Student Bodyguard for Hire

by Callie James

  Her incredible mouth curled up again. “She must not have your talent for adapting.”

  That I could lie without apparent conscience wasn’t what I wanted Peyton to focus on. “I’m just saying don’t take it personally.”

  She leaned her chin in her palm, eyes shining. “Well that makes this more interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  She bit into her lip, giving that gorgeous smile a devious slant. “Do you remember how we agreed you’d owe me for helping you?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed.

  She rose from her seat, surprising me when she slid her body halfway across the table to stop only a few inches from my face. We both probably smelled of sushi, but I couldn’t stop my growing smile. “Would it be possible,” she whispered, “to cash in on that favor right now?”

  My mouth opened but nothing came out. I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze to stay on her eyes and not drop to her cleavage where her shirt now gaped. “Depends on what you want. In a restaurant. Full of people.” I needed to quit talking.

  “Just your number,” she said softly, her cheeks getting pinker. She put the pen’s cap end into her mouth and twirled it once against her teeth. “It’s only fair. I gave you mine. You should give me yours.”

  I watched the tip of her tongue move once against the pen before meeting her gaze. “If I give it to you, are you going to use it?”

  She pulled the pen from her mouth. “Do you want me to use it?”

  With my focus constantly shifting to her mouth, all I wanted was to kiss her. I caught that sweet scent of hers and leaned forward, trying to decipher what it was. She leaned in, too, those playful, blue eyes pulling me closer. So close, I could …

  “What are you two conspiring about?” Ryan said, loud enough that he startled her into sliding back to her seat.

  Staring at each other, we smiled. I couldn’t believe I’d almost kissed her. I couldn’t believe she’d almost let me.

  Ryan cleared his throat and her gaze slid to him, then Cooper. Would she care if either had heard us? She turned her panicked gaze to mine.

  Adapt, I mouthed.

  She bit her lip, looking miserable. “I was telling Sam how the movie emphasized Fanny’s relationship with her younger sister, Susan.” Her voice shook. “But in the book, she’d been closest to her older brother, William.”

  “Why are you upset?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m not.” She flipped the page to start a third. The sudden strain between Peyton and her brother felt palpable, a pall over the entire table. Jon and his girlfriend stood to make a quick exit.

  I pushed my chair back. “I should get going, too.”

  “Give me a sec.” Peyton lifted a finger, not looking up. She continued to scribble out another sentence.

  Ryan stood. “Jon, can you give us a ride? Sam’s got work.”

  “Sure. We’ll wait outside.”

  Peyton stood and ripped three sheets from the pad, handing them to me. “That’s everything we went over.”

  I grabbed it, noticing she wouldn’t look at me. “Thanks.”

  She stood a moment longer as though waiting for me to say something else, then quickly left when I didn’t. I instantly realized I’d somehow messed up, although I had no idea what I did or didn’t do. The remaining girl drifted to the bathroom, leaving Cooper sitting next to me while I punched Peyton’s number into my phone, having memorized it the second she’d written it on my palm. “Yes,” I texted, certain for once of every damn word I typed. “I want you to use it. Whenever you want to use it. And now you have it.” Send.

  “You won’t hook up with her,” Cooper said. “You know that, right?”

  I grabbed my receipt off the table, about to ask him what the hell he thought he knew about it, when a feminine squeal pulled our attention to the window. Looking at her phone, Peyton grinned and threw her arms around her brother, doing a quick hop-bounce.

  She either had no idea I could see her or she didn’t care. “You think so?” I said, unable to hold back a smile as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

  Cooper watched her get into Jon’s car and looked at me with resentful eyes. “Two dates and you’re done.”

  I kept my expression neutral. “Is that supposed to be a warning?”

  “Not at all.” He turned to the window. “I’m saying that’s her limit. You won’t get a third date. Nobody does. She doesn’t need the hassle.”

  On any other day, I wouldn’t have stuck around for this bullshit conversation. But I’d seen Peyton too often with this guy. He was important to her. “So…what? You’re saying she gets bored easily?”

