I Just Need You

by J. Nathan

  “So, I showed up at Sigma Chi and both Reggie and Simon were there,” a girl somewhere behind me told her friend.

  “No way.”

  “Yeah. They both found out and neither was too happy.”

  Her friend laughed. “It was bound to happen eventually.

  A tinge of jealousy swarmed in my stomach, wishing just once that I could be a normal college girl with normal college girl drama.

  “Hey,” Jeff said, slipping into the seat beside me, his dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail at his neck.

  “Hey,” I said, snapping out of the pity party I’d been throwing myself.

  “Have a good weekend?”

  If you consider finding out someone’s coming after me, then yeah, totally. “It was okay.”

  “Okay?” he questioned. “You mean you weren’t triple booked for dates all weekend?”

  “Triple booked?”

  “Yeah. You’re telling me none of these guys has scooped you up yet?” Jeff said.

  “There may be a few possibilities,” I joked.

  “A few? Girl, you’ve been here for two weeks and you only have a few?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I’m totally failing at my game.”

  “I’d say.” He laughed, and for a moment, I actually did feel like a normal college girl. I just wished that feeling would last.

  ***

  “So, have you heard from Chris since you gave him the cheek?” Elodie asked over dinner.

  “Don’t you have some freshman who requires your help back at the dorm?” I asked before taking a bite of my veggie burger.

  Alice laughed and looked to Elodie. “They ate Italian food. He must’ve had garlic breath. Gross.”

  Elodie raised a brow. “Did he?”

  I shrugged, noncommittal.

  “Why are you grilling her?” Alice asked, popping an onion ring into her mouth. “That’s usually my thing.”

  “I want her to admit what we all know,” Elodie said.

  I cocked my head. “What do we all know?”

  Elodie glanced around the room, ready to say something she didn’t want anyone—including Marco who stood against a nearby wall—to hear. “That you want your bodyguard.”

  My eyes widened.

  Elodie pushed her glasses up her nose. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re wrong,” I assured her.

  She looked unconvinced. “I’ve seen him outside your room.”

  “So?”

  “So, have you ever heard of a movie star’s bodyguard sitting on the floor outside her room?”

  “I’m not a movie star,” I countered.

  “Well, if we’re not getting any action—”

  “Speak for yourself,” Alice cut Elodie off.

  Elodie rolled her eyes. “If I’m not getting any action, someone needs to.”

  “What my friend is trying to say,” Alice interrupted. “Is that since you have a sexy as hell man sitting right outside your door…”

  I gnawed on my bottom lip as my eyes wandered from hers, knowing his post outside my room may have changed to inside my room.

  Elodie pointed across the table at me, accusingly. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell us,” Alice said, leaning closer and clearly jumping on the grilling bandwagon. Traitor.

  “He may have sat in my room last night.”

  They both threw back their heads and groaned dramatically.

  “What the hell?” Elodie whined.

  “Girl, you are the luckiest person I’ve ever met,” Alice said.

  I used to feel like one of the luckiest girls in the world. My dad always made sure to make me feel that way. But after France, I felt like fate was plotting against me. Hell, the Frenchman all but assured me that it was.

  “He definitely wants you,” Elodie said.

  “He’s just making sure I’m safe.”

  Alice popped another onion ring into her mouth. “Safe my ass.”

  ***

  I finished my homework around eleven then changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed. I lay on my side facing the door, waiting for Tristan’s shadow to appear. Would I need to ask him to come in? Would he wait to see if I paced the floor? Would he just come in?

  My conversation with the girls over dinner played through my mind. Had they been right about what I may or may not have been feeling? My life was such a mess and threatening to only get worse. Could I really be having feelings for my bodyguard? Or was I just feeling appreciative that he was looking out for me and being honest about the threats against me when no one else was?

  There was a light tap on my door after midnight. I crawled out of bed and padded over to the door, pressing my ear to it.

  “Kresley?” Tristan whispered.

  Goosebumps erupted on my skin. Dammit. I opened my door.

  Tristan stood there in shorts and a T-shirt, but made no move to enter my room.

  “Are you coming in?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “Is that what you need?”

  I stared into his eyes for a long time. Did he want to come in? Was he only doing what he thought I needed? “I’m not sure. But I kind of think so.”

  He stepped forward and I stepped back into my room.

  My heart drummed faster. A rush of emotions, and dare I say desire, flooded me. This feeling I was having—this pull—was not what I felt for Chris. This was something else. Something I was having more and more difficulty shutting off even though I needed to.

  Tristan moved into my room and closed the door. “Get into bed.”

  “Do you say that to all the girls?”

  His glare told me he was in no mood for jokes.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I climbed underneath my comforter and turned onto my side to face him.

  He sat in the desk chair beside my bed. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands wringing in front of him.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “And you don’t look like you’re asleep. Go to sleep.”

  I lay there with my eyes open, watching him contemplating something for a long time.

