they’re less worthy of love.”
Okay, that got serious fast. “I’m not implying Beast isn’t worthy of love.” I try to figure out what I am saying, because this feels like way more than commenting on a butt-ugly dog. “If his new owner can’t take care of him, he should be rehomed with a family who can meet his needs.”
Riva is about to give me another lecture when Sadie touches her shoulder. “Your dad might be right, sweetie. I’m going to help Daniel take care of Beast, but if he can’t do what he needs to, we’ll find a better home for him.”
“We could adopt—” my daughter begins, but Sadie cuts her off with a sound somewhere between a whistle and a grunt.
“What’s the rule about asking your dad for a dog?”
Instead of the side-eye or sass she likes to bestow on me, Riva nods and cuddles Beast, the canine chicken, closer to her chest. “I hope Daniel figures it out,” she says softly.
This is getting more complicated by the second, and complex is not my favorite thing. But I owe my sweet and sexy dog lady for keeping my daughter happy this summer in a way I can’t manage on my own. I’m also frustrated as hell that she makes me feel things I haven’t in years.
Now I’m wondering if she’s the smartest person I know. After all, she realized that not begging to adopt every animal in need had to be part of the agreement with Riva. For my sanity at least.
If I had plans to adopt a dog, which I do not, it would be something more respectable. Maybe a German Shepherd or a barrel-chested yellow lab. Man’s best friend. Not a chicken dog.
“Me, too.” I reach out to pat Beast’s head, and he growls low in his throat. Less chicken, more Rottweiler.
“He hasn’t been well socialized.” Sadie grimaces. “I have him for the next week while Daniel’s out of town. We have a lot to work on.” She wraps an arm around Riva’s shoulder, and my daughter leans into her. “Luckily, my amazing assistant has the magic touch.”
“I can’t wait to see what the two of you accomplish,” I say. Trust me, I’m drawing on every ounce of acting ability I’ve displayed in commercials hawking insurance, fast-food and laundry detergent to keep a straight face. “Why don’t you take him back to the house now, Rivs? We’re due at the country club in a few minutes.”
Riva smiles at me, but it’s not as sweet as the one she bestowed on Sadie moments earlier. “Beast’s going with us.”
I choke out a laugh. “I don’t think so. We’re touring a country club, not a dog rescue.”
“It’s all good.” Sadie’s smile borders on sheepish. “The club’s membership director is a client of mine. One who hasn’t deserted me for Dogapalooza. I called her when Riva invited me and asked if we could bring Beast. He needs to get used to people and learn to walk on his own.”
“He can't walk? I thought that was intuitive for dogs.”
“His former owner carried him everywhere,” Sadie tells me like it’s just one more tiny hurdle to jump, “and he has some sensory issues.”
“Sensory issues,” I mutter. How is this my life?
“He can sit in the back with me.” Riva walks past me toward the SUV still parked in my garage.
“Is this necessary?” I ask Sadie, crowding her a little. Wanting to crowd her a lot.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She frowns but doesn’t look the least bit contrite. “I would have asked, but it’s pretty clear you’re avoiding me, so I didn’t want to bother you.” Still not making eye contact, she moves to walk by me as well. “The invite is a nice touch, public and all that. The country club should be busy this time of day. Maybe you can feel me up in the tennis bubble.”
I’d love to snap off a witty comeback, but just that sarcastic reference to her breasts causes my breath to lodge in my chest.
How did I think this arrangement would be easy? When have I ever done anything easy when it comes to a relationship with a woman—even a fake one? I’m committed, and although it’s clear she’s pissed at being ghosted for the past couple of days, Sadie isn’t calling things off either.
I need to find a way back to neutral ground. Maybe if I flew to Vegas and lost myself in gambling, brown liquor, and the thighs of a random hookup…
I slap a palm against my forehead. What the hell am I thinking? Vegas isn’t an option. I’m a single dad and an upstanding citizen of the happiest town on earth. A man who’s given up being wild and reckless.
I’m The Playmaker, I tell myself as I jiggle the keys in my pocket and follow Sadie and my daughter to the car. I’m used to victory, and this is a game I’m damn sure going to win.
Riva gives me the rundown on her morning as we drive, surreptitiously slipping in another request for a cell phone. She’s been asking for one since she got to Colorado. Unlike the dog rule, there’s no agreement stopping her.
It sounds like Sadie is busy this week with multiple dogs attending day school and extended boarding stays for clients on vacation. I want to ask her about Amanda’s comments that threw subtle shade at her business and get more info on the other boarding facility in town. But I don’t want to put her on the spot, and it’s hard to define the actual parameters of our relationship. Is talking about whether or not her business is failing too personal?
It seems ridiculous after I practically polished her tonsils with my tongue Saturday night. But I know sex. I understand physical attraction. Those are easy and simple. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I would have gladly dropped to my knees, lifted her skirt and pressed my face to her sweet center without a single regret.
