Another Round

by Belaire, Nikki

  The flush on her cheeks burns brighter with shame from the reminder of her mistake, and her interest intensifies in the green and tan benches lining the asphalt rather than focusing on me or my accusation. But surprisingly no argument or rebuttal. Not yet anyway, so I keep going. “I totally respect you wanting to defend your friend, but couldn’t you have done something that didn’t end with you getting the hell beat out of you?”

  Now she huffs. Her irritation building. “It was just one punch.”

  Barely able to hear her murmured words through the breeze with her head turned in the other direction, I can still make out her lame retort. As if almost damaging her vision isn’t that big of a deal. That marring her gorgeous face was worth the revenge she exacted. “That probably would have cracked your eye socket if Theo hadn’t tackled him before he could have done worse.”

  She flinches from the exasperation in my tone and finally looks at me. Well, actually glares at me. Her own resentment forcing her to stop running and start battling. Another damn stand-off with our bodies straining only a few inches from each other. “He deserved to be punished. He’s probably cheated before and humiliating him like that will remind him for his entire life that he fucked up hurting someone I love and thinking he could get away with it.”

  Yep, she’s totally her father. And totally misguided and reckless and incredible. I can see why Nick’s terrified of this tiny inferno who genuinely believes she can own this damn world and everyone in it.

  Including me.

  Especially me.

  I shake my head from that extremely disgusting and inappropriate thought that came out of nowhere but won’t seem to leave. Not with her staring up at me, wordlessly imploring me to understand her reasons. Begging me to recognize her devotion to her friend. Pleading with me to accept her for who she is. “I hope she appreciates the loyalty.”

  With six simple words, I let her know that I do.

  “She does.” Hunched shoulders drop back down, and a bittersweet smile smooths away the torment creasing her face. “Except she feels really bad about him hitting me and won’t stop apologizing.”

  “Because she knows as much as you do how idiotic your scheme was.” A curt nod confirms I’ve punished her enough. She gets it. At least a little. So I let her off the hook. “Besides I thought you girls drowned your sorrows over arseholes by eating ice cream out of the carton and burning their photos and stuff like that.”

  “Um no, because we’re not twelve.”

  No, you certainly aren’t. Definitely not lazy either. Making me smile as she laughs from my generational ignorance and cringe as she starts jogging again. I thought I was off the hook after our conversation stalled our run, and we’d just walk back home. Guess not. I fall in place next to her like I’m not fucking dying with my previously loose leg muscles now tight, squeezing and throbbing in resistance to their new psychotic drill sergeant. “Tomorrow we’re lifting, not running.”

  “That’s perfect. I like mixing it up and doing something different every day.”

  She’s gorgeous with her enthusiasm. And, cruel with her excitement when she sprints off. Unaware her elation is going to fucking kill me.

  I’m a liar.

  And a creeper.

  And a damn psycho stalker.

  I check on her and text to him. That should be enough. But for some unfathomable reason it’s not.

  For the third time today, I watch her. Panning the camera down and to the right, I twist the knob to zoom in on her. Telling myself that I’m just monitoring her like her father’s paying me a hell of a lot of money to do. Instead of leaving her alone like I should be doing since I know she’s not in any danger. Breaking me as I study her because what I suspected is true.

  She’s lonely.

  She’s not crying, which isn’t a surprise since she doesn’t seem like the overly emotional type. Not that I really know her that well after having only met her forty-eight hours ago. But she’s obviously dejected, sitting on her sofa with the soles of her feet grazing over and over the round edge of the coffee table while she stares at nothing.

  Unlike earlier when she video chatted with her mum and Marta. The housekeeper looking more frail than I remember or expected. Maybe that’s why Evie’s smile seemed so forced and tight despite her cheerful tone.

  Or the second time I checked when she was texting Theo and videoing with her friend, while some stupid looking reality show blared in the background. Damn if she doesn’t know how to multi-task. Her smile was strained then too.

