Roster
How did I get here? That’s a question I ask myself often, but more and more here lately. How did I get here?
Where Ian still doesn’t know about Savannah, our daughter.
Where it took all of six months of talking before Ian said he was in town on business and wanted to know if we could meet. I met with him and we ended up at his hotel, naked in his bed.
Where we’re just friends who happen to sleep together whenever he’s in town. I still don’t know what he does for work because we never talk about it.
Where he’s seeing me more often and he’s wanting to see me during the day. As in, he wants to take me out on a date. No. Not happening. Yet he keeps asking, no matter how many times I turn him down. I always despised how stubborn he could be.
Not to mention, I need to tell him about Savannah. There is no right moment and she’ll be turning three soon. I’ve waited too long. Next time I see him, I’m going to tell him if I have to slide him a piece of paper with it written on it. Is it bad that a tiny part of me is hoping that’s enough to make him stop asking me out on dates, so I can stop rejecting him?
Ian: I want to see you. Meet for lunch?
Ian: Don’t say no.
Ian: Babe.
Ian: Damn it, Sydney. Just answer me with a yes.
I sigh. He’s so insistent lately. The more I turn him down, the more pissed he gets and the quicker he is to get annoyed. Not that I can blame him. I understand it. That doesn’t mean I’m changing my answer.
Me: I’ll meet you at the hotel tonight, but that’s it.
Ian: That’s such fucking bullshit. What’s wrong with lunch?
What’s wrong with lunch is it would be a date. I gave Ian my heart once and he trampled on it like a stampede of a thousand horses. If it wasn’t for Savannah, I would wonder if there’s anything left of it.
When I don’t respond, Ian sends another text.
Ian: Fine. Be there no later than nine.
More and more often he finds himself in Raleigh. I refuse to think about whether that has anything to do with me or if it’s pure coincidence. Some nights, I meet him early like around nine at night. Others, it’s closer to midnight before he tells me to come over. I don’t know what he’s doing to make the time vary. I don’t ask. I assume he’s working or something related to that.
He’s tried to come over to the apartment, but I always shut that down. His hotel room is a much better choice. It helps remind me that we’re just friends who fuck. I hope that it also reminds Ian of this, but for the past year, it hasn’t mattered. He’s been seeing me more and more, wanting to see me outside of that hotel room. We can’t do that.
Ian: I’m getting tired of this, gorgeous. I can’t help but love you anyway. Won’t you at least seriously consider it?
The thing is, I have. It’s why whenever he brings it up, I either ignore him or turn him down. It worries me that he’s getting tired of this. He wants more. I don’t. What happens when he decides keeping me isn’t worth it anymore? We have the perfect setup, I think. We’re closer than ever, but there’s a line drawn in the sand that I refuse to cross. I get the intimacy I want from him while keeping my heart all to myself. It’s perfect.
If Ian would just leave things alone!
And again, I still haven’t told him about Savannah. When I finally knew I was going to have to just spit it out, he started this shit about wanting to see me more and take me out on dates when he was in town. For some, that would be the exact reason to go ahead and tell him what I haven’t managed to do since he reentered my life, but it just scared the hell out of me too much. My procrastination only worsened.
The day, as they normally do when I know I’m seeing Ian, passes as slow as Moses. I double check that my stepbrother and one of my roommates, Logan, will be home tonight to be with Savannah. After I pick her up from daycare, we go to the apartment. We play for a bit, have dinner, get her a bath, and I read to her. Soon, it’s time for my own shower.
My excitement builds because I know what’s to come. Although Ian has been so persistent, he usually isn’t when we’re together. It’s more about sex first. Possibly talking afterward. Mostly, this is where things are normal. Where we’re the us I’ve become used to over the past two years and the us I like the most.
Ian: Room 859.
I swear to you, my heart skips a beat. Finally ready, I return to the living room where Logan and Savannah are sitting on the couch, watching TV.
“Be good, buttercup. I love you.”
“Love you, Mommy.” She smacks a loud kiss on my cheek.
I say goodbye to Logan and leave. The drive to the hotel takes about thirty minutes. Once I get there, I have to sneak into the bathroom and change my clothes. Logan and Carey, my best friend and my other roommate, have never liked that I talk to him, but even more so since I haven’t told him about Savannah yet and that’s supposed to be the only reason I do talk to him. Carey and Logan don’t know I’m sleeping with him either. Whenever I meet with him, I lie and say I’m going to work. Since my waitress uniform isn’t exactly what I want Ian to see me wearing, I have to sneak clothes into my purse. Thank goodness for large purses.
At least now, I’ve been here often enough that the receptionists don’t give me a funny look when I come out of the bathroom in different clothes anymore. However, I do feel a litt
le dirty because it’s like they know why I’m here. They’re so familiar with me I don’t even have to say my name anymore. They have the key waiting for me when I come out of the bathroom.
