W

by Anne Leigh

  All these made me the man I was today.

  Indifferent.

  Cold.

  Unaffected.

  At least I thought I was.

  It’s been years since a woman’s kiss has touched me in a way that would draw any other reaction from me aside from necessity. I wasn’t celibate. Far from it. I had two ladies on speed dial - Estella in Los Angeles and Phoebe in Berlin.

  They gave it as good as they got.

  No expectations.

  Just plain, good ole’ sex.

  Then came her – this wisp of a girl who looked so innocent, fragile, breakable.

  She’d kissed me in the most unexpected place at a time when I thought I’d frightened the shit out of her.

  Right now, sitting primly in front of me, she was avoiding my eyes. As soon as we’d entered my house, I’d gone to the weight room, did 100 push-ups, and changed into a shirt. I’d calmed myself down enough to grab the soda can from the fridge, pour the drink, and finally face her.

  She could not know how much she affected me.

  I forbid myself to even go there.

  Maybe tonight Estella would get a call from me after all. She could relieve the aching tension rubbing against my jeans.

  Drinking the carbonated liquid in the glass, Athena lifted her eyes to mine. How she could ever call herself plain was inconceivable. I’d read her post on a blog she’d joined a week ago for a group called Surviving College at SC, and she’d described herself as a plain, simple girl.

  Simple, yes.

  Plain, never.

  “I’m sorry,” she started, her lower lip quivering. “I, ah, didn’t meant to, ah, kiss you like that.” Her hazel eyes glazing over in mist, her cheeks tinting red, “I’m sorry.”

  I gave her a slight tilt of my head, “Nothing happened.”

  Her eyes widened in shock, “I think it was adrenaline or just excitement…I don’t even know you. I’m not in the habit of kissing men I’ve only just met.”

  I know. You look as pure as fresh snow, as virginal, as unsullied as the cornflowers that grew in my mother’s gardens at the first show of spring.

  “Nothing happened,” I repeated, this time with a hard edge to my voice. “Finish your soda. You need the sugar in your system before you crash.”

  She’d barely eaten today. She had a small salad for lunch and didn’t have anything for dinner. She ate candy constantly – if her body did not replace the sugar right now, she’d definitely be crashing after the adrenalin-inducing ride, shocking her system.

  With the last few gulps, she finished the soda. I had no food or other drinks in the house. I hadn’t been here in a while. I’d been in Washington for the past month, tying up loose ends, when I’d gotten the call from Dr. Bridges.

  Maybe it was the infusion of sugar in her body that she’d finally found the courage to ask, “Are you my bodyguard?”

  Was I?

  “I’m your protector,” I replied truthfully. I wasn’t there just to guard her body, I was to protect her life, just as I’d vowed to her father.

  She placed her right arm on the edge of the couch, placing the glass on the coffee table in front of us, her hands slightly shaking. “Why do I need protection? Is my dad okay? How about my mom?”

  “Your father’s current research has gained some attention.” The best way to ensure her cooperation was for me to be completely honest about the situation. “This attention is from some organizations who may not have our country’s best interests. Your father just wants you safe.”

  “Why? Is he being threatened?”

  Good point. “Maybe.”

  Her shoulders started to heave, her head shook left and right, and brokenly she questioned, “Are there bad guys threatening him with me?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied matter-of-factly. “He just asked me to make sure you’re okay.”

  Looking straight into my eyes, her shoulders lifted before she said, “I know what he does, Mr. Worthington.”

  “Call me Webb,” I interrupted. For some reason, her calling me Mr. Worthington made me feel twenty years older.

  Ignoring me, she continued, “I know how important my father is. I’m not blind… When we go on trips, I’m pretty sure there are a few members of the CIA who travel with us. I’m aware that with one word, he could cause the entire foundation of the CDC to sink or swim. He’s one man, Mr. Worthington, with a brain whose brilliance is equivalent to ten geniuses. He could launch a rocket to space if he wanted to. But he’s my father, Mr. Worthington – before he became the 21ST century’s Einstein – he’s my father first and foremost.”