  A far cry from Friday night when, to my pleasant surprise, we genuinely had fun grocery shopping. I enjoyed myself keeping her company while she picked out a bedspread and other bits and bobs for her apartment. She put up with me playing coach when we lifted on Saturday morning. I thought everything was fine until I didn’t see her anymore after we returned from the gym.

  Which is good. Great really. Better than great. We don’t need to spend every minute together. I’m her bodyguard, not her friend. She’s my client, not my problem. Unless she’s in danger and clearly she’s not.

  It’s actually better this way. Her in her apartment. Me in mine. Each of us doing our own thing. Minding our own damn business. Focusing on our own issues.

  Then why the fuck am I so worried?

  Because after only two days, the gorgeous grin is gone. Vanished along with her spirit and enthusiasm. Which isn’t my concern. Except that it does concern me a hell of a lot. And, it shouldn’t. She shouldn’t.

  I tap the button and hop up before the screen fades to black. Welcoming her disappearing from my view and my mind so I can ignore the uneasiness I’m not used to feeling. Hide from the facts I’m not willing to face.

  Instead, I do what I always do when I don’t know what else to do. I stride from my bedroom to the walk-in closet turned workout room. I jump up and grab the bar bolted between two pillars. Pulling myself up until my chin clears the rod. Crossing my legs at the ankles and squeezing my shoulder blades down and together. Over and over until streams of sweat gush down my back and my trembling muscles burn in protest. Only quitting when a piercing buzz breaks the silence. Signaling her door has opened. Only a few seconds pass before a knock sounds on mine.

  Without even checking, I know it’s her. I’m pissed that it’s her. I’m thrilled that it’s her. I’m curious as to why it’s her.

  I drop to my feet and grab a towel from the stack and a shirt from the hook behind the punching bag. Swiping at my damp body as I hustle to the living room. An impish smile greets me when I open the door, and I pretend I’m surprised. “Hey trouble. What’s up?”

  “I hadn’t talked to you in while and wanted to see if you want to hang out.”

  She holds up one of the wine bottles that had been previously nestled in the sleek chrome stand on her counter and two oversize glasses. A surprisingly sophisticated drink for someone so young but she’s been exposed to wealth and privilege her whole life. I’m sure her parents don’t drink cheap booze.

  I also don’t miss her lingering gaze on my bare torso. A clever retort to remind her that my eyes are up here can’t leap from my tongue with my imagination playing tricks on me. Instead I yank on my shirt to stop whatever is going through her mind. Or at least whatever the fuck is going on in mine.

  “Sorry love but I’m not much of a drinker.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a face fall faster or harder than hers. But fuck if she isn’t resilient. Hiding her disappointment with a quick, fake smile and nonchalant shrug of her narrow shoulders. Already backing out of the doorway. Retreating to her apartment to conceal her embarrassment.

  “No worries. Maybe another time.”

  “Wait.”

  She shouldn’t stay.

  But I don’t want her to go.

  I step backward and wave her inside. “But I’ll keep you company while you do.”

  Hesitation lines her face. Mistakes my guilt for pity. While it’s really shame on my part. I shouldn’t be
hanging out with her. Shouldn’t be crossing that line. Shouldn’t be going there.

  But I will and I do and I am.

  She gives a slow nod. Accepting, I guess, that at least my reluctant companionship is better than being by herself.

  My need to be a gentleman kicks in again, and this time I don’t stifle the urge. I lift the bottle and glasses out of her hands, carrying them to the narrow island defining the kitchen from the living room. She hops onto one of the stools. Watching me with apparent curiosity while I release the cork and pour her a healthy amount. She raises her drink in appreciation and approval.

  “For someone who doesn’t drink, you’re a pretty good bartender.”

  Her luscious grin stays on her plump lips until she brings the rim to her mouth and takes a long sip. Unable to deny how sexy she is and how horrible I am and how wrong we are, I wink back with my own teasing. “Not that hard to pour wine.”

  “You’re not that good though at accepting compliments.”