  “No,” he said calmly, apparently immune to sarcasm. “I’m saying if you believe the rumors about her, prepare yourself for disappointment.”

  Her reputation as a hot piece of ass had been the highlight of my afternoon, but not in a good way. I wanted to put it behind me. “Well, I can’t speak for anyone else she’s dated, but with me it only took one afternoon.” I glanced at my receipt and calculated the tip.

  “What took only one afternoon?”

  I’d hit a nerve with the vague comment, exactly as I’d meant to. But proving I could be a bigger dick than a guy only watching out for his friend didn’t hold much appeal, even when that pendejo was being a judgmental jackass based solely on rumors he’d heard about me. The irony of this conversation wasn’t lost on me. Still, I didn’t want to alienate everyone important to her. “It took less than an afternoon to realize the rumors aren’t true.”

  His shoulders sagged.

  “So the two-dates thing,” I said, trying to sound casual and friendly. I stood and threw the tip onto the table. “For real? She never does a third date?”

  “Right.”

  The third date was usually the putout date. Cooper must think he was cluing me in on something. “Well, it’s impressive when you think about it,” I said. Pulling my keys from my pocket, I walked toward the back parking lot.

  “What’s impressive?” His gaze swung back to me.

  I stopped and shrugged. “That she can figure out in two dates if someone’s worth a third. She doesn’t waste time on the wrong people. Guess she knows what she wants. If she’d found it already, she wouldn’t be here with me.”

  The second Cooper’s eyes slanted to slits, I knew he wanted more than a friendship with Peyton. “In one day,” he said in a calm voice that didn’t match his glare, “you’ve convinced her to skip school and lie repeatedly to the people most important to her. You barely know her, Guerra, and you’ve already started to corrupt what makes her different from everybody else. Whatever she’s searching for…I hope it isn’t you.”

  A dozen asshole remarks hovered on my tongue. I had an impressive ability to make people feel like shit with little thought. I’d acquired this talent through firsthand experience. Cooper likely had the same talent. He lived in my neighborhood, which automatically meant his life hadn’t been a party either.

  Staring at his brooding eyes and stubborn smirk, a numbing exhaustion settled into my bones. Suddenly, unexpectedly, all this fooling around with Peyton had become more of a problem than I needed.

  I wanted out already.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t waste time on the wrong people either.” I didn’t wait for a reply as I stalked through the back, past the bathrooms and out the door, slamming it behind me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sam

  I held onto my locker door like a crutch after first period, functioning on fumes and grumpy as hell when a hand touched my shoulder. I must have looked ready to deck someone because the skinny kid standing behind me jumped back a foot when I turned around.

  “Sorr-y!” he yelled.

  Several students turned and I glared until they looked away. I looked back at the kid and slammed my locker closed. “What?”

  “This,” he said, quickly shoving a small stack of money under my nose.

  No. Fucking. Way. I stared at the c
ash, wondering what the hell happened to my quiet life. Oh, yeah. Peyton Greene. That’s who happened. “And?” I said, pissed because I was thinking about her again.

  He held out a wrinkled, worn paper. The thing looked as though it had been crumpled and thrown away, several times. “Two names. All I ask is you keep them off my ass. If you want more money, I’ll pay you when I can get it.”

  I remembered Peyton standing on my lawn, asking me a similar question with pleading blue eyes. My gaze shifted from the paper to the cash. “Let me guess. Two hundred.” There were twenties. Lots of ‘em.

  His eyebrows arched. “Why? Is it four hundred for two? Because I can get it. It may take me a few weeks, but I’ll get it.”

  Fuck. Just fuck. “Where the hell did you get this two hundred?” The kid couldn’t be more than fifteen.

  “My mom. I told her what you did. She’s hoping maybe you’ll—”

  “Wait.” Damn, I’d interrupted him before I fully realized what he’d said. His mother? Crap. I shifted into stupid mode, my usual whenever blindsided. “What I did? What did I do?”

