Page 84 of South Beach Bodyguards

A little warning would have been nice. Fuck. I closed my eyes for a second as the fiery burn splashed all over me, seeping into the messy wound and sending my whole arm plunging into agony. I gritted my teeth and let the wave crest and recede. “What the fuck happened to ‘on the count of three?’” I asked.

“Oh, was I supposed to do that? Sorry.” She bit her lip. “Let me get a washcloth and clean up this blood.”

“In the bathroom.” I leaned against the counter and let her go fetch the towel. I needed a minute to pick my balls back up off the floor and recover. I took another sip of the whiskey. She could drive us to her house.

Olivia came back and I wasn’t so down and out I couldn’t appreciate the way she moved in a pair of jeans. She had slim hips and that firm little ass filled her jeans perfectly. Her T-shirt wasn’t as tight as I would have preferred, but she had big tits so they were clearly outlined. It was an inexpensive, simple and casual look that made her seem less rich and privileged than she had lounging in a five hundred dollar robe.

She was fussing with a handful of crap. “Your supplies are seriously lacking. I only found one gauze bandage but no medical tape.”

“I have duct tape.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “You want me to duct tape a bandage to your arm?”

I shrugged. “Why not?” It didn’t seem that big of a deal to me.

“Let me just clean it up and then we’ll go to the store. My treat as thanks for saving my life.”

I wasn’t going to say it… but then I did. “I could think of better–

She threw her hand up and glared at me. “No. Stop. Don’t be a creep. I’m over it, Wester. Seriously. Your douchebag charm isn’t going to work on me.”

That made me grin. “You like my douchebag charm and you know it.” She did. She found me frustrating, but she was attracted to me just as much as I was to her.

“I like you when you’re being normal, not acting like a hired escort.”

I snorted. “No one has ever accused me of that before. I don’t think I’d make much money if I were.” But even as I said it, I knew there was some element of truth to that. I had made myself an armor of douchebag pick up lines that I hid behind.

Olivia snorted. “I don’t know the going rate or what women are looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

She crossed her arms. “You’re doing it again.”

I was. Damn it. It was habit. I defaulted to flirt every time. I took another sip, letting the whiskey make it’s way down my throat. “So what do we do about it?”

Her eyes shuttered. “We’re going to go to the store and get bandages. Then drive to my apartment. Then I’m never going to see you again.”

I hadn’t expected her to just say it out loud. I was disappointed, no doubt. The counter was digging in to my back, but I refused to give up my casual stance. I kept my ankles crossed and watched her. She had a damp towel in her hand but made no move to use it on my arm. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

But her lip trembled.

“What if I see you at Ricardo’s? Are you going to pretend that we’ve never met? That I’ve never tasted you with my tongue?” I was pushing it, I knew it. But I wanted an acknowledgment by her that she was affected by me. It was selfish and rude, but I wanted it. I wanted her. And if I couldn’t have her, I at least wanted to know that she felt the same way.

Olivia didn’t back down. She didn’t roll over the way I wanted her to. “I’ll never see you at Ricardo’s because you know you’ve been fired. Plus, I’m never going back there. But even if by some chance I bumped in to you, yes, I pretend that we’ve never met. That you’ve never been inside me, on camera, in a locked room.” Her chin came up. “Because it was nothing. It meant nothing.”

That pissed me off. “Oh, yeah? Then why did you come if it was nothing?” Maybe I was tired of being nothing. That was the world I’d set up for myself because I was couldn’t stomach the idea of losing anyone else like Rachel, but I was craving more. A connection. I had felt that with her and I had been willing to get the hell over my fear. It made me angry that she wouldn’t admit that there had been something stirring between us.

“Fuck you,” she whispered. “Stop trying to humiliate me.”

That shamed me. “Olivia.” I pushed off the counter. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m sorry.” I strode toward her. “I just don’t want to let you go. Do you get that?”

She looked away, exasperated. “You can fuck anyone, Wester. Anyone.” She looked back, those dark eyes piercing me. “Go to South Beach and show off your gunshot wound. You’ll have women falling all over you in their cheetah heels.”

There was truth to what she said. That was my world. College was hers. I was the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, the Miami equivalent of the townie, and I was proud of that. My mother had worked hard for what she had and now I did the same thing. My father had disappeared when I was a baby and I had almost committed myself to a life of crime before going straight. I partied, I fucked, and I cared about no one. Nothing. Just myself and my mother. So no matter what I felt for Olivia, we weren’t a good fit.

Yet that didn’t stop me from saying, “I don’t want them. I want you.”

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