by Lexi Whitlow
My stomach turns when I think of it. No wonder Avery is defensive.
I look through the binoculars I have on the window frame. Sure enough, Avery is inside, making coffee. She dumps at least half a cup of full fat cream into it, and I snicker. There’s no way I’m following that rule.
And she heads straight for the window. Fuck.
Before I can put the binoculars down, Avery is standing there with an angry, determined expression on her face. The same way she got when she first started thinking about leaving town, leaving California altogether. Back when we were kids.
She moves a chair to the window and drinks her coffee. When she’s finished, she unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse, revealing the creamy tops of her breasts.
Shit. Against my better judgment, I don’t put the binoculars down. Instead, I watch as she takes off her shirt directly in front of the window. She slips on a dress and shimmies out of the skirt she was wearing, throwing it at the window.
Before turning away, she faces the window head-on, smirks, and slowly raises both of her middle fingers in salute.
She flounces away and disappears into the dark recesses of her apartment, where I can’t see her. Just as I put the binoculars down, my phone buzzes.
Avery Thomas:
You’re a creeper, just like my fucking stalker. Leave me alone today, and I’ll tell my mom you stayed on my ass all day.
“This fucking woman,” I mutter to myself. I can’t get the image of her out of my mind. Round tits, full and high and barely contained in her white, lacy bra. I know Avery is no longer a virgin, but I imagine her that way. Pure. Innocent. Untouched.
In the battle of wills between myself and Avery, there’s one weapon for which I have very little defense. Her body.
And she’s made me look like an asshole. I should have turned away. Instead, I stayed glued to the window, and there’s a growing feeling of tightness in my cock. I half-consider jacking off again, just to relieve the tension. But I need to keep eyes on Avery, no matter what she says.
I whip out my phone and type quickly.
Maddox Bryant:
Fat chance. Tell me where you’re going.
For a minute or more, there’s no response. I look out of the window with my binoculars again and see no trace of her in the apartment. I look down to the lobby, and there is no evidence of anyone coming or going. Her car is in the underground lot, and I could go over to that exit and wait for her. I’m about to head for the front of the building when I think better of it.
A few minutes later, Avery emerges from a side street, riding her beach cruiser bike, headed straight for campus.
I hadn’t thought an injured woman would climb down her fire escape to the street below, but Avery isn’t the average woman.
Clever girl. Not clever enough.
I bolt down the stairs to the motorcycle Avery’s parents gave me for the job, and I catch up to her easily. It takes a minute for her to notice me. I nod at her. She gives me the finger.
When we arrive on campus, Avery parks her bike, ignoring me while she fiddles with her lock. I park nearby, watching her. She’s still a little unsteady on her feet, but she has her laptop bag slung over one shoulder, and she appears determined to make it into a classroom before the end of the term.
She doesn’t turn to check where I am before she marches off to class, her bag bouncing against one perfectly sculpted hip. I catch up to her easily and grab her by the arm. Not so hard that I could hurt her, but hard enough that she can’t exactly run away.
“Avery, you’re supposed to stay at home. For the next week.”
“Let go of me,” she hisses. Her icy gaze meets mine. “Don’t you get it? I want to be here. This is what I do with my life. I want to be left alone and write my dissertation. Graduate. Have a life that doesn’t involve my parents.”
“Avery. You’re hurt. You’re still limping. What they’re asking is just that you take time to heal. Everything is worked out so you don’t have to go to school right now.”
“They’re taking everything away from me until this election is over. I just want this one thing. Just until school is over. Or is that prohibited in your contract?”
My expression goes blank.
“Oh, you don’t think I know about whatever contract they made with you? I have my own little booklet of where I’m supposed to be and how I’m supposed to behave. My mom wrote one for my dad too, and one for his personal security detail. They live for this kind of thing. You know, they tried to get me to take a bodyguard seven different times in the past year? I know what they do. Remember that. You’re just learning.” She takes her free hand and uses a manicured finger to poke me straight in the chest.
“I’m fairly familiar with their style, Avery. But they’re right about this. You need to be on your sofa, watching Netflix, Avery.”
“I’m not a child,” she says, trying to pull away again. People are beginning to notice us, but no one says anything. Everyone knows who Avery Thomas is, and it’s clear enough that I’m her new bodyguard.
“Then don’t act like one,” I say. “Act like an adult who’s just spent four days in the hospital. And fucking take care of yourself.”
My heart is beating hard now. This is as close as I’ve been to Avery in seven years. Her hair still smells faintly of ginger, and her skin is warm and supple and soft. Even with the fading wound across her forehead, she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Maddox,” she says, “I’m going to class. Then I’ll sit around the entire rest of the day. Deal?”
I nod. Finally, I let her pull her arm away. She walks towards one of the lecture halls, and I begin to follow her.
She whips around. “No. You do not get to follow me inside. That's one step too far. These are my friends and teachers. I don't want them to start looking at me differently. You can wait out here."
I pretend to consider this. "Fair enough."
