by Rowena
Shit, I’d actually forgotten she was there for a sec.
I don’t think she can see what the message says, but it sure looks like she’s trying to, which annoys the shit out of me—intrusive chicks are the worst.
Not that it matters in her case—I only meant to keep her around for an hour or so anyway.
“I gotta take this,” I say, picking up my phone. “Be right back.”
I head outside, carefully choosing a spot to have a conversation with a girl whose voice I missed way more than I should have.
I don’t want to be interrupted, so I need quiet, minimal traffic; I don’t want to miss a single word.
Instead of answering the text, I just dial her up.
“Angel,” I try to say casually, but I’m not sure how much I succeeded.
“Hey, James. It’s been a while, huh?”
Too fucking long.
“How’ve you been?” she asks.
“Good,” I say neutrally. “Great to hear from you. What’s up?”
She takes a breath then makes a weird sound—kind of like a strangled groan—as if dreading having to say whatever she’s about to say.
“This might sound kind of weird…actually, maybe it won’t because when you consider what I’ve been doing, it’s pretty much a…”
“Out with it,” I say, knowing her tendency to hem and haw and go off on tangents, but especially impatient to hear what has her so worried.
I’m stoked to hear from her, and I’ll happily listen to her voice as long as I possibly can—god knows I’m drinking in every part of this interaction like I stumbled upon water in a desert—but not when she’s getting us nowhere fast.
She needs something from me, and I’m ready to give her pretty much anything she wants, so I need to know what it is.
She takes a deep breath.
“Okay, so I’ve been getting a lot of creepy messages, and for the most part, I can ignore them, but some are coming from a particular person or group or whatever, threatening to show up to my apartment and… I don’t know exactly, but something I don’t want, for sure. For example, the message they sent a few weeks ago: ‘Don’t be such a slut for the world; you were meant for my eyes only.’ And sometime after that: ‘You will wake up and find your arms and eyes useless, helpless to my desires.’ But this latest one is particularly worrisome.”
I work on keeping myself calm while I let her finish.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you knew someone who’d be interested in sort of hanging around me for a bit while I try to figure out who’s behind them and maybe get someone to do something before things get way out of hand. I can’t take these messages lightly anymore; the last one made it clear someone’s actually been following me.”
“Wait, wait, wait. So you’re saying you have an actual stalker in your immediate vicinity? Not just some online troll messing with you?”
“He—or she, I guess—knew the exact dress I bought yesterday, and I didn’t tell anyone about it! So either they were following me, or they just happen to have eyes in a random store I popped into, or they work there themselves.” She sighs. “I just need to figure out how to get them to stop, and until then, I need… I don’t know. Peace of mind. Like, I know if they really wanted to, they could get some sniper to take me out from some distance away if that was their goal, but it would just make me feel better if…”
“I get it. You need some type of bodyguard. And I happen to know someone who’d be up for it. How long would you say it’s for?”
I can practically hear her shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe tell them, like, a week or two to start? I just need time to sort out how to move forward.”
“And what kind of compensation are we talking?”
“Shit, James. I really don’t know. What’s a good offer?”
Nothing she can probably afford.
I know she’s been doing well for herself, but hiring any of the guys I know could cost a pretty penny over time.
Not that I’m actually going to refer her to any of them.
The second it became clear she was in danger, all my protective instincts flared up, and there’s only one way to handle that—protect her at any cost and by any means necessary.
There’s no way I can carry on my business without worry invading my entire being, so I’ll just have to be there for her myself.
I haven’t done any work as a close protection officer, but I’m perfectly capable of looking out for her the way she needs since I care about her and I have all the basic tools.
Plus, I selfishly want the opportunity to hang out with her again.
The guys I know—those who have done this type of work and know how I feel about her—would probably advise me against this, although not many actually know about my crush, I don’t think. I didn’t exactly freely share how I felt about the girlfriend of a friend of mine, figuring it was best to keep that little nugget to myself in case someone slipped about it, one way or another.
I can’t have the guys exchanging knowing glances, barely able to contain their amusement at watching me, of all people, helpless against the charms of a woman I can’t have.
I think I’ve done a good job of hiding how I feel, but not the best job—at least one person noticed and asked me about it.
It was at a wedding reception for one of my old high school friends—the part of the event where the dance music winds down and gives way to slower tunes.
“What’s up with the heart eyes?” my friend Tyler had said, popping up suddenly next to me—sudden because I’d been so distracted by Angel, sitting alone at her table after Leonard accepted an offer to dance from a bridesmaid.
I’d met Tyler as part of a joint special forces team in the Middle East. He ended up being my plus-one after I mentioned having to go to some wedding, and he asked to come along since it had free food and prime hook-up possibilities, so why bring sand to the beach? Plus, he thought it’d be nice to go to a wedding instead of a funeral for a change.