  His eyes finally cut to mine. “You told Marco what I told you.”

  “Is that a problem?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he clipped.

  “You do realize you’ve got split personalities, right?”

  He glared at me.

  “There’s nice Tristan. Then bossy Tristan. And, my least favorite, mean Tristan.”

  “Well, all three Tristan’s can take their ass across the hall and leave you alone.” He made to stand.

  “And then there’s stubborn Tristan. And stubborn Tristan can sit his ass down.”

  He scoffed.

  “I haven’t seen a ring on your finger,” I said. “Does that mean no woman has been able to put up with all four Tristans?”

  “I’m only twenty-five.”

  “People get married at all ages.”

  “If they’re crazy,” he countered.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked, his frustration evident in his tone.

  “I’m just curious about you. Is there something wrong with that? We spend time together. I just want to know more about you.”

  He closed his eyes and dragged in a long breath.

  Was I pissing him off? Was he regretting his decision to come into my room?

  When he opened his eyes, there was a glimmer of resignation there. Then he sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  Shit. I hadn’t considered he’d offer that up to me on a silver platter. Did I ask if he had a girlfriend? Did I ask where he grew up? Did I ask if he planned to work as a bodyguard forever? “Do you bowl?” I blurted.

  His brows arched, seemingly just as surprised by my question as I was. “Do I
bowl?”

  “It’s a perfectly legitimate question.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t know. If I have to.”

  “Good to know.” I turned over in bed and closed my eyes.

  Maybe I hadn’t learned anything of any real value, but I had made Tristan Stone laugh. And, I really liked knowing I had.

  ***

  “No…stop…please…no…”

  My eyes popped open, Tristan’s words yanking me from a sound sleep.

  His head was down as he sat in my chair, asleep but speaking. “Please…don’t…”

  I froze, not sure what I should do. He was having a nightmare. A terrible nightmare. The pained expression on his face and the desperation in his words shook me to the core. I’d rarely seen his tough exterior falter, so to see this vulnerable side of him rendered me incapable of clear thoughts. I climbed out of bed and crept over to him, careful not to scare him. I kneeled in front of him and placed my hands gently on his thighs. “Tristan?” I whispered.

  His eyes sprang open, and he clutched his shirt where his gun lay underneath.

  “No! You’re okay. Everything’s okay. You were dreaming,” I assured him with my heart racing in my chest.

  As if coming out of a trance, he blinked multiple times.

  “You were just dreaming,” I assured him. Holy hell, he could’ve shot me.

  “Fuck,” he growled as he pushed himself to his feet.

  The sudden movement sent me reeling back and I landed on my butt.

  He didn’t move to help me up. Instead, he ran his hands through his hair and started pacing the floor. “How long was I asleep?”

  I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed for my phone on the desk. “A few hours. It’s three.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I think you were having a nightmare,” I said as I sat on my bed, hoping he’d tell me what he’d been dreaming about.

  He avoided my gaze and walked to the door. “I’m gonna sit out there.” He twisted the door knob.

  “Tristan?”

  He stopped before opening the door but didn’t turn around.

  “I’m here if you need me.”

  He shook his head, mumbling something I couldn’t hear as he yanked open the door and walked out. Thunder outside coincided with the ominous click of the door closing me alone inside my room.

  I stared at the door glimpsing Tristan’s shadow beneath it. At least he hadn’t abandoned me completely.

  I understood his embarrassment. He was a big bad bodyguard. He couldn’t have nightmares. He couldn’t show weakness. But didn’t he realize that only made him more human in my eyes? We all had our demons. It didn’t define us.

  And, though I’d never push him on the issue since it clearly unnerved him, I was definitely curious to know what plagued his dreams. Because most people didn’t react the way he did if it was just a rare nightmare. His reaction told me it had happened before, and he hated that I witnessed it.

  What secrets was Tristan hiding?

  And, what didn’t he want me to know?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kresley

  Marco walked me back to the dorm after my last class the next day. I had a ton of work to do, but I was exhausted since I didn’t sleep after Tristan left my room the previous night.

  I unpacked my backpack and was about to dive into planning a mock event for my special events class when there was a soft tapping on my door.

  “Kresley?” Tristan asked.

  I moved to the door, stopping before opening it. “Yeah?”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  I stilled. Was something wrong? Did he want to explain what happened the previous night? I opened the door, unable to stop myself from drinking in his dark jeans, navy short-sleeve shirt, and ball cap pulled low on his head. He looked like a college guy ready to head out to class. “What’s up?”

  “I was…” he began, his eyes avoiding mine. “I’d like to take you somewhere.”

  My head hitched back, not expecting that. “Where?”

  He met my eyes but shook his head as if he wanted to tell me but he couldn’t.

  “My security team would tell me to beware of people acting strange and not telling me where they wanted to take me,” I said.

  “If I tell you, you may not want to go. And I really want you to come with me.”

