Best Friend's Sister

by R. R. Banks

  “Get you somethin’, sweetie?” she asks brightly.

  “Coffee. Black,” I respond.

  Unconsciously, my eyes slide up and down her body, taking in her every curve and inch of exposed flesh. I catch myself checking her out and tear my eyes away from her. Not before I notice Felicity noticing me, though. I give her a small shrug, earning yet another roll of the eyes from her.

  “How about somethin’ to eat?” she asks. “Your – girlfriend – here said she wasn’t hungry already.”

  I flash her a roguish grin. “Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” I tell her. “And I’ll take a bagel and cream cheese, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Anything for you, sweetie,” she smiles.

  The twenty-something-year-old waitress turns and sashays away, putting a little extra swish in her hips for my benefit. I have to physically pry my eyes away from her perfectly round little ass. Felicity of course, is rolling her eyes at me. Again.

  “You know, you keep doing that and they may get stuck that way,” I tease her.

  “It’d be better than having to sit here and watch you visually screw every woman in the place.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “Jealous?”

  “You wish,” she snaps. “I think I’d rather sleep with an aardvark.”

  “Strangely enough, I think I’d watch that.”

  Her eyes widen, and her jaw clenches so tight I’m afraid she’s going to shatter her teeth. Her cheeks are burning red with anger, and she looks ready to take my head off with her bare hands. It’s pretty fucking adorable.

  “Okay, yeah, this isn’t going to work. I was an idiot to think it might,” she huffs, starting to slide out of the booth.

  I reach out and gently take hold of her arm. Felicity rounds on me, her eyes so wide they nearly pop out of her head, and an expression dark with rage on her face. I hold my hands up in surrender and sit back in the booth.

  “Look, I was just screwing around. I apologize,” I say. “Please. Stay. Let’s talk about this.”

  She hesitates and for a moment, her gaze practically burns holes right through me. I’m not sure whether she’s going to stick around or if I’ve pissed her off enough that she’s going to split. If she called me, I guess she has to be pretty desperate and needs some help. Which means I probably shouldn’t be rubbing it in her face too hard. That’s just poor form.

  “Listen, I get carried away sometimes,” I admit. “I know I can be an asshole. Just – sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  She lets out a long breath and leans back against her seat. Felicity is grinding her teeth as she glowers at me, no doubt still imagining the many different ways she can murder me with nothing more than her coffee cup and the napkin dispenser on the table.

  “Fine,” she finally says. “But I swear to God, if you keep pissing me off and not taking this seriously, I’m out of here. I’ll find somebody else to help me.”

  I nod and try to keep my expression appropriately serious. I had been trying to lighten the mood a bit because I know how much this situation freaks her out. But she speaks as if she’s doing me a favor by letting me put my life on the line for her rather than being the least bit thankful that I’d be willing to do it in the first place. And I’m only willing to do it because her brother is my friend. I can’t say that. I have to be gracious and play my role.

  “I understand. And I’ll do my best to avoid pissing you off,” I subjugate myself. “But full disclosure here, I’m kind of known to have a grating personality, so I can’t say the ride will be totally smooth. But I’m willing to give a shot if you are.”

  She mutters to herself under her breath and folds her arms over her chest. But she doesn’t leave the table, which I take to be a good sign. She’ll at least tolerate me for a little while longer. Go me.

  “So, what seems to be the problem?” I open things up.

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “Really?”

  I chuckle. “So, he’s still following you around, huh?”

  “My agent thinks it would be a good idea to have some protection at my public events.”

  “Your agent, huh?”

  “Yes, my agent,” she huffs.

  “What do you think? Do you think you need protection?”

  A shadow crosses her face, and she shudders. It’s subtle, and she tries to suppress it, but Felicity can’t quite keep it all tamped down. This guy has her rattled, that much is as plain as day but she’s trying hard to not let it show.

  She’s tough. Strong. She’s a woman who values her independence and works hard to ensure she doesn’t need anybody’s help. To me she comes across as a woman who refuses to be viewed as weak, or less than. She strikes me as somebody who will fight like hell to stand on her own two feet.

  It’s pretty admirable, actually.

  Of course, that strength and stubbornness, admirable though it may be, will get her hurt or worse if she’s stupid about it. If she’s unwilling to admit that sometimes she does need some help. Especially when she’s in a situation like this one, that could potentially be very serious and very dangerous. For all we know, this Elliott Graham guy who’s been following her around is a psycho nutbag who likes to carve off women’s faces.

  But the fact that she’s swallowed down some of that pride of hers and called me is a good first step.

  “I don’t know what I need,” she snaps. “Other than not having a major scene at my next event and becoming a damn YouTube sensation because of it.”

  “Again.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Again.”

  I laugh and give her a small shrug. “I make no promises.”

  She gives me an even look. “I’m serious, Knox,” she hisses. “The last thing I need is to be thought of as a joke. Or take another PR hit because of this.”

  “The funny thing is, I did a little snooping around and from what I see, you’re not taking a PR hit because of the incident in the bookstore,” I tell her. “If anything, people seem to be reacting positively to you.”

