by Andrea Joan
“Do you really think this is a wise decision, Son? I’m not even going to point out the obvious fact that you have no fuckin’ clue what the job of a bodyguard entails because I would like to pretend my boy is smart enough to come to that realization himself. But what I will point out is the rather large problem you have dealing with—”
“Dad, don’t,” I say, throwing my clothes in the duffle bag on my bed while trying to ignore his looming presence in my doorway. “I’ve thought about it all, okay? And being a bodyguard doesn’t require much, other than getting the person you’re protecting from point A to point B safely. I was boxing before I knew how to tie my shoes, and we both know what made me great was my ability to anticipate my opponent’s moves before they even knew they were going to make them. So I think I got this fucking covered.”
“Boy, you started boxing at twelve. If ya’ didn’t know how to tie your shoes at that age then your issues run deeper than I originally thought. But we both know that’s not the main concern here. Have you given any thought to how you’re going to handle the threats? How you’re going to handle yourself when people start swarming her?” he asks, making his way into my room.
“Stop.”
He walks right up into my space, attempting to crowd me as I try my best to ignore him, pulling more clothes off the hangers and shoving them into my bag. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to push me. To prove I lack control.
“Does she know about your issues, Son? Did you even tell her?”
“Dad. Stop.”
“Who is going to keep you from losing it when people start touching her or grabbing her? Have you given any thought to that because we both know I sure as fuck won’t be around to rein you in.”
“I said stop, goddammit!” I get in his face, eye to eye, but I don’t touch him. I don’t want to prove him right. “Just fucking stop,” I plead, taking a deep, calming breath. “You think I haven’t thought about that? Trust me, I have.”
“Right. You’ve thought about it. For a whole four damn hours and my guess is three and a half of those were thinking with your dick.”
“It’s not like that. I mean, yeah, she’s hot as hell. I’m not fucking blind. But it’s not like I’m hard up for pussy, dad. And if this was about sex I could’ve nailed her the other night.” Actually, I’m not so sure about that but no need to admit it to him.
“If you’re going to be crass, keep your damn voice down. Your mother is in the kitchen for fuck’s sake.” Taking a seat on my bed, he runs a hand through his hair which for his age is shockingly still as full as ever. “What is this about then, Liam? Tell me why you are so dead set on leaving with this girl. Give me a reason that puts me at ease here.”
I can tell by his defeated tone that he knows he won’t change my mind. I’m a stubborn fuckhead. Like father like son. But I want to give him a reason, one that helps him not lose any sleep at night while I’m away.
I sit down on the bed beside him and attempt to explain as best as I can. “Because there is something about her that soothes me. Because she needs me. Because she doesn’t know about my issue. Because she fucking made me laugh. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve laughed, dad? Fucking years. Years since I felt I even deserved to laugh. Skylar made me forget for a few minutes that my life is complete fucking shit by turning me into someone worthy of protecting her. But this isn’t just about her. It’s about me too. I can’t stay on this island much longer and stay sane. Fuck, dad. The memories here are slowly killing me. It’s why I left in the first place. I came back here to help you, to help my family, and I don’t regret that because it was time I stepped the fuck up, but everywhere I look I’m tortured by their ghosts. Trev, Izzy, fucking Ali. The guilt eats me up inside enough as it is, and being back home is fucking destroying me. If I don’t leave, at least for a little while, I will self-destruct, and my biggest fear is I will destroy you all in the process.”
I can’t believe I just admitted all of that to him and I’m hesitant to even look over at him because I feel like a fucking pussy. We are O’Connors. We don’t talk about feelings or fears. We fight and drink through our problems until they disappear in a haze of booze or a trail of blood. But when I look at my dad, he almost has a look of pride on his face.
“Well shit, Son,” he says, slapping his hand on my shoulder a little harder than necessary. “That is a fucking reason.”
Now here I am in an airport about to lose my shit just as my dad predicted. I barely lasted four hours. I should have fucking listened to him.
