Student Bodyguard for Hire

by Callie James

  “It’s not that bad. Beats reading the book. And the company is nice. Who would you pick?”

  Wait, was that a compliment about my company? I’d barely said a word. Had been biting my tongue all afternoon. Maybe he liked mutes. A terrible sign since I took after my mother in the chatterbox department, especially when nervous. “Fanny, I guess. If I had to choose.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged and stared at the young woman playing Fanny Price. “I guess because she knows how to fit in everywhere, but doesn’t really belong anywhere.”

  He didn’t say anything but his gaze lingered on my profile.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ryan walked through the front door, and I braced myself for his reaction. Please be cool, little brother. His footsteps stopped and I twisted to see him standing at the carpet’s edge, hands perched on his waist.

  “Oh. My. God,” he said, his eyes pivoting to the back of Sam’s head and narrowing. “You’re not sick. You totally skipped class.”

  Not quite ready to deal with what I’d done yet, I waved Ryan away as Sam watched my reaction. “We’re watching a movie for class. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Sam lifted his hand casually in a wave, never turning around. “Hey, Ryan.”

  “H-hey…Sam.” Ryan looked uncertain another few seconds before he sighed loudly and pivoted, stomping through the foyer and up the stairs.

  Okay, it had to be weird to come home and find Sam Guerra watching Mansfield Park with me. I had to give my brother props for keeping it together.

  “He’s protective of you,” Sam said, staring at the movie as Ryan’s heavy footsteps sounded through the ceiling directly above us.

  “Yes,” I said, “he is.”

  “Are you close? You seem like you are.”

  “Strangely enough.”

  He turned to me. “Why strange?”

  “Our personalities are way different. My mother says I’m the positive to his negative; that combined we equal a normal person. I guess there’s some truth to it. I’m the optimist. He’s the pessimist. But I’m closer to him than anyone else. We talk about everything. And we look out for each other.”

  The sudden appearance of his sexy half-smile made my insides flutter. “I figured that out when you showed up at my house with your offer.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking or flirting. “Sorry if his hostility makes this uncomfortable.”

  He looked at the movie. “It doesn’t.”

  “I told him I was sick and we don’t lie to each other,” I said, over-explaining as always. “I think it shocked him you were here.”

  “If I were him, I wouldn’t want me here either.”

  “It’s not you. I don’t know why—” something heavy dropped on the floor upstairs, “—he’s still mad.”

  His gaze paused briefly on my legs, the fourth time I’d seen him do that. “He obviously thinks this is something else.”

  I pulled my skirt down a little. “I don’t know why. I told him you were only interested in help on the review.”

  His dark eyes flicked over me. “I don’t think he believed you. He must think I’m here for other reasons.”

  Another loud slam sounded upstairs and my cheeks heated. “This is embarrassing.”

  He shrugged again. “Don’t worry about it. If we were friends, I’d tell you to stay the hell away from me, too.”

  I met his gaze. “You don’t think we’re becoming friends?”

  “You and I could be a lot of things, Peyton, but we could never be friends,” he said, turning to the movie. “Feel free to tell your brother you’re more than safe with me.”

  As we finished Mansfield Park in silence, I finally admitted to myself that maybe for the first time ever, I wanted more than safe with a boy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sam

  Once the movie ended, Peyton asked me for my visceral response to the story. I looked her right in those pretty blues and told her the literary world might have benefited more had someone invented and introduced Jane Austen to the zombie apocalypse trope. Had zombies overrun Mansfield Park and devoured every one of those irredeemable, selfish bastards she called characters, I would have walked away from this movie so much happier.

  But that didn’t happen. Instead, Edmond and Fanny got together. Big surprise.

  That I’d managed to watch the movie at all was a bigger surprise. Peyton’s miniskirt had been a constant distraction. Black and tighter than the pink one, it conformed to her body like a second skin, repeatedly drawing my attention back to those legs.