I wonder what Ian tells them. Does he refer to me in any sort of way that would make them think I’m something other than a prostitute? I feel like sometimes, that’s what they think I am. I mean, I come in, go to the bathroom to change, grab a key, and spend hours with a man. I always leave before he does and drop my key off when I go, changing back into my work clothes. It’s suspicious.
I shove these thoughts out of my head as I step off the elevator and walk down the hallway toward room 859. The key slides easily into the slot, the light turns green, and I turn the knob. The only light is coming from around the corner where I know I’ll find Ian. Sometimes, he meets me at the door. Sometimes, he’s already naked in bed. Tonight, it seems to be the latter.
The sheets are gathered around his waist. He’s lying down with one arm behind his head. I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and crawl up the mattress until I’m straddling his lap. How often does he work out to keep his body in such good shape?
“Good day, babe?” he asks while I run my hands up and down his chest.
“Yeah. You?”
“Be better if you’d go ahead and kiss me.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice to put the talking to an end and get to the good stuff. After reaching over to turn off the light, pitching us into complete darkness, I pull my shirt off. Ian’s hands are sliding up my back to unhook my bra when he hears it hit the floor. I lean down to deliver the kiss he wants.
How can something that is so routine thrill me as if we’ve never done it before? Lights go off and we attack each other with such a need it’s as if we’ll die if we don’t reach that high we bring to one another. We’ve known each other for so long, have been doing this for what seems like forever, that he knows exactly what I like and I know exactly what he likes. Our bodies move in sync. His hands constantly move over my body like he can’t decide which part he likes most.
This is what I love. This is normal for us. Slinking into a hotel room and enjoying each other without any more commitment than our friendship is what I like. It’s what works. I won’t let him change things between us because he’s decided that now he should complicate things by wanting more.
“God, I love you,” he grunts as he comes. The high of my own orgasm diminishes just a little. He’s started throwing around that phrase lately, too. I ignore him. To say something means risking hearing him say he doesn’t mean it as one friend to another. Ian kisses me hard before rolling over to go to the bathroom. I switch on the light long enough for him to go and come back and then do the same myself. He pulls me tight against him, leaving no space between my back and his chest.
I lace our fingers together. These quiet moments are the best. It’s also when I feel the most guilty. I said I would tell him the next time I saw him, so I need to spit it out. Tell him about our daughter and how I went down the rabbit hole for her to be approaching her third birthday and him to not know anything about her all this time. I turn around to face him, but he speaks before I can.
“I meant it, Sydney. I’m tired of just this. Babe, give me more.”
My eyes squeeze close and I find an escape by pressing my forehead against his chest. “Please don’t,” I whisper. “Besides, you don’t even live here. Let it go for tonight at least.” Because that’s all I can realistically ask for. Anything more would be hopeless, but that’s something he might do. He doesn’t need to ruin our night by demanding a relationship from me. The idea terrifies me and Ian doesn’t seem to understand that. Does he not remember our past? Because I do. All too well.
“Promise me we’ll talk about it next time.”
“Fine.” Next time, I’ll tell him about Savannah and tell him we absolutely aren’t going to be more. By the time I finish letting him know he has a daughter, he probably won’t want a relationship with me. Not even the one we have now. That’s just as scary as the thought of having more with him. I want him in my life, but under certain conditions. It’s not fair, I know, but it’s better than not having him at all or risk getting my heart broken. Heartache looks like it’s on the horizon anyway.
I shift, moving on top of him. I need to enjoy him every minute tonight because I have a feeling my time with him is coming to an end.
“Come on. We’ve already missed some of the game.” Tom takes my hand and leads me down a short tunnel-like walkway. A lady is waiting at the top of the stairs. He shows her our tickets, but she makes us wait until there’s a stoppage in play before we can head down to our seats.
I didn’t sign up for a hockey game. Aren’t guys at least supposed to make sure I’m somewhat interested in what we’re doing for our date? I don’t know a thing about hockey. The most I know is that our team is the Carolina Rebels. That’s it. That’s the extent of my knowledge. Tom acts as if we’re late because of me. No, we’re late because he didn’t pick me up on time.
Come to think of it, I didn’t want to go on the date, but Carey insisted, so here I am.
Tom is a huge hockey fan, apparently. We’re sitting in the third row from the glass to the right of the goalie. He starts talking, explaining the game, but I’m only mildly paying attention. Hockey makes me think of Ian since he used to play. That’s not who I want to think about tonight.
I keep my eyes on the big bodies on the ice, trying to keep up with the action while hoping it’ll keep my mind off of Ian. There’s a huge hit as two players slam into the boards in front of us. Fans immediately jump to their feet, shouting and cheering as gloves fly off the players’ hands. I stand, too, caught up in the moment. It’s a blur of fists until the refs pull the players apart. I stop breathing as I catch sight of the Rebels player’s face.
Ian.