I turned away from Angel to look at him, laughter tickling the corners of my mouth at his ridiculous statement.
Me? Heart eyes? Ha!
“Lay off the liquor, Ty.”
“I need to lay off? You need to be more careful how you look at your friend’s girl. I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed yet. I mean, she is beautiful, so I guess he’s probably used to people ogling her all the time. I mean, look at those tits!”
I had to stop my hand from crushing his neck which let me know I really did need to be careful.
“You said it,” I managed to say neutrally. “She’s a certified stunner. Can’t help it that my eyes work. As yours obviously do.”
He waggled his eyebrows then went back to assessing her body in a way that made my fists tighten.
“You ever think about hitting that?” he said eventually.
Constantly, I managed not to say.
“Are you nuts? I can’t go that far in my head. She’s gorgeous but way off-limits.”
I shrugged, hoping to shrug off the sudden fantasy of her naked body beneath me, heaving with need while I line up my hard dick with her wet pussy.
“You’re not fooling anyone, J. But who could blame you? Guess as long as you keep your hands to yourself, it’s all good. But man, what a piece of tail.”
Miraculously, I still didn’t introduce a fist to his teeth.
Guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m a man of superhuman control, so despite how I feel about her, I should be able to do this job properly and keep any wanton feelings at bay.
I want to be close to her, I want to make her feel safe, and I want to help her sniff out the dangers and deliver her from them.
Besides, I have lots of time on my hands right now and plenty of money in the bank from previous government contracts.
Instinct suddenly kicks in and tells me someone’s watching me, a heated concentrated gaze on my back.
I turn and catch a pair of stormy eyes trained on me.
“Be righ
t back, huh?” Camille or Catelyn says.
Damn it, I forgot all about her again.
I really needed to get my dick wet, too, but the look on her face says that offer was left back at the table I never returned to.
Oh, well—can’t say I’m too broken up about it.
A more tempting offer has hit the table, and though I’ll do everything in my power to keep my lust for Angel under control, I’d still rather walk her to a grocery store than bang some random chick I don’t care to see again.
I shrug apologetically and watch Cora storm off after informing me the check’s waiting.
I feel kind of bad—a woman like that is definitely not used to being treated the way I just treated her. She’s a legit model-type I don’t often get access to.
Corinne! That’s it.
Oops.
“Who was that? Was she talking to you?” Angel says.
“No one. I’m outside, near a diner so…Anyway, what kind of hours are we talking? Do you need coverage both outside and inside? Day and night?”
“I mostly work from home, so whenever I leave home, I guess. I mean, I can be snatched anytime I’m outside, right? But I don’t go out a lot so I don’t know what the hours would look like…”
“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ll protect you.”
“Oh! Okay, cool. Then what is your price, sir, for what I’ve described?”
I have to say, I’m constantly battling thoughts that make it clear to me this is a terrible idea.
I’m way too excited at the thought of seeing Angel again, being able to hold her to me as we inevitably hug in greeting.
I really should just pay one of my buddies to take care of her, let her think whatever measly pay she’ll offer is covering the cost of elite protection.
But I wouldn’t be able to get my mind off her.
It already took a while to get to a point where I felt detached enough to go about my business once she and Leonard broke up, knowing it would look bad if I stayed in contact with her.
I sent one goodbye text, and I’m pretty proud of how I handled that—how I handled everything when it came to her. I kept my hands and thoughts to myself, and after being called out once, I got even more careful about looking at her.
It’s tough not to—there’s a feeling of not wanting to miss a single thing in the brief time she’s in my presence, and it’s hard to overcome.
That I’ll get to spend so much time with her is more than payment enough, but I can’t say that.
“We’re sort of friends, so I’ll give you a friends and family discount,” I say. “How about you cook for me?”
She laughs. “What?”
“I don’t get homemade meals, and I know you’re a good cook, so I want dinners from you on top of whatever lunch you provide during the day.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As serious as ‘You were meant for my eyes only.’ I don’t want your money, Angel, but you’ll cover my meals, and maybe show me a thing or two about making them. So think of it this way—a skill exchange.”
“No way—I’d feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
“Then what would make you feel like a proper job creator?”
She takes a moment.
“How about…a thousand dollars?”
I have to hold back laughter again.
A thousand dollars could technically get her a day with one of the best of the best putting their lives on the line for her—two days at best with lower-level guys.
“Sure. Pay me a grand at the end of the week or two weeks or whatever. You’ve got yourself a bodyguard.” Then something occurs to me. “You said this creep knows where you live?”
“Well, they might if they followed me yesterday.”
“Have you found any signs of tampering in your home?”
Why did I bother to ask that? She probably wouldn’t know what to look for unless it’s super obvious.
“No, I don’t think anyone’s been here.”