  Removing herself from the back of the couch, she lifted the edges of my shirt and pulled it off her body. I averted my gaze from the red silk bra sticking out of her outfit, and my gaze traveled back to her damp lips.

  “Why is my father scared, Mr. Worthington?”

  “Webb.”

  “Does he have a reason to be?”

  “Yes,” I stated, swallowing thickly. She’d uncrossed her legs and since her skirt was so short, it offered me a scenic view of her matching red panties.

  Plain? Hell no.

  No plain woman wore sexy pieces of underwear.

  “He must trust you…” Her eyes darkened, turning her iris closer to brown, lesser of the green. I’d zoomed in once on her face when she was dancing in her living room just out of curiosity and noticed that when she was dancing, her eyes looked vivid green, but it also changed to brown when she calmed down.

  “As long as he needs me to, I will protect you.” Letting my words sink in to my distracted mind, affirming myself of the task at hand – the color of her underwear, the wetness of her lips, the fullness of her breasts, the creamy white thighs exposed by her dress – I should never let my mind wander to these.

  If there was a lingering doubt that I’d be calling Estella tonight, the fact that my mind was being ruled by the head under my boxers was the definitive yes.

  “Is he safe?” She crossed her legs again, her hands fidgeting with the top of the couch.

  “I think so.” I haven’t had the chance to talk to him again after our call was interrupted. There was a high probability that he was already under surveillance, maybe more so now that he himself had recognized the threat, that even Athena needed protection.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask of me, but please just keep him safe. For me.” For the weeks I’d watched her, I had become familiar with her expressions – the unabashed joy her face made when she smiled, the air of freedom when her mouth quirked in laughter. But I’d never seen this – the masked expression she was giving me, the resolute, almost powerless way she was telling me, as if she had no choice.

  “Athena…” Standing up, I walked closer to her side, “Your father will be safe.” If I had to call in all my connections to guarantee his safety, I would.

  Giving me a sidelong glance, she nodded her head. Then slowly she raised her legs, resting her chin on her knees, and tucking her arms over her legs, a freefall of tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  Three hours ago, she’d thought she was living a normal college life, attending her first frat party.

  Two hours ago, her dream guy was forced to go to sleep by a stranger.

  Just over an hour ago, she was forced to ride on the back of a bike of a man whose name she didn’t even know.

  I’d been hardened by the evils of war, disheartened by the duplicity of people I had trusted with every fiber of my being.

  I aimed to kill.

  Pity was not in my vocabulary.

  But for some disguised, inexplicable reason, my feet found its way to the other side of the couch and my arms extended open…reaching for her, enveloping her trembling body, holding her close until all I could hear were the even, tempered sounds of her breathing.

  I was twenty years old when I’d entered the Navy.

  The same age as she is now.

  Filled with dreams, buoyed with hopes, teeming with aspirations.
<
br />   Where was that man now?

  Only nine years had passed, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

  With all the pain and suffering she’d been through, she still glowed as luminous as the hottest, brightest star.

  I won’t let the night take you away, Athena.

  You would experience life to its fullest.

  You’d stay in the sun.

  Your spirit would not be broken.

  Not like the rest of us.

  Not like me.

  “Hey, you wanna hang out with us after practice?” Denton asked, his tall frame leaning against the wall of the side entrance to the gym. He was already wearing the maroon-colored jersey with the number 13 emblazoned on the front which meant that he only had a few minutes to get to the basketball court.

  I wiped the sweat off my brow with a small towel, replying, “Where at?”

  I’d been running for fifteen minutes. Normally the humidity was low, but for some reason today the air felt sticky and extremely hot.

  “We could grab some Mexican food downtown. There’s a new place that opened. Mario said the food’s pretty good. Or we could go try this cool Vietnamese place.” Pushing off the wall, he stretched his legs, and fiddled with his phone, his green eyes moved behind me before landing on mine again, “So, you coming with us?”

