Page 39 of Damaged Protector

Her blonde eyebrows lifted. “Wow, you’re quite the wild woman, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am,” I said with a small shrug and a big grin. “Besides a glass of champagne a few times at weddings, the only other time I’ve drank was on my twenty-first birthday.”

“Just always make sure you’re in a safe environment to drink, and don’t overindulge just because you can.”

I nodded my acknowledgment. “I won’t. I actually stopped drinking when I began to feel a little tipsy.”

“Good. It’s easy for someone to go a bit crazy once they get a taste of freedom, but you’re a very bright and disciplined young lady. Just stay true to yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, giving her a snappy salute.

Merrit laughed. “Anything else you need to talk about?”

“Hmmm, I don’t think so. We’ve covered dance, ice cream, and alcohol. That’s probably enough for one day.”

“One more thing. You said you’re living with a he. Are you okay with that?”

Her question surprised me but not as much as my answer. “Yes, it’s fine. It’s only temporary until I can move in with Cam and Shiloh, but Hawk is…” What is Hawk? So many things. “He’s a good friend,” I finished.

“That’s good.”

“I have to admit, I was a little intimidated at first, but I’m very comfortable here now.”

“And safe?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Completely.”

“What’s that?” Hawk asked that evening when he got home from work and found me in the kitchen. He peered into the clear plastic bowl with his face scrunched into a frown.

“It’s called a salad,” I said flatly. “Surely you’ve heard of them.”

His dark eyes narrowed on me. “I have. Why is it in my kitchen?”

“To eat. People generally use a fork, but if that’s too complicated, I can get you a spoon.”

His beard quivered with the effort to restrain what I knew was a smile. Patting his huge arm, I said, “Don’t worry. There’s also lasagna.”

“Good. Thought you were trying to turn me into a fucking rabbit.”

“God forbid. I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said smartly.

“You’re annoying,” he retorted.

“And you’re dirty,” I shot back, my eyes taking in his attire for the first time. He was wearing a dark-blue polo with DFW Security Force on the left side of the chest and khaki pants that were filthy and ripped at the knees.

“Had to tackle someone today,” he explained, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m going to get changed.”

I was left in the kitchen with a stunned expression on my face. Shaking my head, I slid the pan of lasagna into the oven. When Hawk returned, he was wearing gray athletic shorts and a black tank top.

“You’re bleeding!” I screeched, pointing at his bloody knees.

He looked down like he was noticing for the first time. “Just some scrapes. No biggie.”

My eyes were pinned to the dried rivulets of blood that had dripped down his thick calves. “Scrapes, my ass.”

He stepped toward me, and my gaze was drawn up, up, up, to his furrowed brows. Gripping my shoulders firmly, as if to hold me up, he asked, “Are you going to faint, Little Bee?”

“What? No! Of course not. The sight of blood doesn’t bother me.” My lips pressed together, and my voice softened. “You’re hurt.”

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