Thrive (Guardian Protection)

by Aly Martinez

  Her hands stilled. “Johnson?” She gasped. “Oh my God, Sexy Guy is gay?”

  I quirked an eyebrow and shot her a scowl. “You call him Sexy Guy?”

  “Well, at first, he was Scary Guy, but then he smiled. After that, he was definitely Sexy Guy.”

  There was no way I could ignore the pang of jealousy that slammed into me. “What the fuck, Mira?”

  Surprised, she looked at my shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

  Grinding my molars, I got my dumb ass back in check. “No. Forget it.” I pushed off of the stool, desperate for space and possibly a brain transplant.

  “I’m not done yet!”

  “Yeah, you are,” I said, heading around the bar. “I need to clean up the mountain of glass in the kitchen and then get some coffee.”

  “I’ll clean up. Just let me grab my shoes.”

  I waved her off. “It’s fine. I got it.”

  “Jeremy, seriously. I can do it. Are you hungry?” she asked. “I could make you something for breakfast.”

  My lips twitched. “I’m not thinking food poisoning is how I want to start this day.” The mindfuck I was currently experiencing was more than enough.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snipped.

  I went to the pantry and retrieved the broom. “It means I remember your attempt at cooking at Kurt’s birthday dinner. Two out of the three of us ended up hugging the toilet all night.”

  “That is not true!”

  I shot her a challenging glare.

  She crossed her arms and shot it right back.

  Shaking my head, I got to work sweeping, grinning as I did it. “Mira, I’ve never been able to so much as look at pork since.”

  “Wow. Pigs around the world have probably hailed me a hero for that act of valor.”

  And, at that, my grin stretched into a full-blown smile. Christ, she was crazy.

  I dumped the broken glass in the trash and then put the broom away. “Don’t come in here without shoes. I need to vacuum to make sure I got it all, but I’d rather eat and drink coffee first. How about you park it on the stool and I’ll cook us up some eggs.”

  “And you think your cooking is better than mine? I seem to remember you almost burning down the barracks while warming up leftover takeout in a microwave.”

  She settled on the stool and propped her elbows on the bar, her large boobs pressing together and drawing my eyes to them even through the baggy T-shirt. Shit. Was she wearing a bra?

  “That was not my fault. Someone left a spoon in the container,” I replied.

  “That someone was you!”

  And that’s when I realized I was worse than fucked.

  A loud laugh sprang from my throat. It was real in a way I’d only ever felt with her.

  Her eyes lit as she watched me. It didn’t take but a few seconds for her to join me. Her sarcastic comment wasn’t that funny, but we both laughed long and hard.

  And it felt fucking incredible. Like an integral piece of me had been missing and I hadn’t even realized it until I got it back.

  What Mira and I had was comfortable. Like hanging out with an old friend, not a long-lost love. Maybe we didn’t need more than that. Maybe that was the solution to keeping the spark and protecting myself. Yes, I’d admit it. I was attracted to Mira in ways that did not say friendship. But I was a grown man. Surely I could find a way to lock that away. Sex had never been why I’d fallen in love with her. She got me. And, as I stared at her, her head thrown back in laughter, a far cry from the frightened woman in the elevator the day before, I knew I got her too.

  It was going to suck. But it was best for both of us.

  “We need to talk,” I announced.

  Her shoulders fell as she sobered. “Oh, God, not again.”

  I extended a hand across the bar. “I’m Jeremy Lark. Most of my friends call me Lark.”

  She flicked her gaze from my eyes to my hand and back again, but she eventually took it in a shake. “Mira York. Nobody calls me York.”

  I grinned.

  She grinned back.

  After giving her hand a squeeze, I released it and said, “I’d like to propose a truce.”

  A coy smile grew on her lips. “You have my attention, Jeremy Lark.”

  Using a single finger, I motioned between the two of us. “You and me. We’ve always been good at this. The talking and laughing. That was never our problem.”

  Her smile fell as she whispered, “No. It wasn’t.”

