Gripping the edge of the tub, I arch my hips, coming on a stuttered breath.
Breathing heavily, I lean back, submerging into the water up to my chin.
My orgasm did nothing to curb the desire for him. It’s not enough. Nothing ever does it like him.
I climb out—tingly and barely satiated. It must be enough, though. I am not in the mood to date. The third one must be the right one. That’s my goal. It has to.
After my second relationship ended, I realized I’d rather be single than be with the wrong person. Remaining in an unfulfilling relationship that produced more emotional harm than good, affected me deeply. I don’t even know exactly what I want, but I’m sure I know what I don’t. I deserve more: respect, being treated right, passion, and feeling like I matter, being someone’s priority—a balanced relationship. I am done giving while receiving the bare minimum.
Maybe it’s a risk or maybe I’m done being treated as a matter of fact, someone you don’t try for, I’m just convenient.
My first boyfriend didn’t even ask me, but expected me to move with him across the country because his career as a future lawyer trumped my own dreams.
My second boyfriend was like, “You should prioritize me and not your little project, babe.” He went out with his friends every night. And on one of those nights, he cheated, blaming me as if I put his dick in another woman.
In hindsight, both were egotistical assholes whom I put up with for longer than I am comfortable admitting—desperate to make it work.
My need for stability has been both a hindrance and a blessing.
I slip under the sheet when my phone pings.
Sweet dreams, flower girl.
They’re always sweet when you’re in them, Ian.
I spendevery Tuesday morning at the shelter my father funds through his foundation, serving food to the homeless. It’s my dad’s heart project, giving something back to this city that means so much to both of us.
The line lengthens, and I smile at every single one, chatting and hoping to make a slight difference in their lives.
Four hours later, I am helping my dad and the other volunteers wash dishes. He tells me all about their latest win.
A big grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You should have seen it. The players outdid themselves. This year, we have the winning team.”
I saw it.
Pride etches in his eyes. “Ian and Levi are the duo every coach dreams of having on their team. We’ll win the Super Bowl this year. Can you believe it will be their third while it will be my second? I need these guys for at least another season.”
There it is. Another reason Ian and I would be a bad idea. He’ll test the market as a free agent in a year or so. Money talks in this business.
“I mean, a few hundred million for them is doable.”
I don’t even blink at the outrageous sum.
When we leave, I glance back at the empty space, smiling. Helping others is always worth it. Not everyone is fortunate, and it’s the responsibility of those who do better to aid others. My parents raised me with that credo, and I will continue this path. My dad sponsors this homeless shelter, and I allocate 10% of my profits every month to help as best I can.
We’re at our usual steakhouse restaurant not far away, and I muster the courage to ask, “Dad, why didn’t it work out between you and Mom?”
His body instantly goes taut. “Who is he? I want to know.”
“Dad, no. Oh my god. Just curious.”
A beat of silence follows. He looks out the window as if the answer is there.
“It was too much.” Regret echoes in his gruff voice. “A footballer’s wife doesn’t have it easy. And football players tend to put their family obligations off until later. Later usually ends in a divorce.”
“And I am old enough to date who I want,” I say hollowly. Not even to my own ears do I sound convincing.
He sends me an intent look. “Not one of my players, though, right?”