  She sighs. “The last thing I want, or need is anybody’s pity. I’m not a victim and that’s not how I want to build my career.”

  “Listen, Felicity. This is more important than that,” I say, for a moment dropping my smile and letting my serious tone come out. “The only thing in all of this that matters, is your safety and security. And nobody would pity you or think you’re a victim for wanting to ensure that. That’s the entire reason I’m here.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and sit back as the waitress drops off my bagel. She gives me a glowing smile and a wink before catching sight of Felicity rolling her eyes at her. The waitress’ cheeks flush and she hurries off, leaving Felicity scowling after her. I chuckle, which draws the same furious gaze from her, and I bite it back. Clearing my throat, I look down into my coffee cup and do my best to suppress my smile, knowing it will only piss her off even more.

  I get where she’s coming from. In her place, I’d probably feel the same way. I really am taking this seriously, even if I’ve been joking along with her. She just doesn’t trust me yet.

  “Look, I just want you to keep an eye out for me during my public appearances,” she says begrudgingly.

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  “But I want you to keep a low profile,” she goes on. “A very low profile, Knox. So low that I don’t even know you’re there. You got me?”

  A grin pulls at the corners of my mouth. “I’ll make sure to wear my invisibility cloak.”

  I take a bite of my bagel and chew thoughtfully as I watch Felicity’s face cycle through a few hundred different emotions before settling on anger. A slow-burning anger. The dislike for me I see on her face is deep and abiding. That kind of dislike takes time and resentment to build. Which is why I’m so baffled about why she seems to hate me so much. It’s not like we’ve ever met or spent time together. I mean, I knew about her, and I assume she knew about me because of our mutual connections to Peter, but we didn’t have any sort of
a relationship.

  Of course, she seems the type of person who enjoys being in control of herself, which might explain things. In the short time I’ve actually known her, I can tell she’s just as frustrated about the specifics of the threat as she is about not being able to handle things on her own terms. She likes things how she likes them, has a certain order to everything in her life, and anything that doesn’t fall within those neat, tidy lines she’s drawn has the power to upend her entire world.

  Like a brawl at one of her book signings started by a guy she didn’t even know was watching her ass in the first place.

  Peter probably should have let her know I was there shadowing her, but I understand why he didn’t. She obviously would have said no. She would have told her brother that she had it all under control and there was nothing to worry about. It would have led to a big blowout between the two. I can see why he’d want to avoid it. Because she’s such a strong and fiercely independent woman, Felicity would have tried to handle the situation on her own.

  Peter probably didn’t think anything would happen. He was just playing it safe. Which is totally understandable. Nothing ever happens on ninety-nine percent of the bodyguarding jobs I take. Most every time, I stand there looking around but don’t actually do anything.

  It’s exceedingly rare that I ever see any action. Which is why I find Felicity’s case interesting. There is a very real possibility that something will happen, given the fact that she’s got a stalker and all. Those kinds of guys don’t usually get bored and go away. No, when they start getting bored, they escalate things.

  This Graham character may not be very big physically, but you don’t have to be to do terrible things to another person. My gut tells me this is going to get worse before it gets better, and that Felicity absolutely needs somebody watching over her. But it’s not my gut making the call – she’ll either be smart and take protection or be stubborn and prideful and won’t.

  While I admire her strength and courage, she needs to be slapped with a cold dose of reality – that sometimes, you need help to stay safe. And nobody ever thinks less of you for it. Hell, it’s a lesson I learned in the Corps. You always have to have somebody watching your back. The sooner she learns that, the better. Otherwise, some nutjob out there is going to be wearing a dress made out of her skin or whatever these fucking psychos like to do.

  “Okay, so listen,” she starts. “If this has to happen, I have some ground rules –”

  I shake my head. “Yeah, rules don’t work for me,” I insist. “Not in this business.”

  Her eyes widen and she looks completely taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “I think you heard me. But since you’re pretending you didn’t, let me repeat myself,” I growl. “If I’m going to do my job, rules don’t work for me. If I’m trying to protect your ass, I can’t have you handcuffing me by telling me how to do it.”

  She purses her lips tight and glares at me. “Does your boss know you’re such an insufferable asshole?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, he does. He and I are actually a lot alike.”

  “Figures,” she mutters. “Bunch of meatheads.”

  “Well, we can’t all be fancy writers, now can we?”

  That she doesn’t know who I am – who I really am – amuses me. It amuses me a lot. She thinks I’m just some brainless set of muscles who’s dumber than a box of rocks. That’s fine, though. Like I said earlier, I like it when people underestimate me. When they look at me and see nothing more than a brainless grunt. That gives me all the advantage, therefore, all the power.

  “Look, you have a problem,” I begin. “I don’t know how big of a problem, but I do know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. This guy is not going to just go away because you say a few mean words to him.”

  “That’s not –”

  “You may see it as a pain in the ass but having somebody watching your back is likely going to keep you from getting hurt,” I go on. “Or far worse. And given the shit you write; you have to know that.”