  “So…let’s stick to what we’re good at. We got at least a few days before you can leave. Being at each other’s throats isn’t gonna make things any easier.”

  “I can do that,” she replied. “The talking and the laughing, I mean.” Grabbing the back of her hair, she pulled it over her shoulder and became enthralled with the ends.

  Something I’d said had upset her. I didn’t know what. And, if I knew Mira at all, she wasn’t going to tell me—at least not yet. Eventually, it would eat her away until she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She’d finally spit it out, probably on a yell. We’d fight about it. And then we’d make love until it was all forgotten.

  Okay, so I was definitely going to have to figure out a better way to end that, but I could cross that bridge fully clothed when I got to it.

  “No more arguing and yelling. Deal?” I offered.

  She peeked up at me and faked a smile. “Deal.”

  “So, first order of this being-friends business: coffee. We might have to drink it out of bowls, but you think you can slip on some shoes and make it while I get busy on the grub?”

  “Scrambled with—”

  “Onions and cheese,” I finished for her.

  Her smile turned genuine and it made the left side of my chest squeeze.

  “You remember,” she breathed.

  I half shrugged. “A lot of nights spent talking and laughing with you at the Waffle House.”

  She nodded and lifted her hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “A lot of good nights.”

  “A lot of incredible nights,” I amended, that squeeze in my chest bearing down until I thought my ribs might crack.

  Her chin quivered as she suddenly pushed to her feet. “I’ll just go grab my shoes.”

  “Mira,” I whispered, but I didn’t follow it up with any other words. There was nothing left to say.

  We’d agreed on talking and laughing.

  Not holding and consoling.

  “I’ll be right back,” she choked out before racing from the room.

  I stood in the kitchen, staring at the stairs, thinking maybe talking and laughing wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  “And you are telling me where I choose to put my cock just casually came up in conversation?” Johnson asked, arching an incredulous eyebrow.

  “Well…yeah.” I cut my gaze off to the side, stifling a laugh.

  “Huh?” he said, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and crossing them at the ankle. “You asking Jeremy about my cock?”

  My gaze snapped back to his. “What? No!”

  He stretched his arm across the back of Jeremy’s long, black leather sectional and twisted to give me his full attention. “So it was Lark talking about my cock?”

  I broke into a giggle. “No! Neither of us was talking about your…ya know.”

  “Cock?” He winked.

  I rolled my eyes and laughed louder. “Yes. That. I simply mentioned Jamie Fraser and his magnificent ass. Jeremy didn’t seem appreciative, but he agreed to pass along the info to you.”

  He playfully twisted his mouth. “You sure no one was talking about my cock?”

  “Would you stop saying cock!”

  He shook his head, and a rich, warm chuckle escaped his throat.

  I’d been wrong. Sexy Guy wasn’t sexy at all.

  He was extraordinary.

  After breakfast that morning, Jeremy had called Johnson to come over and babysit me while he drove back to my place to pick up a few of my thin
gs. I’d begged him to let me go with him. I didn’t much like the idea of him going through my panty drawer, mainly because I hadn’t been with a man in forever. Therefore, my panties were seriously sucking in the sexy department. But also because anyone going through your panty drawer who wasn’t intimately acquainted with what you looked like outside of said panties was just plain weird.

  My begging was met with a firm no and a you’ve-lost-your-damn-mind glare.

  That was met with a firm yes and a you-don’t-have-to-be-such-a-bossy-asshole glare from me.

  We stared, but in a true show of maturity, neither of us yelled. No insults were hurled. And I didn’t even burst into tears. (Seriously, I had to get a handle on that shit. It was out of control.)

  And, within minutes, I relented to his declarations that it wasn’t safe for me to go with him. Though secretly that surrender had only come because I’d remembered that the majority of my clothes had already been packed—including my panties.

  Johnson showed up right before Jeremy left. And it was a good thing because he was there to talk me off the ledge of insanity when I caught sight of the gun on Jeremy’s hip as he headed for the door.