  If I’d been thinking at all this morning, I wouldn’t have bothered glancing her way. But I had and one look at her gorgeous backside and I’d immediately regretted standing her up Tuesday night. Luckily, I’d already planned to give her the one hundred-fifty back, which gave me an excuse to talk to her. When she’d turned around so bright-eyed and almost happy to see me, I started to reconsider my earlier decision to leave her alone.

  Peyton’s constant blushes and easy smiles made me think she wanted more than a flirtatious game that led nowhere. To find out for sure, I’d given her the perfect out—take the money and I’d be gone.

  Did she take it? No.

  I’d been so damn euphoric at her answer, that I no longer cared if screwing her put me front and center in the Ridgeview gossip column. If that happened, Vanna would forgive me for dragging the Guerra name through more mud. Eventually.

  Setting up the excuse to hook up had been easy. Getting her to agree had been more difficult. But when she finally did, I’d wanted to run my hands over those sculpted arms and peel off her clothes right there.

  I’d thought we were both on the same page until we got to her place. Then she did that long delay by the door as if she’d never invited a guy to her house for a little one-on-one action. Given her reputation, I figured she was joking, but a second glance at those wide eyes and trembling chin made me realize she was genuinely scared, if not completely freaked that she’d put herself in a potentially dangerous situation.

  That’s when I realized she didn’t do hookups.

  Great. That meant I’d read every signal wrong, I had zero understanding of what was going on, and I needed to get the hell out of there.

  She relaxed a little when I suggested I bail, but it wasn’t until she’d grabbed the movie and descended the stairs while watching me with those huge, innocent eyes that I finally realized her shy act wasn’t an act. Even her smile seemed twitchy and nervous.

  I began to wonder if she had any experience at all. Given the rumors about her, it took me a full hour sitting next to her like a mute before I got my arms around the notion that she might be a virgin. It would at least explain her constant blushes when I’d flirted with her at school. Crap. I’d never been anyone’s first time. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be. She struck me as a serious girl, which meant she’d be a serious relationship girl.

  Anyone who really knew me knew I wasn’t into relationships. Telling her she was safe with me had halted anything before I could talk myself out of doing the right thing. I hadn’t always thought of the other person first, but I knew going any further with this girl would have been a mistake.

  Papá, God rest his soul, would have been proud.

  I should have left then, but I hadn’t fully taken doing the right thing seriously. I’d had my heart set on hooking up with this girl and I still wanted to.

  When the movie ended, I had a headache and real good idea why I didn’t like Jane Austen. What’s the word, vexed? Yeah, Jane Austen vexed the shit out of me. So did Peyton. Why did she wear short skirts all the time, only to pull the material down repeatedly whenever she caught me looking at her legs? Wasn’t that the point? To show off great legs? She also had a chronic blushing problem when I talked to her. Like she was suddenly hyperaware every time she looked at me that I might want to have sex with her. But what was strange about that? Like every other guy wouldn’t? Seriously, how could she seem so unaware of her own appeal?


  I’d been stuck in that thought, following her and staring at those triceps when she bent to pull a notepad from her book bag.

  Yeah, I definitely had to see her again.

  But that meant a real date, something I’d always avoided. Seeing Peyton outside this tutoring gig meant we’d have to talk for real, and unlike my sister, I wasn’t big on keeping things real. Peyton might even ask personal questions, and as I thought about how I’d get around that, I started getting itchy.

  She turned to see me scratching my shoulder like a baboon and I dropped my hand. “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  Her eyes rounded and she put a palm to her midsection. “Oh, God. You didn’t hear my stomach growling for the last hour did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Those dimples deepened. “And yes, I’m starved.”

  I leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Want to get some food, too? My shift starts at seven and it would save me some time. Would you mind?”

  She looked to her notepad and back up. “Could be fun. Although, Mansfield Park and food? That seems social. Almost like friends. I wouldn’t want to compromise your man code.”

  I smiled. Glad to see she had a smartass side after all.

  “We could call it a date,” she suggested.

