25. Ian
25
IAN
I’ve had some level of fame in my life since I led my high school team back in Oklahoma to a state championship my freshman year. I was recruited to a big college program, earned a national championship and a Heisman nomination, although not the actual trophy. Then onto a successful and lucrative career in the NFL.
Not once, until this summer and Sadie Hart, did I slow down long enough to appreciate the pleasure of being a regular person. I love Skylark, and don’t mind admitting that I occasionally pat myself on the back for choosing my new home based on a Buzzfeed article about the happiest towns in America. Happy is awesome. Maybe those articles have more merit than people give them credit for, even if they’re mainly used as clickbait.
I’ve been used as clickbait enough times, but I’m moving past that part of my life. So far, this weekend has been a revelation.
Mountain towns are used to hosting celebrities on a bigger scale than a former football player. Monika might even be able to go incognito here, not that she’d want to. I understand people recognize me, and while Bradley is a douche of the highest level, most of the wedding guests and other visitors at the hotel have left me alone.
But I like being Sadie’s plus one. I want to hold her hand and rub her back, leaning in close to smell the sunshine scent of her skin. I like talking and laughing with her and not worrying that she’s going to take a picture of my naked ass while I’m asleep or showering and post it on the internet.
I like having sex with her. A lot. And I hate the thought of Sadie with another man, even though the protectiveness swelling inside me is terrifying.
My body and heart have decided she’s mine, and there isn’t a damn thing my brain can do to convince them otherwise.
Is it time to tell her I don’t want our fake relationship to end? What would she say if I told her my feelings are real? What would my daughter think, given that Riva is well-aware of the Barlowe curse?
I appreciate that Sadie is special to her, but she means something to me too, and I don’t want to let her go. I like who I am with her, and I’m not ready to let that go either.
We had a pleasant enough dinner with the bridal party last night, although it’s weird how Piper and her friends treat Sadie like she’s middle-aged. The dress she wore, with a low-cut V neckline and a slit up the thigh, wasn’t at all matronly. Although more power to the matrons who want to rock out the midlife sex appeal.
Sadie’s body is sexy as hell, and last night, I spent hours worshiping every inch of it. She slept in my arms, and I even convinced Ms. Modest to forgo pajamas and snuggle up skin to skin. It made for a hell of a way to wake up, and I played the best round of golf in my life. Hell, if Sadie and I continue dating for real, they might recruit me for the Senior PGA Tour.
In contrast, the groom got more frustrated with every shanked shot and sand trap he hit. I don’t think I’m the only member of the wedding who took pleasure in watching good ol’ Bradley pitch a baby fit on the fairway.
But when he ordered a second round of tequila shots at the hotel bar, I did an Irish goodbye. I’ve already screwed things up with Sadie once because of bad choices while drinking, I’m not going to ruin this weekend for her.
I walk around the corner of the building, and like my heart summoned her, Sadie sits on one of the log benches that borders the trail surrounding the property. Her back is to me, and I take a moment to appreciate the long line of her neck. Her dark blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, the ends damp and curling.
As I move closer, I realize she’s holding her phone in front of her on a video chat with someone. I don’t want to interrupt or infringe on her privacy, so I start to step away but stop when I hear my name. Several oversized SUVs in the parking lot separate us, hiding me from view as I draw closer.
“It’s not a big deal, Sloane.”
There’s an answering laugh on the other end of the line. “Sadie, my days are currently filled with tests and talk of stem cell transplants and chemo. And even I can still appreciate that sex with Ian Barlowe is a big deal. Of all the guys to punch your V-card with, you picked the cream of the crop.”
“Only because I knew it would be a better story for you and the book club.”
The words hit me like a blindside tackle I never saw coming. The betrayal tightens my chest and makes my gut churn, leaving me breathless and stunned.
“It’s the gift that keeps on giving…to all of us,” Sloane answers. “I want to hear every juicy detail. Because as vivid as my imagination is, I’d bet money the real deal is even better.”