“Hey, Skylar, where’d you meet the new boy toy?”
“Skylar, what about the topless photos? Are there actually topless photos out there of you?”
“Did you talk to Cassiel Logue while he was away on tour? Someone spotted you at his hotel in London. Is that where you took the photos?”
I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. Suddenly I feel Skylar stagger forward into my back as if someone pushed her, and I’m fucking gone.
“HEY! BACK THE FUCK OFF!” I push the camera attached to the douche nearest to us so hard the force sends him careening backwards into the crowd.
And it feels fucking great.
The adrenaline rushes through me at a breakneck speed, and I’m starting to get the first hit of that rage high. A few more seconds of this and I will be lost to it. I can’t fucking stop it.
“Christ! Give her a fucking break! Give her some room to breathe before I use those cameras to break your faces!”
“Hey, you may want to keep a leash on your boyfriend, Skylar! You’re not allowed to touch us, man. That’s assault.”
Assault? If he thinks that is assault, he ain’t seen nothing yet, and I’m all too fucking excited to introduce him to the true meaning of the word. Before I get the chance to make my move, her hand grabs my wrist gently. “Liam, hang back a second, okay?” Before I have a chance to stop her, she steps in front of me and faces the paparazzi.
What the fuck is she thinking?
“I’ll answer your questions.” She’s giving in? Son of a bitch. She’s giving in to keep me from snapping. I fucking know it. “This is not my boyfriend,” she continues. “This is my security. Soulless blood-sucking assholes meet Liam, Liam meet soulless blood-sucking assholes. There are no topless photos of me floating around anywhere, so cool your shit. I have not spoken to Cassiel Logue in months and have no comment about his interview in Rolling Stone. Anything else or can we be done here?”
Who the fuck is Cassiel Logue?
The flashbulbs continue to go off and questions are still being thrown her way, but I don’t hear any of it. I’m too fucking pissed. Pissed at them. Pissed at her. Yet somehow, in the pandemonium, I spot a driver waving in Skylar’s direction from about fifty feet away.
I pull her back to me, trying not to be too rough. I’m fucking trying.
“Sky is that your driver?” I growl into her ear like a fucking animal. I don’t want to scare her, but I’ve never quite mastered the art of restraint.
“Yeah. Thank god.” She sighs, clearly unaffected by my tone which for some reason irritates me even further. I grab her arm and quickly steer her through the mob. I open the back door to the Town Car and deposit her onto the seat. I quickly follow and slam the door behind me, locking us into a private silence.
I can’t breathe.
I’m going to snap.
“SON OF A BITCH!” I yell, slamming my fist into the side of the door. “Why the fuck did you do that, Skylar? Why didn’t you just stay the hell behind me?”
“Please don’t yell at me, Liam,” she says so quietly that I barely hear her as our car inches forward.
I’m an asshole.
“Sky. Shit. I’m sorry, baby.”
Where did that come from? I just called her baby. I hesitate to even look at her because she probably thinks I’m out of my damn mind. But when I dare to glance in her direction I see that the fear has been erased from her eyes, as if the term of endearment I
accidently set free brought her a sense of peace. And fuck if I don’t revel in that feeling.
“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m mad at myself. I could have handled that whole disaster better, but those guys were just fucking animals,” I explain the best that I can as I shove my hands through my hair trying to calm my nerves.
“I warned you it would be difficult,” she says, placing a hand on my thigh and a little too close to my dick because it definitely takes notice. Who am I kidding? Her hand on my foot is close enough to cause my dick to get a little too excited. She’s like a damn cock whisperer.
“You can’t touch them, Liam. No matter what they say to me or you. If they don’t touch us, you can’t retaliate. I was helping you out back there. The last thing I want is for you to get arrested in a futile attempt to defend my honor. But hey, you got through our first encounter with them fairly smooth,” she says jokingly, punching me lightly on the side of my arm.