  Her brother emerged at the top of the stairs, apparently eavesdropping. He glared at me and I dropped my gaze back to Peyton’s pretty blues. “Do you want it to be a date?”

  Ryan began his descent as though he were a heavyweight instead of a flyweight. Never taking my eyes off his sister, Ryan’s hostile stare bored into me, and I had to wonder what happened to the frightened kid I’d defended. This kid held himself as though he were ready to kick my ass to Texas and back. I was starting to like him.

  “Sure,” she said.

  Ryan avoided the easier path behind Peyton by walking between us. Resisting a laugh, I decided to knock him off his high horse. “Hey, Ryan. Want to go with?”

  He twisted around. “On a date with you two? Are you kidding?”

  “Jeez, man. It’s only food.” I gave a casual shrug and grinned at her. “How sexy can it get? We’ll be talking about Mansfield Park.”

  She turned to Ryan with those bright eyes and smiled. “You want to come?”

  Ryan stared at his sister. “Sure. You know I love Mansfield Park.”

  The kid had to be the biggest nerd ever to like that shit, but his sister appeared to adore him. It hadn’t been my worst idea. If her brother went, she’d have her guard down. I could figure her out quicker, and the next time, we could skip the niceties and jump straight into the action.

  I definitely planned for a next time.

  Once in the car, Peyton started the comparison between book and movie while Ryan eyed me in the rearview mirror whenever he wasn’t texting.

  The Japanese restaurant was my favorite, a cafeteria-style place, which kept dining a non-intimate scenario—exactly why I’d chosen it. If I’d wanted intimate, I wouldn’t have invited Ryan.

  Peyton sat opposite me, writing as if on a mission to transcribe the Divine Word, when her friends, Jon and Adam, showed with two girls from school. Everyone acted surprised to see us, and Peyton bought it. She invited Ryan’s troop of reinforcements to sit at the table next to ours.

  Ryan gave me a smug look. “Are you going to let her do all the work?”

  “Wouldyoushutup?” Peyton said under her breath.

  He nodded to her notebook. “All I’m saying,” Ryan said, directing his scowl to me, “is I’m not hearing a conversation about the book, which is the point of this dinner date. I’m watching Peyton do all the talking and writing. What are you doing?”

  I’d been resting my chin in my palm during his spiel. “Let’s see. Taking your shit and showing amazing restraint? Or was that rhetorical?”

  The kid’s eyes widened, either recalling his wimp status from the locker room or surprised that I knew how to use the word rhetorical in the correct context. He probably equated my intelligence to a box of hair. How else could he explain my five-year high school status?

  “Sam and I talked earlier,” she said, elbowing him. “I’m writing to keep everything straight.”

  It was practically a lie. She’d talked a bit about the book, but we hadn’t. We’d talked about Vanna’s impulsiveness and Peyton’s close relationship with her perpetually pissed off sibling. We’d even tried comparing ourselves to two characters that neither of us resembled in any way.

  Ryan stared at Peyton’s profile until she turned to him. “What?” she hissed between teeth.

  He shrugged. “I was thinking maybe it’s time we adopt another kitten for you.”

  With the way she moved suddenly and he jumped, I knew she’d kicked him under the table. “I will kill you later,” she said. “Stop it.”

  Peyton turned and smiled at me before writing again.

  “Fine,” he said to her. “I’m sorry.”

  Peyton wouldn’t acknowledge his apology. Feeling responsible for the tension, I threw her brother a bone. “Your sister and I were debating a point earlier.”

  Peyton stopped writing and looked at me, her expression curious, probably because we hadn’t debated anything. Four stunned faces from the adjacent table stared at me as though I’d learned English in the last fifteen minutes.

  “Since you’re such a fan,” I said, “I thought maybe you could answer this. If Mr. Crawford is as plain as a thumb—” I pushed my empty plate to the side, “—why does Maria want him? She already has money and status in her engagement to Rushworth. Marriage, money and status … isn’t that all Austen’s female characters care about?”