  He shrugged “Everyone’s talking about it. You shut down Delaney for two hundred,” he said. “These two should be a cinch compared to him. Well,” he glanced at the dirty white tile between us, “a cinch for you.”

  He stood about five feet four inches tall. Weighed maybe a hundred and five pounds. He also looked terrified of me, which pissed me off. Why? I’d never done anything to him. I grabbed the paper from his hand. “You’ve listed three names here.”

  “Mine’s the top one,” he said. “I figured you wouldn’t know me.”

  He’d be right. Scott …I did a double take on his last name. No way. I checked his expression to see if he was shittin’ me. He took a deep breath and let it out, probably expecting a smartass comment. “Scott Semen?” I asked. He must be tougher than he looked. I couldn’t fathom how he’d lived this long. “Seriously guy. That’s your real last name?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know. I get crap for it.”

  No kidding. I read the two names below his. Eli Jones. Tim Nash. I stuffed the paper in my pocket, feeling surrounded by dickheads everywhere. “Any particular period or is it all the time?” I had no idea why I’d decided to get involved, until he looked up at me with that curious expression, as if I were a superhero and he’d figured out my identity. Exactly as Ryan had looked at me after that incident with Delaney.

  “Second period.” He glanced down, looking humiliated to admit it. I didn’t have to delve deep into my past to remember how it felt to have an asshole in control of my life, and the helpless, circling-the-drain feeling that came with the memory. “It’s been after school, too,” he added, “but mainly around second period.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To your second period class.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I shrugged. “Take care of the problem.”

  He waited but I didn’t elaborate. I figured a plan would come to me when we got there. “Don’t you want this?” He held up the cash again.

  I grabbed it before anyone could see.

  “I have Mr. Morrison for American History,” he said over his shoulder, leading the way. I didn’t need directions, having sat in Morrison’s class after school more times than I could count. I’d had two classes with him during the worst semester ever. The worst year ever.

  We stopped outside the door. “Go in,” I said, nodding.

  He took a full breath and straightened, walking into class and giving himself a wide berth from the back where the two dickheads sat and talked. I stood at the door and surveyed the classroom, zeroing on the biggest guy there, the bone-crushing Samoan dude from my Weight Lifting class.

  Cindy whatshername, Jane Austen’s biggest fan, sat close to the door. I said her name under my breath, hoping Morrison wouldn’t see me.

  She’d been writing when her back stiffened. Spotting me over her shoulder, her eyes rounded to huge proportions. Maybe she didn’t feel as brave without Jon to run interference. I waved her over. She drifted out of her seat and toward me, eyes cautious as she bit her lip nervously. “What?” she said. “Is this about yesterday?”

  “Yesterday? No. I need a favor.” I said, ignoring her shocked expression. “See the big guy, second row, third from the front? The guy twice the size of his desk?”

  As if there was another student his size, she whipped around, checked the room, and turned back to me. “You mean Maru?”

  Maru. His face and name didn’t ring a bell, and I doubted I would have forgotten him had I seen him before this semester. He must have moved to Ridgeview last year after I left. “Right. Tell him I’d like to talk to him.”

  Without asking me to elaborate, she whipped around and crossed the room to his desk. Leaning down, she spoke and he listened, looking over her shoulder a few times to scowl at me. When he stood and headed my way, he moved slowly, as if to tell me he didn’t have to move quickly for anybody.

  “What?” he asked.

  I’d expected a snarl, not a lisp. The guy had an under bite like a bulldog and his size would intimidate anyone. But then he spoke with a soft voice, a lisp, and I immediately equated him to a gentle bear type who planned to buy his mama a new house when the NFL drafted him. “Interested in an easy hundred?” I asked, holding up half the money.

  The late bell rang and he grabbed it without hearing my terms. “To do what?”

  Morrison glared at us and tapped his watch. Knowing I needed to make this quick, I nodded toward the kid. “The guy by the window. Scott?”

  “Blondie boy?” he said, turning back to me. “What about him?”

