Page 82 of The Bodyguard

I shake my head.

“None of those flowers were from them?”

I lay my head back on his chest in shame. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Jesus,” Ryder mutters and wraps his arms around me. “What about Gina?”

“No. She hasn’t even said anything to me.” I feel the sadness creeping back, but I don’t want to be sad when I’m with him.

“Ryder?”

“Hmm mm,” he answers.

“If I were your girl, how would you celebrate with me?” I ask, closing my eyes and going into my imagination.

“I’m not, sweetheart.”

“Please. Just pretend.”

He goes quiet and I feel him pull in a deep breath underneath me. Then, as he lets it out, he starts. “No flowers. Everyone has sent you flowers. I’d scoop you up and swing you around, telling you how fucking incredible you are.”

I smile against his chest.

“Then I’d carry you into our bathroom and pour you a bath and lift you into it.” Ryder says as his fingers drift down the side of my body. “It’s full of rose petals and shit.”

I giggle.

“And I’d pour you a glass of your favorite champagne and while you’re sipping on it, I’d prepare the Cheetos.”

“Cheetos?” I laugh, lifting my head.

His deep blue eyes meet mine. “I saw the bag in your trash can. You can be the fancy celebrity with everyone else, but I know you nibble on Cheetos.”

I try to hold back my smile but fail.

He grins at me.

My fingers go to his dimples as my eyes roam his face. “You are so handsome. How are you not a model?”

He grips my wrist with just the right tension. “Because, sweetheart, I was fighting for our country instead. Killing the bad guys.”

“Did you?” I ask softly.

“Yes,” he answers after a moment.

“Thank you.”

His eyes dart away.

“What?” I ask, feeling his body tense.

“I fucking hate it when people say that. It’s bullshit. No one means it. No one really knows what it’s like to willingly head into gunfire or enemy territory. Or watch a wom—”

I know my face has paled; I can feel it.

I want to cry and hold him and take away all the horrible things he’s seen and done. But he’s right. While we might think we mean it, do we really?

I mean, really?

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