  I grabbed my cellphone from the right side pocket of my blue workout pants and gestured with my hand, “Hold on.”

  For the past two weeks, Denton asked me out at least five times and we’d gone out twice. Going out with him was contingent on Webb’s agreement. I’d meant what I said, that I’d do anything he asked if he kept my father safe.

  I texted Webb. Is it okay if I go out with friends tonight?

  His response came a second later. Where?

  I knew he was nearby. He was never out of reach. He’d revealed to me that there were guys following us when he had me hitched up on his bike. He was still trying to figure out why there was a sudden interest in me and I had no doubts that the minute he knew; he would tell me.

  Webb was…a man of very few words, but when they came out of his mouth, he made them worthy of my time.

  I knew nothing about him, except for a few random facts I’d gathered on my own, because I spent time googling him on the internet. What I’d gleaned on to were pieces of information that I had no idea if he would ever tell me, and since he’d told me his full name, I was able to do some quick searches and landed on some details about his life. He was the son of a famous German opera singer, a woman named Magdalene Webb. He had a few pictures of himself with his mom at her concerts at Deutsche Opera Berlin and when she was a part of the Bavarian State Opera before her early retirement. In all the pictures with his mother, Webb had looked so young. It seemed like he’d always held an imposing figure, that even at a young age, I estimated him to be 10, 12 years old at the most, his presence was irrefutable. He’d looked at his mother the way a young boy would, with so much pride and love. I gasped at a few pictures because they showed him smiling. When I zoomed in on them, he’d looked so young, boyish, and against his straight white teeth, he had two deep dimples on each cheek. It was impossible to believe that the man who could compete with The Grim Reaper in delivering bad news was the light, airy, khaki and plaid-wearing boy in the pictures. Other than being mentioned under his mom’s web link, there was no additional data available on him. No mention of his dad either.

  “Denton, what’s the name of the place? The Vietnamese restaurant,” I clarified, while seeing that Webb had sent another text asking where.

  It was a miracle that Denton didn’t remember exactly what happened the night he became The Sleeping Prince under a bunch of trees. He’d vaguely recalled the exact chronology of events and when I saw him the next day for class, I was apprehensive that he was going to ask me about it, but other than ascertaining if I was okay, he’d said nothing.

  Maybe it was because he was embarrassed. Whatever it was, I was just grateful he didn’t ask.

  “Pho Queen.” He reached for my waist, pulling me closer to him, and three weeks ago, I would have died and gone to heaven. “Please tell me you’re coming with.”

  Pho Queen was an up and coming Vietnamese restaurant. I never had Vietnamese food and I really wanted to give it a try.

  A few passing girls eyed us, with some of them doing a little wave at him while tossing flirty glances.

  I quickly typed in Pho Queen and got a speedy reply back.

  Okay

  Okay meant that I was cleared to go.

  He had to have eyes on me at all times and I wanted to make it easy for him. My dad was paying him to guard me 24/7, the least I could do was make it easy for him.

  “Seven-thirty okay with you?” I extricated myself from Denton’s hold, my sweaty scent was not a turn-on. He didn’t seem to mind though as he pulled me closer, leaning in for a kiss.

  The phone in my right hand vibrated again.

  “Ouch!” Denton exclaimed, rubbing his hand against his jaw. In my hurry to check my phone, I had stabbed his lower jaw with the hard magnetic cover of my phone case.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, tilting my head up to check the angle of the injury. It didn’t look like anything had dented his perfectly smooth jaw.

  Affording me a quick glance, he chuckled, “I can’t believe you fell for that one.”

  I made a small fist and nudged his rib, “Get to practice, you liar. I’ll see you later tonight.”

  Rubbing a large hand under the right side of my mouth, his expression darkened, “Athena, is everything okay?”