What I don’t know is how to approach the other topic without hurting her feelings or overstepping my bounds. Or let’s face it, invite questions about my own life that I’m too chicken-shit to answer.
Maybe I have more in common with Beast than I realize.
“Are you a member of the Mountain View Country Club?”
“Me?” Sadie rolls her eyes. “No. Mountain View isn’t the kind of place for people like me.”
A glance in the rearview mirror confirms that Riva has put on her headphones. At some point I’m going to have to cave on the iPhone, but for now the MP3 player is getting the job done. I hear the tinny sound of Lainey Wilson’s drawl, so I know my daughter isn’t paying attention to this conversation.
“What does that mean?” I reach my hand across the console, intending to place it on her denim-clad leg, but she shifts away.
“No one’s watching,” she tells me. “You don’t have to make this look real.”
I want to argue, but press my lips together and nod. Boundaries are healthy, even if they’re bullshit.
Up ahead, a dark wood sign with gold lettering announces the entrance to the Mountain View Country Club, renewing the topic that invited my reaction to begin with. “People like you?”
“My mom worked here. Five nights a week, she cleaned locker rooms. At the very end of the summer, when they were about to drain the pool for the season, they’d let the families of staff come for an afternoon. That’s when I got to swim in the rarefied water of Mountain View. In high school, Bradley and Amanda belonged. He sometimes invited me, but it felt weird.”
Irritation pumps through my veins because I hate that Sadie feels like I’m the type of tool who’d hang out with a major tool like Bradley. I turn onto the road leading to the clubhouse. It’s lined with tall maple trees, their verdant leaves shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight.
“I want to be somewhere you’d be comfortable, too. Is there a community pool I could take Riva to? A public golf course? I’m mainly joining for the golf.”
She meets my gaze, and her eyes aren’t exactly sad, just resigned. “You should join Mountain View. You’ll fit in here.”
I’ve slowed nearly to a stop, and the car behind us honks.
“What does that mean?”
Riva’s bopping along with her tunes as she pets Beast, unaware of the tension that’s crept into the vehicle. Tension I don’t want anywhere near my daughter or the woman sitting next to me.
My teeth clench when she doesn’t answer, and I hit the gas again. “I’m not going to apologize for having money, Sadie. I worked hard for my success. And I’ve got the scars, aching joints, and too many concussions to prove it.”
I’ve never been the kind of guy who flashes his lifestyle. I don’t carry gym bags with designer monograms or flex my collection of blinged-out watches. But I have them. Some part of me—mainly the kid with the angry dad and the sad mom, who listened to countless fights about paying the bills—needs proof that I made it.
Sadie touches my arm. I’m tense all over but relax as her soft fingers wrap around my wrist. She might think I’m a rich prick, but my body doesn’t care. It wants to snuggle into her like a kitten…a very hard kitten.
“My issues with the country club…” She pauses, drawing in a deep breath. “My issues with a lot of things are my own. I don’t want to put them on you. There’s nothing wrong with Mountain View. By and large, the people who belong here are lovely. Trina and Sally are members. They’re part of a weekly golf league that they’ll no doubt try to convince you to join. I don’t judge them for being members.”
She draws back her hand, and when I glance over, she smiles. “I’m not judging you either. The wedding and our arrangement are bringing up feelings I hadn’t expected.”
“Tell me about it,” I murmur. “By the way, I’m sorry if I crossed the line Saturday night.”
She looks over her shoulder toward the back seat then back at me, her eyes sparking with the same need I feel whenever we’re together. “We crossed it together, and I liked it.”
She liked it. Hot damn.
Relief courses through me along with another healthy dose of desire. It’s somewhat embarrassing how much I wanted—possibly even needed—to hear those words.
“So what happens now?” I ask as I throw the truck into park. There’s a valet stand under the portico at the front entrance, but I want to finish this conversation.
“I’m your plus one for the country club tour,” she says, tightening her ponytail.
“I liked seeing your hair down on Saturday night.” I reach out and trail my finger over a wisp that’s pulled free from the rubber band. “You have beautiful hair, Sadie. You are beautiful.”
Her nostrils flare, and she leans forward slightly. I can’t kiss her with Riva in the back seat, but damn I want to.
Then a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad scent hits me like a sledgehammer.
“Hey guys, Beast farted,” Riva calls from the back.
Sadie wrinkles her nose. “He’s a little gassy.”
“That smell better come out of the interior of my car,” I shout as I roll down the windows and drive toward the valet stand. “I am not dealing with that dog’s putrid odor.”
“At least he didn’t get car sick this time,” Sadie says.
My mouth falls open. “That was a possibility?”
“I have a towel wrapped in the blanket to clean it up,” Riva assures me.
“The two of you were going to let that dog puke in my car? Oh, hell no. Let’s go,” I tell them, opening the door.
When I hear their answering laughter, tinkling together like the melody of my favorite song, I know I’ll put up with a lot more than dog vomit to keep both my daughter and Sadie Hart happy.