I flip through my phone and see that Avery Thomas has no classes scheduled for today.
I knew it.
I sit on a bench outside the lecture hall and Avery heads in. As soon as she is inside, I stand up and stroll back the way we came, arriving at the main doors just in time to see Avery ducking out of a fire exit and running back towards her bike. I can't help admiring her tenacity, she really doesn't give up. I let her get on the bike and head off before I follow her. I think it'll have more impact on her this way.
The bike suits her. I know I shouldn't be thinking like this but it's hard not to when I'm following her on her bike, my eyes glued to the perfect curve of her ass, thrust out behind. I can't decide if this would be easier or harder if she didn't look so incredible. But I can't say I'm sorry that she looks how she does.
She heads down a side street, and I speed up to catch her.
Part of me knows this is dumb. I'm supposed to be protecting her and instead I'm chasing her through traffic. And I'm enjoying it. I chased Avery Thomas the last summer I was a free man. It brings back old memories. I smile.
When I turn behind her, Avery hears me, and looks back. She rolls her eyes dramatically and turns down an alley.
The electric feeling that I got when I saw her at the window this morning returns. I follow her, slowing down on my bike, barely puttering through the alley.
“This is part of the job,” I say to myself. “It’s all part of the job. It’s just a bonus if you like chasing her.”
She keeps about a quarter mile ahead of me, and I follow her. By her body language, I can tell she’s angry. Enraged. She had some plan to ditch me, maybe for the rest of the summer.
As she hits the next corner, however, she takes it badly. The bike slips from under her and she comes off, rolling over the pavement. I scream to a halt and leap off, letting my bike crash to the ground, my heart in my mouth.
"Avery! Are you okay?!"
"No thanks to you!" She pulls off her helmet. Her face is pink with anger and shock. "Look at my damn bike."
/> The teal beach cruiser has a bent wheel, and the seat has nearly popped off.
"Can you walk?" I ask.
I try to go over to her and help her up, but true to her nature, she refuses.
She smacks my hand away and pulls herself up on her own. "Of course I can damn well walk! And now I have to walk home!"
"I can take you,” I say. “It’ll be safer.”
“Since when are motorcycles safe, Maddox?” The tone of her voice makes me want to grab her and shake her and kiss her violently all at once.
I growl. “Avery, you will not make me lose this job.”
“You will not follow my every move, then, Maddox. My parents are busy with their career. They won’t know if you let me off the leash for half a day.”
“That’s not the point,” I say, my voice angrier than I intend.
Without a response, Avery marches off in the direction of her apartment. The hemline of her dress is ripped, and her laptop bag is scuffed. There’s an impressive road burn on her elbow.
“Avery,” I say, loud enough so that she turns in my direction. “I’m sorry.”
She looks at me oddly for a second, surprised to hear the words from me.
"You're what?"
"I shouldn't have chased you like that. It was dangerous and stupid."
For a moment she is silent, looking at me in that smartly appraising way of hers that I fell for all those years ago. “Yeah, it was. But I was the one on a bicycle, trying to lose you.”
I shrug. It’s a beginning. I guess.
* * *
“Are you okay? Is anything broken?”
“Stop asking me that. I’m fine.”
Back in her apartment, I keep asking her questions she finds absolutely irritating. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the tone in her voice. The one that lets me know I’m affecting her.
That’s not on her parents list, come to think of it. I can irritate her all day long.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” She smirks at me as she sets up her laptop and starts tapping away, presumably working on her dissertation.
“No, I don’t. I want to know if you’re okay. If you’re going to put any bandages on that road burn. I’ve been riding a bike for seven years, and I know what that feels like.”
“I didn’t know that,” she says flatly.
“Didn’t know what?” I watch her back as she types.
“I didn’t know that you rode a motorcycle. A bike. Where I’m from, bikes have spokes and bells. And maybe a basket.” She doesn’t look at me. Instead, she continues typing. There’s something edgy, something angry in her voice.
“There’s a lot you don’t know. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. You made sure of that when you took off and didn’t respond to a single message I sent you. And you reappear, hired to treat me like a kid and follow me around my own town.”
“You wouldn’t need someone to do that if you just paid attention to your body. If you weren’t so unsteady on your feet, you wouldn’t have fallen today. You need to rest. And—shit—have you eaten today?”
“Back off, man,” she says, eyes glued to her computer. “Go back to the apartment that Evelyn and Richard had outfitted for you. I bet there’s a fifty-inch TV. Or if you like motorcycles so much, you can go ride yours off a cliff.”
I stare at her. I’m both angry and turned on, and I hate myself for reacting at all. This was just supposed to be a job, and here I am, wrapped up in Avery’s shit. I have to keep reminding myself she’s someone I don’t know anymore, and of course she sees me as her enemy.
“I might just do that.”
“Good. It might dislodge the stick in your ass.”
I growl in frustration. “Look, your parents are paying me to make sure no harm comes to you. It’s my job. I have to follow you. We don’t know if that guy is still out there—”
“Fuck him if he is,” she says. She’s still typing. It’s eerie how fast she’s going—and she’s still paying attention to what I’m saying. “I know what he looks like, and I can steer clear of him.”