  He pulled me into a hug that was only slightly less consuming than Jeremy’s and whispered, “He knows how to handle himself. You losing your shit is only going to get in his head and distract him when he needs to be out there with his head clear, eyes open, and focused on handling himself.”

  It made sense. Even if I hated it.

  And then he released me, stepped away, and said, “You know how to cook? I’m starved.”

  For the next hour, I made Johnson a meal fit for a king. Pan-fried ham, onions, and green peppers, homemade mac and cheese, and a lovely green salad that went untouched. The ham and mac and cheese did not. It was safe to say I’d picked up some culinary skills over the years. Kurt had loved to eat, and I’d loved to get the hell away from him, so I’d spent most of my time in the beginning of our marriage hiding in the kitchen, learning my way around.

  After we ate, I carried all the dishes over to the sink and promptly burst into tears. Whitney always did the dishes. She was worthless in a kitchen unless she was warming up a can of soup or a frozen dinner. I’d cook. She’d clean. Together, we made the perfect team. And, now, my girl, my partner, my best friend, was out there lost, frightened, wrapped in Kurt’s filth because of me. I couldn’t breathe, but as I sank to the floor, rivers of salt dripping off my chin, all I could do was pray that she still could.

  I didn’t hear it when he approached me, nor did I open my eyes when I sensed rather than felt Johnson lower his bulky body to the floor beside me. Then his strong arm curled around my shoulders.

  “She’s going to be okay,” he rasped, reading my mind. “A lot of good men are out looking for her. Men I trust. You don’t know this about Leo, but someone taking a woman, any woman, whether he knows her or not, it becomes a priority. He’ll play it cool. Act like he’s calling in a few favors just to help Lark. But I swear to God, Mira, he’s got everyone including the hounds of Hell out looking for your girl right now. She will be found. And Guardian will bring her home.”

  I opened my eyes and peered up at him, firm resolve laced with kindness showed on his handsome face. My heart told me to believe him. What choice did I have? But the anxiety spiraling inside me, winding me higher with every slam of my heart, sabotaged my attempts to collect myself.

  For such a gruff-looking man, Aidan Johnson had the patience of a saint. He sat there on the floor with me, allowing me to soak the front of his shirt with overwhelming doubt for who knows how long. When my tears finally dried and my heart slowed, he shot me a beautiful wink and rose to his feet, pulling me up with him.

  “We’re done with that,” he announced. “You get one crying jag a day.” After glancing down at the wet spot on his shoulder, he rubbed it with his palm. “And I’m officially assigning Lark to take the next shift.”

  I smiled, the moment of levity doing wonders to soothe my exposed nerves.

  And then he walked away with heavy, purely masculine steps, heading straight to the TV in the basement. I watched as he disappeared, and then I sucked in a deep breath, sent up one last prayer for Whitney’s safe return, and got busy doing the dishes.

  Over the next half hour, Johnson came up periodically to check on me, acting like he was just grabbing a soda or using the restroom. But his sodas went untouched and I never heard the toilet flush.

  When I finished in the kitchen, I decided to go upstairs and look around. Okay. Fine. I was snooping. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I was going stir-crazy and it helped me pass the time. It didn’t give me many clues about Jeremy because he was, in fact, just moving in and most of his things were still in boxes.

  I recognized the outside of the house from pictures I’d seen on Facebook, but the inside was a different story. On my way around, searching just enough to ease my curiosity but not enough to be intrusive, I stopped at the girls’ bedroom. With pale-pink walls, white wicker furniture, and princess bedding, it was the only room in the house that was fully decorated. There were two twin beds on opposite sides of the room that simultaneously made my heart smile and my chest ache. I could imagine their sweet little faces as their father tucked them in at night. Jeremy had said that the girls were his whole world, and I didn’t doubt it for a second. And, if I’d been a betting woman, I’d have put my money on the fact that he was their entire world too. He could be a real dick; he’d proved that. But I knew all too well how soft, warm, and comforting he could be too. This memory caused another smile—and another ache.

