Page 114 of South Beach Bodyguards

“Do you need a ride home?” I asked her, my offer small comfort but sprung from genuine compassion for her.

She just ran out of the front door.

I didn’t know it at the time, of course, that my parents knew about Max’s other side as well. Every time I tried to rat him out or complain about his behavior, they always shut me down. Acted like I was imagining it, or exaggerating. Eventually I stopped trying, never knowing that they had fretted and talked and wondered and ultimately had decided the key was to keep him calm, and sweep up any messes he made along the way.

We were the Garcias, a regular working class family living in South Miami, and we were harboring a sociopath.

And because we were all afraid to trigger Max, we ignored it.

And made it worse.

I watched Miranda repeatedly glance over at me, her smile warm, but uncertain. Lola Brandy’s suite was immense, with a balcony that wrapped around three sides of the building, offering views of the Biscayne Bay and downtown Miami. I loved the skyline at night. There was magic in the lights of Miami, dancing over the inky blackness of the bay. I had no desire to ever leave my hometown. Everything I could ever want was here—sunshine, the beach, clubs, women, music, food, money.

And now Miranda was even back.

Asking me to give her a baby.

The suite was filled with laughter and cocktails. Not a jam-packed party, but a dozen or so people mingling and chatting and lounging on the white leather furniture. Someday white furniture will go out of style in Miami, but not today. It was still the perfect backdrop for the deep blue of the bay.

Lola had changed out of the sequin jumpsuit into pajamas, but not like the kind you’d grab at Walmart. These were satin and luxurious, displaying her cleavage, and giving the air of Old Hollywood. I didn’t know much about her other than what you would hear when a musician was dropping a new album. Sound bites. But she seemed friendly and not pretentious.

I was nursing a beer and moving from group to group, talking, laughing, watching. It was one of my best skills—being social under any circumstances. I introduced myself, answered questions about being a bodyguard, flirted mindlessly with a backup dancer named Zoe who had hit on me. But all the while all I could think was that Miranda had punched a hole into my stable life and squeezed my heart and my dick simultaneously. Not a good fucking feeling.

Miranda made her way to me, still wearing the stage costume. I thought it was weird that there were no arrangements for her to change when Lola herself had clearly ditched the sequins. But in my business as a bodyguard I had spent plenty of time around rich people and a huge percentage of them did shit that made no sense to a regular Joe like me. Or a regular Alejandro. The thought made me smile.

“You okay?” she asked.

I knew what she was asking. If I was upset with her. But I wasn’t going to address what she had sprung on me here at this pop star post-concert get together. “Of course. How are you?” I gave her a smile and gestured to her feet. “Aren’t your dogs barking?”

She gave a little laugh. “I had forgotten how much you sound like my grandfather. No, my feet are fine. I’m used to dancing and walking in heels around the clock. But thank you. How is the beer?”

Miranda had retreated into polite. Fine by me for right now. My thoughts were swirling into dark and dangerous places and I didn’t need to have an emotional scene go down here. “It’s wet.”

Like I wanted her to be. Wet and writhing in ecstasy beneath me. Open to me, physically and emotionally. Eyes glassy with desire. Heart full of love.

Oh yeah. Not a goddamn thing had changed in the three years since I had seen her last. I still craved Miranda with every inch of my oversexed body. Maybe I even wanted her more because now she was a woman and I was a fully-grown man and I knew, I just fucking knew, that if she could forget my dickhead brother had ever existed, I could satisfy her. Love her.

I drained my beer and set it down on the wet bar, with a harder slap than I meant to do. It drew the attention of Miranda, who looked alarmed, and Lola, who glanced up from the sofa.

“Miranda, bring your friend over here so I can meet him.” She smiled and waved us over.

I didn’t wait for Miranda’s response, who seemed to hesitate, but strolled over to Lola. “Hi, I’m Alejandro. Thanks for letting me join the fun.”

“Thanks for keeping us all so safe.” She took a small sip of her champagne and winked. Still in full stage makeup, she was a lot of false eyelashes and bronzer. But you could see the natural beauty there in the high cheekbones and the amber-colored eyes. “Those are some guns you have there,” she added, gesturing to my biceps.

“Fully loaded.”

Lola laughed at my over-the-top answer. I was flirting and she knew it. Probably expected it. “Let me feel them. Take your jacket off.”

Hey, I work out. Nothing wrong with a little appreciation for it. Besides, it wasn’t like Miranda cared what I did or with who. She just wanted my sperm, not me. Was I pissed off about that? Hell yeah. It’s a weird thing to have someone say they want to recreate your likeness in the form of an infant, but they don’t actually want you.

I wanted a reaction from Miranda. Maybe just a little jealousy. So I stripped off my jacket and tossed it on the coffee table. “Shirt too?” I asked Lola.

“Of course not!” Miranda said. “This isn’t Chippendales.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lola said. “If he’s willing, I’m wanting.”

I shrugged. “I don’t mind. This is Miami. I’ve had stranger requests than this.” I gave Miranda a side glance. She blushed.

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