  “Why do you ask?” Feeling my brows knit in inquiry. As far as I knew, as much as I could manage, I’d tried to act normal. As normal as a girl in college who was being kept under surveillance by a hulking guy who could outtalk a silent film and was being followed by unknown men could be.

  “You’re always on your phone…” he gestured his head towards the item-in-question in my hand. “I’ve never seen you so taken with that piece of plastic.” Metal actually.

  Speaking of the phone, my gaze landed on the screen with Webb’s text.

  He’s blocking my view. He needs to move. Now.

  I stepped to the side, following Webb’s orders. “Denton, there are some things I need to take care of and I just need to be on the phone.”

  “Sure.” The lackluster look he gave me indicated that he wasn’t buying my excuse. “You can tell me things, you know…I’m your friend too.”

  Bobbing my head, I took the small towel from around my neck and wiped the sweat that had started to form across my forehead. “I know. I just need to sort some stuff out.”

  Hoping to distract him from asking further questions, I stated, “I’ll see you tonight,” as I started marching away from him.

  He honed in on me with those deep green eyes, zeroing in on my face. “Alright.” He looked like he wanted to say something more but stopped.

  My feet stopped moving and I extended my arms above my head, inserting a few quick stretches as I watched Denton sprint towards the other side of our school, where he reigned as the king of the court.

  He was any full-blooded woman’s dream guy.

  He was a great guy – respectful, gorgeous, smart, and his jade-green eyes were the stuff dreams were made of and hearts beat for.

  But for the past few nights, I’d woken myself up, slowly touching my hands to my lips – lips that had kissed the hardened, rough skin of a man who held the toughest exterior, and during the extremely rare times when he wasn’t looking at me, I’d caught glimpses, cracks in his icy blue stare.

  He had that faraway look in his eyes coupled with a sullen expression. It was the same look my father had when he came back from an international research/medical assignment a few years ago. The look of sadness, of tragedy, maybe even death.

  My childhood friend, Cara, and I used to sing this song to each other a day or two before we knew we were going to undergo a procedure. I tried to match her voice; angeli
c, high, even when she had no energy. She said it was by a lady named Mary Hulefeld.

  “There’s a light inside of you, there’s a light inside of me.

  Together we can shine our light for all the world to see.”

  I was extremely surprised when my eyes met the familiar white blinds in my dorm room two days after I’d officially met Webb. I must have been so tired to not even notice that he’d driven and delivered my body to the comfort of my bed. I’d woken up to the loud sounds of Dyan talking to Webb, as if they were old friends. Dyan did most of the talking and Webb was just nodding his head.

  He’d flickered a glance at me and for a brief moment, I saw a tender recognition of my presence which left almost as quickly as it had appeared.

  From what I’d gleaned on from his explanation to Dyan, he’d basically told her the truth. Well half-truth. That he was a friend of my family and we hadn’t seen each other for years so my father asked me to show him around. After he’d left, Dyan joked, “If my family asked me to show him around, he’d never leave the tourist spots of my bedroom.” Sometimes I envied Dyan. She was so open, free-spirited, and the times she’d shared her sexual adventures with me and some of the girls on our floor during our weekly get-togethers, I felt a pang, a longing in my chest. I’d never had that. That single, breathless moment that Dyan had mentioned at first hurt like burning hell, but once you’re set and trained, it would give you the highest, most indescribable high. One that can only be achieved when two people are in that same moment, connected at the most intimate level.

  One more lap? My phone blinked, he was egging me on.

  He didn’t join me for my runs, but he’d started timing and counting the number of laps I completed by texting me my run times, usually linked with web pages on how I could increase my stamina and prolong my endurance.

  Jerk.

  One more? Try two more. Full ones, around the course, I replied back accompanied by a “fist” emoticon.

  Another buzzing. Get moving. The ground won’t run for you.

  Slave driver.

  Yes sir. Hut hut.

  My legs carried me to the side of the field where I started my run, past the bleachers where the metal reflected against my sunglasses.