Page 14 of South Beach Bodyguards

Shirt down and Isabel out.

five

I stood there and watched Isabel spin on her heels and leave my bedroom, in painted on skinny jeans and a bra that was bursting at the seams. She had done that on purpose. What the hell? Was she fucking trying to torture me? Because it was working. Ripping a pair of shorts out of my dresser, I stepped in to them, shoving my dick out of the way when it got caught on the zipper because it was so hard.

Bullshit. This was all bullshit. How did I get sucked into this and now why did I feel like Isabel was pissed off at me? I stepped into flipflops and went into the kitchen for my gun. I needed a cup of coffee and to get laid. I was wound up, tense, surly. My shower jack off hadn’t taken the edge off of the desire I felt for Isabel and I wanted nothing more than to grab that curvy ass of hers and pump into her, hard.

Keyed up, I ignored Isabel as she came out of the bathroom. I didn’t want to look at her and be both turned on and disgusted with myself. I jammed my gun into my waistband and grabbed my car keys off the countertop. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Can I have my phone please?”

Right. Her phone. “Who the fuck is that jackhole, Juan Carlos?” I asked, and I sounded like a dick. A huge, rude, jealous dickhead.

Isabel bristled. “Why do you care?”

Good question. “Because we’re trying to figure out what happened to you,” I said shortly. I got her phone out of the junk drawer where I had thrown it. “Here. Don’t delete anything.”

She made a face at me.

“Who is Juan Carlos?” I asked again.

“A guy I’ve gone on a few dates with.”

“Did you tell him you didn’t want to see him anymore?”

“Yes. Yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because we wanted different things.” She sounded a little flustered, but she didn’t explain any further. “I was kind of vague about it though. I don’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“Does he frequently send you dick pics?”

She made a sound of exasperation and bent her head over her phone. “That is none of your business.” She swiped and then started typing.

I waited but she didn’t say anything else. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting my mother!”

“Oh.” That would be me, feeling like a douchebag. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She blew her hair out of her eyes and tucked her phone into her pocket. “I’m ready.”

I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary outside, so I just ushered Isabel to my car, putting my hand on the small of her back. She shifted out of my touch and I knew I’d lost points with her after gaining some by helping her through the asthma attack. My confession over seeing her naked hadn’t gone well. I wasn’t sure if she was upset or embarrassed or if she thought I was a pervert or what. I just knew she wasn’t happy and damn, I didn’t like that.

When I opened the door for her and she climbed into my car, I leaned way down so I could see her. “Hey. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you what I did.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she said shortly.

“I don’t believe you,” I told her, scoffing. It was clearly a big deal. I just didn’t know why it was a big deal.

She didn’t say anything, just blinked up at me.

“Okay, then.” I shut the door. I got in the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Do you want some coffee? I need a cup.” Or twelve.

“No, thanks. It’s kind of hot today for January.”

It was. The temperature was already past eighty and it was only eight in the morning. But unlike a lot of January days, where the breeze cut down the heat index, the air felt still, muggy. “They do iced coffee, too. It’s a thing.”

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