Page 76 of Sportsball is for Lovers

In theory. If only the person I wanted to be with didn’t think I was prickly scum on the bottom of her shoe.

That seems harsh. Maybe she doesn’t think like that, not anymore. I don’t understand some people’s ability to utterly detest someone yet want to have sex with them. So maybe there’s hope for us yet.

But when she clutches at me like I’m her lifeline, panic in her eyes…

“Do we need to treat this like a scene?” I ask.

She turns to me, her eyebrows raised.

“Do you need ground rules and guidance?”

“You’d do that?”

“I know you well enough that you don’t want to be submissive all the time,” I tell her. “Every now and then… right now, I think you need to let go. So let me take it on. Let me be the one to direct.”

She melts. “Thank you. I—thank you.”

I squeeze her hand. “What you’re going to do is open the door and introduce me to the people you want me to meet. The moment they start asking uncomfortable questions, you deflect to me. I’ll handle it. If you need some air, pull on your earlobe, I’ll get you out of there.”

She takes a deep breath.

“And after this shit-tastic party is over,” I continue, “We’ll go back to the hotel and I’ll fuck you until you melt into a puddle. Sounds good?”

Sadie swallows. “Yes. I think.”

The front door is unlocked, and the door swings open to reveal a tightly packed crowd. There’s got to be wall-to-wall people in here.

“Sadie. You’re here,” an older woman says with no inflection in her tone. She looks her up and down with a faint sneer. “You’ve gained weight.”

As Sadie bit her lip, I tug on her hand. “Come on, babe, let’s go introduce me to your friends and family.”

“This is my grandmother, Myrna Hershkowitz.” Her voice is quiet, a far cry from her usual robust exuberance.

“And who are you?” Myrna turns her disapproving gaze on me.

Luckily, I don’t give two shits about what the old crone thinks of me. What does bother me is the way Sadie shrunk into herself.

“Jared Aviyente.” I don’t smile or offer her my hand, and her lips purse at what she no doubt sees as a slight. It may be bad manners. She doesn’t deserve my respect.

Myrna harrumphs. She opens her mouth to give me a piece of her mind.

I squeeze Sadie’s hand. “Let’s mingle.”

She opens her mouth, no doubt feeling the need to kowtow to her family’s matriarch.

“I could use some water.”

With the gentle prompting, she seems to reboot and recalibrate. Her hand in mine, she pulls me deeper into the party without a further word to her grandmother.

We get about ten feet in when we are approached by a woman with the same voluptuous frame and wavy hair as my girlfriend, her face round and pink.

“Sades. Hey,” she says, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” Sadie says stiffly.

Why is her family so fixated on her looks?

Yes, she’s gorgeous, but that is in no way the most interesting thing about her.