“That’s not how this shit works, Avery.”
“If I die, you don’t get paid? Is that it?”
“I’d rather not find out about that clause in the contract.”
Avery gets up and slams her laptop closed. “Okay, Maddox. I’m going to change clothes and get the hell out of here. Turn around if you’re a prude. But it’s clear you weren’t this morning.”
She marches across her living room and into her bedroom, where she leaves the door open as she begins to change. I turn away from her, and I suppress a shiver in my body.
I can't have this conversation staring at her half-naked. It's bad enough knowing she's half-naked just behind me.
I’m silent, and I wait. At least she might let me know where she’s going today.
I feel her hand on me and she turns me round to face her, standing close as she had the night before. "I think you'll find that I can keep myself safe. If you need to tag along for your own personal gratification—or a paycheck, I guess I can live with that.”
She’s wearing a flouncy white dress, and beneath it, what looks like a red bikini.
I swallow hard. This was what I dreamt of every night when I was twenty. The fact that she seems to hate me makes this particularly brutal.
“Let’s go.” She picks up a bag from the couch and looks at me, kinder now than before.
“And where are we going?”
“The beach. It’s finally nice today, and I need to do some reading for the next chapter in my dissertation.”
“The beach? Seriously?”
She gives me a teasing look, her eyes dancing. “I study there. It’s quiet during the day like this. And it’s finally warm outside. We should go. If you’re up to the challenge of body guarding at the beach.”
There are a few other things I’d like to do to her body, but I’m well aware of how Avery feels—and what my contract says.
“And you want me to come with you?”
“No. Not really. But you can drive me. I’m not supposed to drive, remember? Not for a few days. So, you can take me and creepily watch me study. And you can tick off all the boxes my parents have for you.”
“Fine. We’ll take your Range Rover. Your parents gave me the keys.”
“Of course they did,” she says quietly. She hands me her laptop bag, and we head out. “Why don’t we take your bike?”
“Out of the question,” I say, moving towards the parking garage. “Today was an emergency. We won’t be doing that anymore.”
She stops me with a touch on the arm, peering at me with those wide blue eyes. “Come on.”
“Fine. It’s closer anyway.”
“And it’s like five minutes to the beach. We’ll be fine.”
I sigh, but I like riding. When she hops on behind me, I like the feeling of her pressed against me too.
Were there a list of things I shouldn't be thinking about as I take the woman I'm supposed to be protecting to the beach, then how good her arms feel wrapped around me would be pretty high on it. She holds on tight, her small hands clutched to my chest.
"Man, you've got some muscles," she breathes, half to herself.
"Thanks."
"I don't really like muscles."
I roll my eyes. The way her hands hold onto me, I would never have guessed it.
I feel her breasts pressed against my back, tight enough to feel each excited breath. When we arrive she sits back, her eyes gleaming her chest still heaving.
"That was quite a ride,” she says.
On the beach she strips off her dress to reveal a bikini that’s not skimpy—it’s more classic. Like something Marilyn Monroe might have worn for a photo shoot. High-waisted red shorts, and a red and white striped top that was molded to fit her.
Of course it was. It was custom made. I’d bet anything.
I swallow through the dryness of my mouth and try not to
stare.
"What do you think?" She does a little twirl, and then her cheeks turn red. She isn’t supposed to be flirting with me—she catches herself. This is the girl I knew years ago, and I smile for just a second.
“It’s your color.”
“Thanks,” she says, a little shy.
I watch as she lays down on her belly with a book open in front of her. She looks back at me, her gaze meeting mine for a little longer than it should. “You can sit wherever.”
She doesn’t care—or doesn’t notice—that the several men on the beach are watching her. It makes my fists itch. But I sit on the sand and take off my shirt, stretching out, watching Avery.
She’s reading an advanced text on the history and historiography of political science. For something to do with her book she’s writing or her dissertation or whatever the hell it is. From the deal her parents made, she doesn’t have to do anything. She’s doing it because she wants to. Because it’s fun for her to get ahead.
It's no effort for her to be better than everyone else. Just like in school. Maybe she wouldn't have acted out so much if she had been remotely challenged. She switches to lying on her back, toes pointed to the water. She also switches books, taking out a text on politics and religion in early America.
Nothing seems to be happening to warrant my attention and I let my mind drift. When I got out of the Marines, I was struggling to make ends meet. Avery has no idea what that’s like. It’s not her fault.
Avery could guess how much I’m getting paid, but she knows nothing about my mother. Nothing about the fact that I was living in a shack in Los Angeles when I got out of the hospital. Unable to find a job because I could barely walk. Still, I was visiting my mother every day, sitting with her through chemo treatments, funneling every dime I had from my stipend to her home care.
Now it’s all taken care of.
And I can figure out what I want with my life, after I get this job done and say goodbye to Avery Thomas forever.