Problem is, I don’t find any of this fucking funny or worthy of a joke. But despite that, I still grin slightly. I can’t help it. Her cute little smile is apparently contagious and it infects me with a disease I’m all too willing to embrace. Not to mention I’m at a crossroads because I find myself turned the fuck on by her abrasive spunk. Like the way she fearlessly took on the paparazzi and shot attitude at Mason that night in the alley, even the way she called me on my shit and put me in my place in my own fucking bar. Ali never had that edge to her. She was sweet and funny and so fucking pure. The light inside her was so blinding you had no choice but to immerse yourself in it. She was everything I wanted then, but represents everything I would destroy now.
Unfortunately, I have to reconcile, somehow, that I hate that I love that about Sky because I know that fearless mouth of hers will get her into trouble one day, and not the good kind of trouble where she is using it to suck me off.
“Defending your honor is hardly a futile effort, baby.”
Jesus fuck. What is wrong with me? I don’t have to keep saying it.
“Is it always that bad?” I ask, needing more information so I know what I’m dealing with here.
“No, not always. Clearly someone tipped them off—either that or a bigger celebrity was there before and I was just lucky enough to get the blowback.”
“Who the hell would tip them off?”
“The list is endless. The pilot, someone from Orcas Island that knew I was leaving, hell maybe cab driver Larry. It doesn’t matter. It’s just part of the job, you know,” she says, shrugging her shoulders as if what happened is no big deal, but her downcast eyes say otherwise.
“Well, that is one fucked up job responsibility.”
Her melodic laughter fills the car. “That it is,” she says. The new brightness in her eyes relaxes me just a little bit but not entirely because the questions the paparazzi were asking are still shooting around my mind like a damn pinball. One in particular.
“So, who is Cassiel Logue?”
She stiffens slightly, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t pushed that lower lip into her mouth again.
I’m not going to like her answer, I already know it.
“Um…have you ever heard of the band Pathogenic Blood?”
Yes. Supposedly they’re the second coming of rock. I even have a few of their songs on my iPod.
“Nope, never heard of them.” I’m being a dick but I’ve already decided I want to delete every song of theirs that I own and forget they exist.
Sky looks over at me suspiciously, as if she knows I’m lying. But whatever, I don’t give a shit.
“Cassiel Logue is the lead singer of the band,” she says.
I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She told me that much at the bar yesterday. However, if I’m to believe the questions from the paparazzi, they’ve clearly had some kind of relationship. But I don’t want to listen to anything they say. I want to hear it straight from her.
“And what is he to you, Skylar? An ex-boyfriend?” I ask, pulling her finger from her lip and setting her hand back on my thigh. I like it there.
“No, not really. More like…an ex bad habit.”
I’m not even angry about that because god knows I can fucking relate, but what pisses me off is that apparently Cassiel Logue has a big fucking mouth, and I would love nothing more than to shut it for him. “Ex bad habit, huh? I’ve had quite a few of those myself over the years.”
“Oh, really,” Skylar snaps, pushing away from me slightly, her hand leaving my thigh. “Well, I think you can spare me the details, Liam.”
Oh, this is fantastic. I can’t help but burst into laughter. I can already tell keeping this arrangement professional is not going to last long. My dick has been aiming to get inside her from the jump, and her being jealous just proves she’s having similar thoughts. But I know this is not a girl I want to use up and dispose of, and I’m not sure I’m capable of anything else. I want her to be more than just a weapon for me to use against my pain. She told me about her mom for fuck’s sake. She trusted me. And until I know I’m ready to give to her without taking, I have to keep it in my pants. However fucking hard it may be.
“Are you laughing at me?” Skylar crosses her arms. She’s even pouting now. The embodiment of every straight man’s wet dream is sitting next to me, jealous of my past hook-ups and fucking pouting about it. This may go down as one of the best days of my whole life and also the day my ego finally shot out of the fucking stratosphere.