  “No, I guess not.” This isn’t flirting. She’s lonely. I’m here. That’s it. “I need to grab a quick shower. Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?”

  “Yes, but don’t be too long…” She taps the side of her half empty glass with a short pink nail. Reminding both of us how quickly and easily the liquor is going down now that she’s no longer alone. “… or I won’t be as generous with my tip.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes from her playful tone. She’s cute but I can’t give her too much encouragement. “Be good, trouble.”

  “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

  Her infectious laugh follows me through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Where I make absolutely sure the door is properly and fully closed to avoid any misunderstandings. Besides the cyclone of confusion in my head. No woman has ever affected me before like her. Fucking with my mind and my conscience, that I need to follow. At least this time.

  While the water heats, I peel off my damp clothes and toss them into the overflowing laundry basket. The impromptu workout messing with my schedule. Just like she is. Except I’d be a damn liar if I pretend I’m upset. Reminding me how boring my life really has been until she swept into it.

  Anxious to get back to her, I wash quickly. No telling what mischief she’ll get herself into in my absence. Rinsing soap off my back, I freeze from the three-tone siren breaking through the white noise of the spray. Raising the alarm in me just as frenzied as the high-pitched wailing. Someone is in the stairwell, and she’s unprotected. Adrenaline floods my veins and in what feels like one long fluid motion, I twist the handle, yank on the running shorts heaped on the dirty clothes pile, grab my weapon off my dresser, and race through the living room where she stares at me in astonishment. “Stay here.”

  With no time to explain or comfort her, I jerk open the front door and point my gun at the bloke jogging up the steps. Despite looking down his face seems vaguely familiar. I scan him from hair to shoe for any clues or hints. The bright orange laces in his red sneakers trigger the memory—one of the men from the running trail.

  His gaze lifts from the stained concrete to mine, and his eyes widen while his palms fly up. “What the fuck?”

  Exactly. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”

  “I was just looking for someone. I thought she lived here.”

  His body shakes as much as his voice. Terrified beyond reason. Not a hitman. Just a dumb arse.

  Before I can chew him out for being an idiot and a criminal, the knob clicks open and all my reason and rationality vanish from her putting herself in danger again. “Go back inside Evie.”

  Of course, she disobeys my orders and strides toward us. Stopping next to me. Skin to skin with her shoulder brushing my torso while her hand curls around my bicep. Grasping my arm, straight and rigid pointing my Glock at this bastard.

  Helping me. Halting me. Hindering me. I’m not sure which, but regardless of what she thinks or does, I can’t have her jeopardize her safety. “Get the fuck back inside now.”

  He nods furiously toward her yet keeps enough of his wits about him not to step any closer. “Her! She’s the one I’m looking for!” As if her presence in the hallway justifies him breaking in. “Remember Friday night? I was running with my friends? I saw you come in here afterward and came back to ask you out.”

  Desperate for us to believe him, he glances from her to me to her again. Oh yeah, I believe him. It’s just that I hate him for it. “I don’t give a damn what you—”

  “If you wanted to ask me out, then you should have done it that night.” Evie shocks the hell out of both us staring him down. Her tone as cool and confident as she is. The epitome of a righteous queen with her unrelenting guard at her side. “If you don’t have the balls to talk to me in front of your friends, then there’s no way you can handle being with me.”

  Kind of harsh but totally hilarious. And absolutely accurate. He could never handle her. Very few men could.

  The moron disagrees. Her insult making him stupid enough to forget I only need one reason to end him. And him attempting to get closer to her is enough of a reason. “Don’t move.”

  This time his petrified gaze flicks between me and the tip of my gun. I jerk my chin toward the exit. “Discussion’s over. If you come back here again, I will do what I have to do to protect her.”

  Humongous eyes and furious nod confirm he gets my meaning. No more threat necessary.

  “Jesus. Okay, okay.”