  “You catch Jones or Nash giving him any shit at all, anywhere, put a stop to it.”

  “No prob. That’s all you want?”

  “Yeah. But be cool. No fighting if you can help it.”

  “Find a seat, Maru,” Morrison said.

  “Hey,” I said, stopping him before he left, “if it comes to blows, come find me afterward. There’s another hundred if you have to fight.” I didn’t want to encourage him because the guy had bowling balls for arms and could likely do serious damage. Still, asking anyone to fight meant immediate suspension, possible expulsion, regardless of who started the fight. I knew from experience.

  His smile widened. “This was the easiest hundred I’ve ever made. Nice doing business with you, my man.” He held out his hand to me, and reluctantly, I grabbed it. He jerked me forward, patting my shoulder in an awkward guy hug.

  I felt my face getting hot as Scott watched us, no doubt assuming Maru and I were friends because all the scary people hung out together. Maru turned to the kid and raised a closed fist at the two, oblivious bullies in the back. Scott’s wide-eyed gaze followed him back to his seat before looking at me. “No shit?” he mouthed.

  I grinned. Yeah, kid. No shit.

  A similar experience with a freckle-faced, overweight boy named Lee happened before fourth period, and then a kid named Xu, who looked thin as tracing paper, stopped me in the parking lot at lunch. By sixth period, I’d hit my limit on sad stories.

  I had a good idea who was responsible for this phenomenon and intended to talk to Ryan as soon as I saw him. We’d steered clear of each other—not counting sushi yesterday—since Delaney. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was his bodyguard, and I doubted he wanted anyone thinking he needed one.

  I left Weight Lifting early, per my usual, and headed for sophomore hall, hanging out until most everyone had disappeared to class. When his slow ass finally emerged from the guy’s bathroom, I waited for him to open his locker before cornering him. “What the fuck are you telling people?”

  He jumped and nearly dove into his locker. “Dammit,” he said, recognizing my voice and pushing himself upright to glare at me. “Give a person some warning, why don’t you.” Turning toward the few people left, his cheeks reddened. He shoved his damp hair from his eyes and loo
ked at me. “What did I tell who?”

  “People I don’t know are coming out of the woodwork to ask me to kick someone’s …rather, to keep other people from kicking their asses. I’ve had more twenties handed to me today than a stripper earns in a week. Where are they getting their information?”

  “Jeez, let me think,” he said. “Maybe it’s the damn video of you and my sister on the internet.” His face drained of color and he looked back into his locker, grabbed a book and pen, obviously wanting me to go.

  I didn’t have time for this sulking crap. “What video?”

  His teeth clenched until a muscle moved in his jaw. “The video named Student’s Body for Hire,” he said, still not looking at me. “Get it? Student body. Student’s body. Clever, no? You might want to do a search. Uploaded this morning. You can drool over my sister like everyone else. Oh, wait…you already did that.” He slammed his locker shut. “In fact, you know what?” He turned to me, his glare murderous. “If you’d hit me as hard as you could, it would feel better than this. You have no idea how much I fucking hate you right now.” He pivoted and stalked away.

  Watching his skulking form disappear, I stood there trying to figure out what the hell just happened when the late bell sounded.

  Shit. Campbell.

  I pivoted and took off down the hall, reaching British Authors and sliding into my seat with a loud thump and jerk of my desk. Several students in the back laughed. Campbell finished writing our next assignment on the board and turned, her gaze settling on me. “You’re late, Mr. Guerra.”

  “Sorry.”

  “By two days,” she added.

  “The office has my excuse.”

  “Well, I don’t mind telling you we’ve all been waiting with bated breath. We’re anxious to hear your take on Mansfield Park, aren’t we class?” She glanced over her shoulder to the class, who stared back in silence. “I assume you’ve read it. You had so much more time than the rest of us.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you can explain the premise shortly,” she said, “and we’ll go from there.” She twisted around and rifled through some papers, which gave me a minute to get my shit together.