  My brows shot up, curious where he wanted to take me. “Does Marco know you’re here?”

  He shook his head.

  “Would Marco be okay with us going somewhere?” I asked.

  “Probably not.”

  Something about him wanting to take me somewhere and Marco not being happy about it if he knew intrigued me. Damn you, Tristan. “Okay. But you need to let Marco know I’m with you so he doesn’t flip out.”

  “I’ll text him once we’re in the car.”

  “We’re driving somewhere?”

  He nodded.

  I looked down at my cutoffs and long-sleeve T-shirt. “Is what I’m wearing appropriate?”

  His eyes dragged slowly over my body causing a shiver to dance across my skin. “Yeah.” His eyes shot away, clearly not wanting to be inappropriate.

  I grabbed my money and ID from my backpack and tucked them into my back pocket. “All set…I think.”

  The car was parked at the sidewalk when we stepped outside. I opened the front door and hopped in. Tristan circled the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. I turned to look at him as he started the car.

  He noticed me looking at him. “What?”

  “Just waiting for you to text Marco. I need someone to know where I am.”

  “What are you accusing me of?”

  I shrugged. “One can never be too careful.”

  “I’m your security, for God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, but when have you ever wanted to take me anywhere?”

  He rolled his eyes, not bothering with a response. He pulled away and started driving.

  “In case you didn’t realize, you still haven’t texted Marco,” I said after a few minutes of silence.

  He growled. “Are you always this—”

  “Amazing?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Wonderful?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fantastic?”

  He huffed, seemingly overwhelmed by my awesomeness.

  We drove for another few minutes, crossing into the next town. It was filled with quaint little shops and cafés on both sides of the street. Shoppers walked down the sidewalks with bags of new purchases. “It’s cute around here.”

  “I thought you were more of a beach girl,” he said.

  I looked at him. “Why?”

  “The pictures in your room,” he explained. “They’re all beaches.”

  “I told you. I want to live on a private island one day. Those pictures remind me that anything’s possible.”

  He switched on his blinker and pulled into a parking lot. The lot was bigger than it appeared, wrapping around the back of a building off a side street—away from the shops and restaurants that made the town so charming.

  There were no signs on the two-story brick building, but there was a single metal door on the ground floor. “What is this place?”

  “You’ll see.” He cut the engine and composed a text, holding up his phone once he’d sent it off. “I texted Marco. Happy?”

  “Very.”

  He opened his door and stepped out.

  I followed his lead, meeting him at the back of the SUV where he pulled a black bag out of the rear door. “If I knew we were picnicking, I would have made little sandwiches.”

  “Do you always need to be such a smartass?”

  “Do you always need to be so surly? You’re twenty-five. Not elderly.”

  He slammed the back of the SUV and walked toward the metal door of the building.

  I followed him, hating how his personality changed from one minute to the next. I glanced around for signs as we stopped at the door. Tristan pounded twic
e with the side of his fist, then we waited.

  “Is it worth mentioning that I’m getting a little freaked out right now?”

  “You’re with me. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assured me.

  The door squeaked open, and a bald man with a huge gray beard wearing a wife-beater opened the door. Tristan flashed him some type of identification and the guy motioned us in with the jerk of his head.

  The man disappeared as I followed Tristan down a dim hallway. The sound of gun shots caused me to stop in my tracks. “What is this place?”

  “I’m gonna teach you how to protect yourself.”

  I stared across the space between us, unsure if I was terrified or relieved.

  “It’s good for you to know how to handle a gun. Most civilians—especially women—don’t.” He turned and continued walking.

  I followed him to a room at the end of the hallway. It was set up for target practice, but instead of silhouette pictures hanging in the distance like in the movies, this room had different real-life objects scattered around—all filled with bullet holes: mannequins, rawhide sacks, logs, cans, fences, mounds of dirt, a door with the glass missing.

  “Have you ever fired a gun before?” he asked me.

  I shook my head, too terrified to ever even hold a gun.

  “Does your father own a gun?”

  I shrugged. “We have security. Why would he need one?”

  Tristan placed his bag down on a shelf and unzipped it, pulling out protective glasses. He slipped on a pair and handed me the other. “Put these on.”

  I did, hoping the small precaution would ease my anxiety over shooting a gun. It didn’t.

  Tristan reached back in the bag and pulled out a small black gun. I could see bigger guns inside the bag and hoped to God he didn’t think I was going to be shooting any of those. He held the grip of the small gun out to me. “Here,” he said, urging it toward me.

  I shook my head. “I’m scared.”

  “I’d be worried if you weren’t,” he said, placing the gun sideways in his open palm and holding it out to me. “This is yours. It’s been registered in your name. Pick it up by the grip and then hold it however you feel comfortable. Just keep your finger off the trigger and point it away from me.”

  “You think?”

  He chuckled, and I appreciated him being amused because my heart sped exponentially as I took the gun and held it, making sure to point it away from us. It was lighter than I expected.