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“Look, I should let you go, Dustin. Got to get ready for Brennan’s wedding. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Dad.”
“Love you more, bud.”
I hang up the phone and turn to face Sadie.
Of course, my eyes scatter all over her. She’s got to know I’m fighting urges. Her existence is a threat to my probing manhood.
A fluffy thick white towel is wrapped around her body, and another is around her auburn hair. It’s like she washed up from sharing a long night with me.
A rush of blood gathers in one area of my body in particular, and I have to hop in the shower to rub one out before I take this beauty across the street.
“All yours.” Her raspy voice shakes as she nods at the bathroom.
I excuse myself, wondering if I really want to give her her own room. Braxton would kill me if he knew of these thoughts, but I’ll say one thing. He doesn’t have to know, and I haven’t done a thing to sweet Ms. Sadie. At least not yet.
Chapter 5
Sadie
It’sonethingtofeel confident in Hillpike. However, it’s another to feel confident at an outdoor wedding in one of Chicago’s historic parks. There’s a richness of beauty when everyone isn’t quite the same. In Hillpike, most folks dress and style themselves the same way and even mimic each other’s expressions.
I’m in awe, almost inspired to get to know people and explore a bit, but all while truly being myself. I can be “a lot” in Hillpike, but I have a hunch I could fit in just fine here. I believe I have my own uniqueness that I wear on my sleeve.
And by god, the entire bridal party is full of lookers. The colors of the wedding are baby blue and salmon pink. The pink is just a few shades darker to keep this wedding from looking like an obnoxious celebrity gender-reveal party. The bridesmaids are dressed in baby blue with salmon pink dragonflies designs cluttered at the hem of their dresses and spaghetti straps.
Ugh. It isn’t hard to spot Courtney. She’s not a part of the bridal party, but her evil eye is so dominant that it begs for my attention. I think it’s weird she’s wearing red, a blaring red at that. And from the last I recall of her, she was blonde. Now her hair is dyed a bluish-black. She’s missing a tan. That would give her more edge, but it’s her stare that sort of creeps me out. It’s like an exaggerated version of Morticia fromThe Addams Family. And her date, the guy she apparently left Freddy for, is one hundred percent a downgrade. He has too much hair on his face for the summer. It makes me hot, and I’m not talking about the good “hot,” but the kind of hot that makes me wanna fan my underarms.
Luckily, being beside Freddy gives me more than enough feels to stir my attention from Courtney. In a little white chair, Freddy sits with his left hand around me. His light summer cologne goes pleasantly with the breeze as his hand limply rests on my left shoulder. He’s trying his best not to touch me how I believe he wants to. He’s holding back, and the electricity between us makes me horny.
“It feels hot,” he randomly says as a breeze wafts over me.
I cross my legs toward Freddy, so my left heel and ankle graze his shin. Chicago’s sun has moved behind us. I feel very comfortable and excited sitting in this historic park. The bustling energy of the city spills across the park. I hear car horns in the distance while surrounded by people excited to celebrate love.
Courtney is a couple of rows in front of us, and this is her third time looking over her shoulder to give me a grimace. Her hair is in a similar updo as mine, so I pull a couple extra strands to fall down my neck.
I inch closer to Freddy and whisper in his ear, “She can’t stop looking at us.”
I watch his “Adam’s apple” shift as he swallows an irritable sigh.
The wedding vows pull at my heartstrings like I grew up with the bride or groom. Ugh, sometimes I get really warm and romantic when love is in the air. The groom is a mutual friend of Freddy’s and Courtney’s. For years, he was their bachelor next-door neighbor who threw elaborate parties in the summer. I wonder how he feels seeing his once-married neighbors at his wedding with different people. I imagine it being a brief, funny conversation at the bridal table.
After the chairs are placed around round tables, I have the joy of pretending I’m from Pottersfield, which is right next door to Hillpike. It’s a farmer’s town, and quite a few locals shop at the Walmart in my town. I remember making fun of them when I was little because they used to fill their carts up so high, so they wouldn’t have to come back out anytime soon, especially right before the winter.
I chat with a couple of women at the table. One’s a dentist who rollerblades, and the other is a belly dancer instructor. I told her if I lived on her side of the city, I’d sign up.
A couple of drinks in, Freddy invites me to the dance floor. The bride and groom watch us steadily as if to pick apart our level of attachment.
“Do you think they think I’m an escort?” I ask.
Freddy pulls me into him. His large hands are at the small of my back. I feel his fingers slide up and down my lower spine briefly. I quiver. He notices and squeezes me tighter.
“I don’t care. We’ll stick to our story.”
Which is that we met online and have been dating for three months now. I’m a massage therapist at a Massage Envy out in Burbank, which is far enough away from this crowd that Freddy mingles with.
Courtney joins the dance floor shortly after we do. She clutches the back of Stewart’s neck.
