Page 30 of South Beach Bodyguards

Shivering from his breath tickling my ear, I watched Ryan walk away from me. Damn, he was so hot. Spring Breakers buying potato chips and souvenirs turned en masse to watch him stroll past. The girls were my age, in bikini tops and sarongs, tanned and waxed and polished. He didn’t even glance their way, which gave me more satisfaction than it should. But it was a good thing he didn’t, because I was starving and being hungry did not make me the most rational person on the planet. I tended to waver between wanting to burst into tears and wanting to cuss someone out when I was this many hours out from food.

I felt my hunger in my soul, but even that grumbling distraction didn’t stop me from rejecting the idea of putting on a bikini with an American flag on it. I was not in a Budweiser commercial. Grabbing a basic red bikini I went to find Ryan. He had three different bottles of sunscreen in his hands.

“Are you going for totally skin cancer free forever or for just don’t turn my nose to Rudolph?” he asked.

“Somewhere in the middle. How about SPF 30? I haven’t been out in the sun much recently. Now let’s go before I eat my arm.”

“I can think of better things you can eat.”

I had walked into that one. But I was still flustered by it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.”

Yes. But I was unnerved by Ryan in the role of flirt. I knew he’d seen me naked. He’d told me as much more than once, and I had my weird hazy dream memory of strolling around with no clothes on, but it was still hard to wrap my head around. Then I thought about me. I thought about who I was, and what I wanted. Why I struggled to pull myself out of the shadows. I didn’t think of myself as painfully shy and I wasn’t necessarily quiet around people I knew. I was just observant, studious, always the one with an opinion that was slightly different from the masses. I could hang out with the girls like the crowd I’d seen ogling Ryan. I had friends. But I couldn’t play those girl games and never had been able to.

My shyness was more the result of me knowing I wasn’t drop dead gorgeous like my mother, with her innate feminine wiles. Men and women instantly warmed to my mother, but that didn’t happen to me. I thought too much about what I was saying, self-consciously weighing my words. It made me unintentionally reserved. But if I wanted Ryan to know me, the real me, I had to just be me. So I took the sunscreen out of his hand. “You’re right. I’m lying. You mean I should eat you? Is that what you want?”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a good place to start.”

“I want my lunch first. Then maybe we can talk about it. I’ll explain my reasoning for changing my mind.” I wanted to be reasonable, not childish. It had been my idea, then my retraction. He should get to hear the why behind it.

“And I’ll explain all the reasons why your reasons don’t matter.”

“We’re going to debate my virginity?”

He frowned. “I didn’t think that was up for debate.”

“That’s not what I meant. I most definitely am. By the Webster definition.”

“You know the Webster definition? Can you tell it to me because I sure in the hell don’t.”

“A person who has never had sexual intercourse.”

Ryan shuffled a little, clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest, beach towels still in his hands. “Got it.”

“Are you embarrassed?” I asked, suddenly amused. “I think you’re actually blushing.”

“I’m not blushing. Give me a break.”

He was so blushing. It made me feel on more even footing with him. Seeing a six foot five man packing a gun, with enough muscles to go a round with a UFC fighter, get flustered from discussing virginity, was comforting. Apparently he could discuss sex all day, but lack of sex? That was embarrassing. Whereas I could openly talk about my so-called “v card” status but got squeamish when we got into details. Together we could find some kind of happy medium.

“You’re very cute when you blush,” I said, reaching up, going on tiptoes, to pat his cheek.

Ryan jerked away from my touch. “Stop saying that. I’m not blushing and I’m not cute. I am not a puppy, Is. I’m the opposite of cute. I was beaten with an ugly stick at birth and then made it worse by having my nose broken.” He suddenly looked amused. “I’d say I have a face only a mother could love, but that’s ironic considering mine left.”

That upset me on his behalf. “That’s not funny. Don’t say that. You’re cute to me, and clearly your mother was just a selfish bitch to walk out on you. I hope she’s miserable.”

I wasn’t in the habit of trash talking someone’s mother, but there was something completely lacking in any parent, male or female, who just left their child. It was against nature and Ryan could joke about it all he wanted, I knew it had to bother him.

His expression softened. He tucked my hair behind my ear. “Thanks for thinking I’m cute. You’re pretty damn cute yourself when you’re being indignant. Now let’s get in line and pay for all this crap.”

I wanted to say more, but I’d said enough. He would shut down if I pushed it. I knew enough about men to know that at least.

Ryan insisted on paying for everything, even though I protested. The cashier told me in Spanish that I should let him pay if he was offering. She teasingly called me crazy. She was probably right.

After a quick pitstop at Ryan’s to change, we walked the three blocks to the beach. North Beach was never as crowded as South Beach, and on a Wednesday in January the crowds were thin. The water was most likely too cold for native Floridians, but the sand was warm. We camped out and the first thing I did was eat my sandwich. I pretty much destroyed everything in the cooler, toes curled in the sand, butt on my towel.

Ryan ate slower than me and I didn’t even care. I was starving. Immediately I felt better. My headache dissipated within the first five minutes of putting food in my mouth, and the tension in my shoulders eased. I sighed as I popped a grape in my mouth. “I didn’t know the drugstore sold food. That’s random, but this works for me.”

---