  “Oh my God he did not just say that,” the blonde girl next to Jon said.

  Ryan contemplated my question. “Her sister, Julia, is supposed to have him. That’s why Maria wants him.”

  The brunette hanging on Cooper’s arm looked at me. “Maria always wants what she can’t have. She’s spoiled. One of Austen’s better examples that money, breeding, and education won’t necessarily turn out better character.”

  The blonde leaned past Jon, her eyes narrowing on me. “Jane Austen was easily one of the most amazing writers of all time. Do you know what she did for women?”

  “Cindy,” Jon said, clearing his throat, “I don’t think he meant—”

  She held her palm up to his face, halting his next word before turning to me. “I can’t believe,” she said, “that in one blanket statement you’d reduce all of Austen’s female characters to fanning little creatures caring about nothing more than marriage, money and status.”

  “Women had to focus on those things,” Jon said seriously, pushing his bleached white hair from his eyes. “It was the period. Self-preservation. No shame in that.”

  When Cooper and his girlfriend joined into the conversation, I turned to the only person at the table who interested me. The entire reason I’d come.

  Peyton must have felt my stare because she stopped her pen mid-paragraph, lifting that blue gaze to mine. “Oh, no you don’t,” she whispered, smiling. “You started this brouhaha. Better get back in there.”

  I shook my head. “I’m one snide remark away from having a chair thrown at my head. Are you kidding?”

  She bit down on her lip, trying not to laugh.

  “Elizabeth Bennett,” Cindy went on, “is easily the strongest, most complex female protagonist ever written. I challenge anyone to argue that.”

  “Consider it challenged,” Ryan said, chomping his last piece of sushi. “I can name ten heroines more interesting than Elizabeth Bennett.”

  “Name one,” she said.

  Unable to take this group thing much longer—even for Peyton—I tuned out the conversation and pulled out my cell to check messages, hoping to disappear into solitaire or mahjong while her friends hashed it out over this stupid ass book.

  “You have a phone?”

  Frowning that I’d missed a call from my boss, Jonas, I looked up to see Peyton s
taring at my phone. “Yeeaah. Why?”

  “Savanna said you didn’t own one.”

  Wait. What? “When did you talk to my sister?”

  She paused, eyes widening as color crept back into her cheeks. “I—” She glanced at the others still talking and back to me. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  Savanna rarely talked to anyone. Ever. Anyone who could get my sister to talk had my full attention. No way could I let this go. “What’s embarrassing?”

  “You’re going to think I’m dramatic.” She glanced to the other table nervously, leaned forward, and turned back to me. “I was worried about you, so I asked her.” She sat back, grabbed a California roll and quickly pushed it into her mouth.

  Intrigued, I slid forward on my elbows. “Worried about me?” Imagining Peyton worried about me felt …uncomfortable. “Why?”

  She chewed quickly, staring at her notes, pen poised.

  I leaned closer without leaving my seat. “Peyton?”

  Her gaze lifted to mine. “All right. When you didn’t text Tuesday night and didn’t come to school Wednesday, I worried maybe something had happened to you. She said you didn’t text me because you don’t have a phone.” A crinkle formed between those dark auburn eyebrows. “Why would Savanna tell me that? I mean, she obviously hates me, but that’s just mean to—”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” I said, interrupting her because I couldn’t stand to see the hurt on her face. I also didn’t like the idea of Vanna putting it there, inadvertently or otherwise. “She covers for me.”

  The line deepened between her eyebrows. “Covers for you?”

  I lowered my voice so only she could hear. “I worked yesterday.”

  She took a few seconds to process that. “Worked? During school?”

  “Yeah. Whenever an employee calls in sick, I ditch to get in a few extra work hours,” I said, giving her more information than I should. “But the school can’t know. Vanna covers for me whenever anyone asks questions. I don’t know why she told you I don’t own a phone. She doesn’t exactly think quickly on her feet. Your concern probably took her off guard.”