  When I ran out of things to keep me busy, I decided to go down to the basement and make myself useful. Jeremy had not been lying when he’d said that a war had broken out down there. Toys were everywhere. I burst into laughter when I saw big, tough Johnson sitting on the couch, ESPN blaring on the TV, his biker boots propped on the table, a mountain of Barbies, ponies, and baby dolls surrounding him.

  After I finished organizing, dusting, sweeping, and mopping, I begged Johnson to take me to the grocery store. He said no.

  Then I begged him to take me to the mall so I could buy a change of clothes until Jeremy got back. He said fuck no.

  Then I begged him to take me to Bed, Bath, and Beyond so I could at least buy Jeremy a small housewarming gift. He glared at me.

  Eventually, I’d settled beside him on the couch and forced him to entertain me. We’d talked. We’d laughed. It hadn’t been nearly as fun as it was when Jeremy and I did it, but it was a welcomed distraction. I’d told myself that distraction was the real reason Johnson had agreed to come over while Jeremy was gone rather than facing the fact that I was in imminent danger that required me to have a buff, bodyguard babysitter. And Johnson was such a good guy. He’d smiled and chatted, allowing me a few hours of comfort to pretend that my world hadn’t imploded overnight.

  And that was how Sexy Guy became extraordinary.

  “Mira!” Jeremy called, interrupting my conversation with Johnson, thankfully before he had the chance to say cock again.

  “Down here!” I yelled.

  I heard his feet on the basement stairs as he jogged down.

  I rose to greet him. “Hey.”

  “What are you doing down here?” he asked, scanning the now spotless room.

  Johnson stood up. “We were just talking about my cock.”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh when Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly hit his hairline.

  “Come again?”

  Johnson meandered around the couch, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah. It seems everyone’s talking about it these days.”

  Jeremy curled his lip and planted his hands on his hips, which only made me laugh harder. “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that Mira has known me for less than twenty-four hours and already knows where I like to put my cock. I did not realize my sexuality was such a hot topic.”

  I
leaned forward and whispered to Jeremy, “He won’t stop saying cock. Don’t bother trying to make him.”

  Johnson ignored me. “Now, I mean, I get the obsession. It’s a nice fucking cock.” He stopped in front of Jeremy and stabbed a finger in his chest. “But, the way I see it, the only reason it could have come up is because you were either interested in experiencing it for yourself…”

  Jeremy’s face snapped back in horror.

  Yeah. I laughed again.

  Johnson continued. “Orrrr you wanted to make sure Mira knew she wasn’t my type so she didn’t get the idea of trying to experience it for herself.”

  My laughter abruptly stopped. I hadn’t considered this theory, but the idea of Jeremy being jealous did some seriously warm things inside my chest—okay, and some hot things to a few other places farther south.

  Jeremy’s face got hard as he tipped his head to the side, holding Johnson’s gaze out of the corner of his eyes. “Orrrr she was talking about some man’s ass and you are literally the only man I know who would be interested in that crap.”

  Okay. That was another possibility I had considered, but it wasn’t nearly as exciting as Johnson’s theory.

  My head swung back to Johnson as he retorted, “Then you won’t mind that she knows I love women too, and after spending the day kicking back and getting to know her, it has not escaped me that she’s a good one.”

  “Aww.” I reached out and gave Johnson’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks. That was—”

  Static filled the air, and I swung my gaze to Jeremy in time to see his face flash murderous.

  A scary vein danced on his forehead as he seethed, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  Uh-oh was my first thought.

  My second was: Oh my fucking God, he is jealous!

  Unsure of what to do with that little tidbit of information other than break into song and dance, I decided to slip into the middle of the hot-guy stare-off.

  Wedging myself between the men, I said, “Okay, well, as very awkward as this has been, maybe it’s best if Johnson retires for the evening. Less the excessive use of the word…um, well, cock. It has been a nice day, and I’d hate to ruin that with a fistfight in the middle of the freshly cleaned basement.”