“Skylar Barrett, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re jealous. Anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you’re jealous?” I tease, running my finger along her jaw.
“Yeah right. Keep dreaming.” She pulls her head back, causing my hand to drop from her skin, which is a damn shame because I like touching her, and based on the small shiver that played across her body, she likes it too.
The car continues to crawl forward at the slowest fucking pace imaginable. The freeway is jam packed. I’ve always heard horror stories about L.A. traffic, but this is just ridiculous, and the now awkward silence haunting the vehicle is not helping matters.
“So, how long will it take to get to your house anyway?” I ask, breaking through the quiet of the vehicle.
“I live about twenty minutes away.”
Thank god.
“But if we take into account that it’s nine thirty on a Monday morning, and we’re on the 405, we’re looking at roughly four hours, give or take an hour or two depending.”
“Please tell me you’re fucking with me right now.” If this ride takes four hours, we’re about to get to know each other very fucking well. Those chivalrous thoughts I planned to stick to only a few minutes ago, have about a two-hour shelf life when it comes to confined spaces with this girl. Hell, the last half hour of that flight all I could think about is how easy it would be to slide my hand under those tiny shorts of hers; see how many times I could get her to come while I fucked her with my fingers.
“Yeah, slugger, I’m screwing with you. Calm down. But in all seriousness, it’ll probably take over an hour. L.A. traffic truly blows,” she says mid-yawn. Now that I’m really looking at her, she looks exhausted.
“You tired?”
“Seems that way. I guess the last few months of little to no sleep are finally catching up with me,” she says, resting her head back on the seat. That can’t be too comfortable.
“Come on then, Sky. You can put your head down on my lap and rest. I’ve heard I’m very comfortable.”
“Oh yeah? From who?” she says as she puts her head down on my lap without hesitation.
Fuck me. I didn’t think this through entirely. I’m going to have to pull something out of my anti-erection photographic memory bank in order to keep my dick down. I think this calls for the time I accidentally stumbled onto the Two Girls One Cup video. Nothing kills a hard-on faster than remembering that.
“What? What’d you say?” I ask her. Sorry I couldn’t hear you becau
se I’m too busy trying to keep my cock from getting in your face.
Turning her head to face me, she says, “I asked who’s telling you these tall tales about how comfortably pliable your lap is for the purpose of napping.”
Smartass. “Oh, just some ex bad habits—OUCH!” The little hellcat fucking pinched my thigh!
“Oops, I slipped.”
Her head is turned, but from the sound of her voice I can tell she’s smiling. Shit. I’m already categorizing the tones of her voice like a pussy-whipped asshole. I look down and take in her relaxed form. Her eyes are already shut. My hands have a mind of their own and start to caress her hair which incidentally feels like fucking silk. The act is intimate and frighteningly completely instinctual. But it shouldn’t be. I barely fucking know her, and she doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what I’ve done or about the monster that aches inside of me. Yearning. Desperately desiring escape at every turn. She doesn’t know that I’m a complete fucking fraud. That she hired me to do for her what I couldn’t for those I loved.
She’s asleep now. I can tell by how relaxed her body is. Her breath is steady and she has no idea, no fucking clue that she sleeps so peacefully in the lap of a killer.
THE TOWN CAR PULLS up to a closed wrought-iron gate in the Hollywood Hills, and I immediately know it’s her house because a few paparazzi are actually lingering outside her fucking gate on the streets with cameras flashing in the direction of the car. Unfuckingbelievable. Those snakes actually stalk her house. How is this even legal? If I sat outside a woman’s house with a camera, I’m pretty sure my ass would get locked up.
Skylar is sound asleep in my lap, while my arm rests across her body. I don’t want to wake her up, not until the last possible second, because seeing her so at peace gives me some type of purpose. I want to believe the reason for her total relaxation is due to my presence. That I make her feel protected. Safe. I have to believe this.