  “Oh, and I’m just a weak little woman who needs a big, strong man to protect me,” she hisses. “Is that it? I’m a woman so I can’t possibly defend myself?”

  I chuckle and shake my head, keenly aware that there are eyes on us. Our conversation has gotten a bit more heated and animated than I’d intended it to, and people are listening in. I take a bite of my bagel and wash it down with some coffee, giving myself a beat to throttle back and calm down before I continue. I swear to God this woman gets under my skin easier than most anybody else.

  “This has nothing to do with you being a woman. You’ve got strength and courage. I can clearly see that,” I begin again once I’ve mellowed out a bit. “And I have no doubts you can defend yourself. This isn’t about any of that.”

  “No? Then what’s it about? Because, it sure sounds like sexist bullshit to me from where I’m sitting,” she grumbles. “If it walks like a sexist pig, talks like a sexist pig –”

  “Then it’s because you’re looking for it to walk and talk like a sexist pig,” I growl. “I’m not talking about your gender, Felicity. Or your ability to defend yourself. I’m simply talking about your experience in these situations. A lack of awareness brought on by a lack of experience is what will fuck you up every time.”

  “Don’t even try to –”

  I clench my jaw and glare at the woman. I don’t know that I’ve met a more stubborn and frustrating woman in my life. And the charm of it all is starting to wear real fucking thin.

  “Do you know how to spot the threat in a crowd?” I ask her. “Do you know what to look for? Do you know how to read micro-expressions and body language? Can you look at a crowd of people and instantly know what they’re thinking or what their intent is?”

  “I’m good at reading people?”

  My bark of laughter is sharp and brittle, drawing a dark look from her. But, since I’m already this committed to throwing a glass of ice-cold reality in her face, might as well go the distance and show her just how much she doesn’t know. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  I motion to a couple of thirty-somethings a couple of tables over from us. They’re nicely dressed and are having a lively conversation filled with smiles and laughter, their heads close together, staring into each other’s eyes intensely.

  “Tell me their story,” I order Felicity. “Read them for me and tell me what that situation is.”

  She looks at them for a moment, then turns back to me. She looks puzzled, as if she’s unsure what I’m asking.

  “I want to see how well you read people,” I explain. “Then we’ll know how well you can assess a threat in a crowd.”

  She looks at the couple again for a long moment before turning back to me and shrugs. “They look like a young married couple having breakfast.”

  I chuckle. “When it comes to reading people, I’d say you’re illiterate.”

  Felicity’s mouth falls open, and her eyes burn with anger. Maybe I’m pouring it on a little too thick, but I’m trying to prove a point – a point that may save her life. But I should probably get to making that point before she huffs out of here and gets herself killed.

  “They’re a couple, but he’s married. She’s the mistress,” I point out. “He’s wearing a ring, she’s not.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Felicity says. “She could have hers at the cleaners or –”

  “You see how they’re sitting so close together that their foreheads are practically touching?” I go on. “And the way they’re staring into each other’s eyes as intensely as they are? That constant need to be touching each other?”

  “Maybe they love each other that much,” she offers weakly.

  I shake my head. “That’s new relationship energy. I’m not saying couples don’t still love each other after a while, but that intensity fades with time,” I counter. “You never look as intensely into your partner’s eyes as you do at the beginning of the relationship when that bond between you
is solidifying. I’d say they’ve been together two months. Tops.”

  Felicity scoffs. “You are so damn cynical.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” I say.

  Felicity turns and gasps when she sees the man walking past us. Probably to the bathroom. But I already have a plan in mind. She turns to me quickly, a stricken look on her face knowing what I’m going to do. Hey, maybe she can read people after all.

  “Don’t you dare,” she hisses.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the man.

  He pauses at our table, a look of confusion on his face as his brain rapidly tries to come up with a name.

  “Oh, you don’t know me,” I tell him. “I was just hoping you could settle a bet between my friend and I here.”

  “Oh – sure,” he replies. “I guess?”

  “I was just curious to know how long you and your girl have been together?” I prompt.

  He looks to the woman in the booth waiting for him and smiles wide, that dreamy look returning to his eyes. Definitely new relationship energy. Felicity sits back in the booth, her arms folded over her chest, an expression on her face that’s half angry, but half amused at the same time. I call that progress.

  “Ummm – almost two months now, I guess?” he tells me.

  “She seems pretty great,” I say.

  He nods, looking like a lovesick puppy. “She’s amazing.”

  “What does your wife think of her?”

  The moment the words are out of my mouth, the man’s face blanches, and he starts to tremble. He turns wide eyes to me, and the stink of fear suddenly rolls off him in thick waves. I’m half afraid he’s going to piss himself standing there.

  “W – who are you?” he whispers.

  “Nobody. Just trying to prove a point,” I confide, then turn to Felicity. “A point I trust has been made?”

  She rolls her eyes – because of course she does – but says nothing. I turn back to the guy who is looking closer and closer to either having a heart attack or a major stroke as he continues to stand there gaping at me like an idiot.

  “Get out of here,” I order. “And stop cheating on your wife or I’ll cut your dick off myself.”