  Neither of us utters a word as he twists around and flies down the steps. Slamming the door behind him in his haste to escape. That I need to convince the real landlord to lock permanently regardless of how inconvenient it is for deliveries to the first floor.

  Her body softens, separating from mine which is for the best even if I already miss her touch.

  “I can’t stand immature guys like him. I don’t get why they act one way around their friends and another around a girl. Just like Caleb was to Lucy. So dumb.”

  I follow her inside while she rants. Concentrating on ensuring my steps are soundless like I did in the old days to calm my pulse and control my adrenaline. Otherwise, I would yank her around and shake her until she couldn’t see straight. She plops onto her stool, her own movements jerky with irritation. Unaware how livid I am. Oblivious to the fury pounding inside me. Blind to the implosion I’m trying to defuse.

  I lay down my weapon and palm the cool stone. Keeping my gaze on my splayed fingers and my tone even. “Stop Evie.” Breathing through the memories buzzing in my mind and stinging my heart. Crushing me from the reminder of the day I didn’t get there in time and that monster destroyed my life. I refuse to allow it to happen again. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

  “What are you—”

  “Not to me.” Outrage pulses in her voice from my severe tone. But I don’t care and keep going. I’m kind of shouting. But Evie’s heard worse. Seen worse without a doubt and doesn’t seem disturbed by my anger. “Not to your dad. Not even to yourself. So stop fucking putting yourself in danger because you think you do.”

  Now I really am yelling. No one must ever yell directly at her I would assume from the surprise blooming on her face. I shouldn’t either. I didn’t plan to. But I can’t fucking stop myself. “What if he had a gun? What if it was more than just him? I would die to keep you safe Evie. But what if I—if that—wasn’t enough? One of these days you’re going to really fuck up and no one is going to be able to save you.”

  More composed than I expect from my outburst, she only lifts her head. Facing me with an unflinching gaze. “I want to be able to save myself.”

  “Then do it by making good decisions. Be smart. Show your Dad that you’re not stupid or naïve or irrational by doing exactly what he asks of you. This big life altering journey you called it can make him believe you if you do a good job with this internship and earn your own way and stay out of trouble. Because all of your damn recklessness just proves you can’t be trusted and pisse
s him off!”

  “You sound like you’re the one who’s pissed off.”

  “I am pissed off because the last time some motherfucker broke into my house he fucking raped my wife. So when another stupid arsehole breaks in here to get to you and you act like a god damn idiot, I’m a little angry.”

  Or a lot angry with my chest heaving and my voice straining and my fingers fisting. I’ve said too much. More than I should have or ever expected too. Mates I used to work with know what happened, but I’ve never told anyone else. I shouldn’t have told her.

  Quiet except for the beads of water dripping off my shorts and dropping onto the tile. So focused I forgot I was even wet. Finally, she slouches down, her elbows resting on her thighs, while she rubs her face.

  “Holy fuck.”

  “Yeah, holy fuck.”

  And fuck it. I usually reserve my alcohol consumption for one bitter day per year but today is different. Today I feel alive. Enraged. Confused. Overwhelmed. But at least I feel something since it’s been too damn long since I’ve felt anything. And I want to keep feeling something. Rather than wallow like I normally do.

  I pour myself a glass and tap the edge of hers before taking a long swallow. Allowing her to watch me. Scrutinize my actions and my words. Compare my calm composure contradicting with my ominous contention. While I drink and drip and try to decompress.

  We both remain mute when she slides off her seat and walks to the oven. Grabbing the towel off the handle and slowly returning with the peace offering. I accept her unspoken apology and earn a blush while I rub my damp head and body. Nothing I can do for my soaked clothes. “I’ll be right back.”

  Surprising the hell out of me when she tugs the cloth out of my hand and slowly drops to her knees. Mopping up the trail of puddles on the floor from the kitchen to the door. She glances back over her shoulder almost as if confirming she won’t leave the apartment to clean the hallway. A small win that somehow still feels like a failure. Instead of overanalyzing our silent actions, I hustle to change clothes.