A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, like watching a missed field goal in the last seconds of a playoff game. So close to winning, but now just as empty and hollow as watching a game clock wind down to the end.
I spin on my heel and stalk toward the front of the hotel, not wanting to stand there like a creeper and eavesdrop on my performance in deflowering a woman. My inclination is to grab the keys, get in my car, and drive home. Or punch a fist into something just for the satisfaction of the crunch of my knuckles against a rock-hard surface. The physical pain might give me some relief from the mental agony I’m feeling at the moment.
I truly believed Sadie was different from every other woman who wanted something from me, to use me somehow.
How could I have been so stupid?
It’s like Felix says—Barlowe men are shit at love. No matter how much I want to be, I’m not the special snowflake exception.
Shit . Do I even have a right to feel this angry and betrayed?
Our relationship was fake from the start. We were each getting something, but that felt different because it was between us.
And I thought things had changed.
I thought Sadie’s feelings changed because mine did.
What an egotistical idiot.
I think back to the previous night, the two of us wrapped around each other in the soft sheets. My body runs hot, so I usually kick off the covers before morning. For all I know, Sadie snapped photos of me without me even knowing. Of course I don’t believe she would sell them to a tabloid like my previous girlfriend. Yet the fact she might show her friends, or even her sister and the women in the bridal party, makes my stomach turn. But hell, if she’s looking to connect and fit in, why not share a laugh over The Playmaker’s flaccid dick pic.
I might have been somewhat indiscriminate with the partners I chose, but I’m old-fashioned in my belief that sex is private, something between two people, not to be shared. I’ve never sent any woman a photo that could be considered sexual or racy. I never took part in locker room chatter, or shared anything about my partners with anyone, not even Felix.
I thought Sadie was the same as me. And I hoped she’d fallen in love the same as me.
Based on the excruciating ache in my chest that’s splitting me in two, she isn’t going to be easy to get over. Thank God I have a hell of a poker face, because no way will Sadie—or anyone—know how much this hurts. Not that anyone would believe it from a guy like me anyway.
But how do I go back to just being neighbors when my daughter adores her and my heart knows she’s the piece that’s been missing from it for so long?
I put all of those future worries aside as I quickly shower and dress for dinner. Walking away now would reveal too much. It would show her that she hurt me. The one lesson my dad instilled in me with his fists and cruel words was that the best revenge is not letting someone know you care.
I came too close to letting Sadie in for real, but I’ll take that secret to my grave.
I text her on my way out of the hotel, thumbs jamming the phone’s home screen like the device insulted my mother.
Me: I’ll meet you at the restaurant.
I’d planned to be at her side during the ceremony rehearsal, which is taking place on the lawn behind the hotel, overlooking several of Colorado’s majestic mountain peaks. Instead, I’m taking some time to pull my shit together to put on the show we’ve agreed to. I’m used to playing injured and under pressure, but never has faking something felt so hard.
Within seconds, she texts back.
Sadie: You okay? I hope spending the day with Bradley and his buddies wasn’t too much.
The smiley face emoji she includes with the message does me in. I have only my own stupidity to blame.
The bar I walk into near the resort is already half-full—not unexpected on a Friday afternoon—and in my dress shirt and sports coat, I don’t exactly blend in. Which is fine, because I don’t want to. I slap backs and accept drinks from people who aren’t my friends and don’t know me as anything other than The Playmaker.
This is a different kind of cloak of invisibility, and it’s easy to fall back into the persona of the excess-loving athlete. I offer a charming smile to a table of women in their early twenties, and the opening gives them the courage to approach and ask for a picture. I drape my arms around the two flirtiest girls in the group, encouraging them to lean in and plant sloppy kisses on my cheeks.
“Be sure to tag me and our location,” I tell them. Several of Piper’s friends seem the type to stay glued to their social media feeds.
I’m not doing anything wrong or against the rules of my arrangement with Sadie, but I’m not doing anything right either. And that’s just how I want it. She changed the game and I’m the one left watching from the sidelines with a busted heart, anger the only thing left for me to hold onto.