I can tell I creeped her out though—she’s probably looking around frantically for anything out of place right now.
“I’m coming over to check things out right now. Get decent. And listen, I wouldn’t normally offer this, but considering our history and your current predicament, you could always stay in my condo…”
“That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly. “I think I’m good with just being accompanied outside of my place. Maybe I’ll get extra locks or something. I’m still not entirely sure the creep’s not bluffing.”
I hold my tongue.
Once I get a better grip on everything, I can put my foot down about a few things, but for now, several types of assessment need to be carried out.
“Just emailed you my new address,” she says brightly, and I hold back a groan.
I really hope she has a strong password.
Then again, whoever’s been messing with her probably has all sorts of ways to get to her. The way most millennials operate, privacy and discretion are pretty much lost causes.
No one thinks anything of letting others know their residence will be empty for a week, posting where they are and who they’re with at all times. No one seems to consider consequences of giving up too much info.
And something like this—what’s happening with Angel—occurs too infrequently for most to learn from.
I suddenly realize the enormity of what I’ve taken on.
I won’t just be eyes looking out for her physical well-being, I won’t just be doing sweeps of her apartment—I’m going to have to school her in a number of ways how to be more careful, all while doing everything in my power not to be a danger to her myself.
“See you soon!” she says cheerfully, gone before I can respond.
I get to work right away.
I know a few people who can help her figure out if any of her devices are bugged or have been hacked.
Need your brother-in-law’s info, I text Derek, one of my retired military buddies.
Anything I can help with? he texts back almost immediately, and I know just what he means.
He may have left the military, but he’s still able-bodied and very deadly if necessary.
But for now, I just need his brother-in-law’s tech skills.
Not yet, I send back, mentally preparing to see the girl I’ve been crushing on for years in person again after eight torturous months.
3
Angel
Phew!
I already feel tons better, and now I’m just nervous until James gets here.
Once he arrives, a different type of nervousness will probably set in—I’ve never been alone with him in this apartment before.
The whole time I was with Leonard, I never really had the space to process my responses to James.
I mostly hung out with him while Leonard was around and a few times when Leonard suddenly went MIA, but that’s it.
I’d reacted unexpectedly to his voice on the other end of the line a few minutes ago, and now that it’s quiet again, I’m forced to deal with what that means.
I was always hyper-alert around James, paying attention to his body language.
At some point, I realized that I found him attractive, but I wrote it off as being intrigued by his profession.
I tracked the way he navigated the civilian world once he returned to it from parts unimaginable, paying close attention to signs that he was still a normal human being.
I figured I was simply fascinated with him the way we get fascinated with anyone—male or female—living a vastly different life from ours.
I know by now that I’m legit attracted to him—the naughty fantasies I had made that clear—and it’s not just because he was turned into a deadly weapon on behalf of the U.S.; it’s not just shallow.
I’m actually looking forward to gazing into his eyes again, giving him an unexpected laugh.
That’s what I liked to do back in the day—crack his stoic composure; I thought of it as a test of his hu
manity.
Sure, there are humorless people who’ve never gone to war, but I wanted to see if I could reach past his carefully constructed mask, his professional shield, whatever character he was playing to convince everyone he was still a normal human being.
And every now and then, he showed me—he could soften; he wasn’t a monster.
But now I kind of need him to be.
Got a bodyguard! I text Kiara to refocus my mind.
She sends back a question mark, followed by, That quick?
Before I can answer, my phone is ringing.
“What the…?”
“It’s a guy I used to know. Military. I was just asking if he knew anybody, and he volunteered.”
“Wow. That easy, huh? And what do you mean ‘volunteer?’ Like, for free? Sounds suspect.”
I chuckle to myself.
This is so like us: me—not suspicious enough of things, her—suspicious of everything.
“No, I’m paying him—well, sort of. He’s doing it for much less than he usually would because we kind of go way back.”
“Oh, okay. I definitely need to hear more, but I have to go right now. My friggin’ manager…”
I giggle. “Tell you more soon. Promise.”
I’m still smiling when we disconnect.
My day has significantly improved with just two phone calls—from stalker fears to relief at James’s offer to amusement at watching Kiara navigate her own growing popularity as a singer.
But I quickly realize it’s not enough to keep me distracted from another feeling for long, and my mind is back to the thought of James in another context.
His fit, masculine form will be in my personal space soon, his muscular arms wrapped around me in greeting.
I shake my head and hurry to my computer to get my daily routine going.
First, I upload today’s video to my YouTube channel, and then I check my social media, beginning with Facebook.
I scowl at the first photo that pops up in my feed: my ex grinning with his new girlfriend—a pretty olive-skinned girl with tons of dark hair and sharp, calculating dark eyes.
Apparently, the photo is part of a whole album—Me and my Queen—and it’s loaded with photos of the couple doing various things.