Page 17 of South Beach Bodyguards

“I had a head injury.”

“I don’t think a head injury makes someone want to be sexy.” I glanced down at her full lips, wondering what they would taste like. “I think you should let Julia out to play more often. Maybe merge the two of you together. And for the record, you’re just as beautiful as your mother.”

I expected further blushing and demurring. But she just met my stare, nostrils flaring. “You just told me to keep my clothes on back at your apartment. Which is it? Do you want sexy Julia or shy Isabel?”

The truth was, I wanted both. I wanted a merger, just like I’d suggested. I wanted Julia to stroll around my apartment naked and do amazing things with her mouth, and I wanted sweet Isabel to show concern for me, have a conversation with me. It was the perfect combination if I were looking for a girlfriend, which I wasn’t.

I didn’t know how to do a real relationship and if I attempted it, I was going to fuck it up, and I could never do that to Isabel. She deserved a good dude, some college guy, who had a future that didn’t involve guns and bullshit and questionable money shifting. She deserved a guy who didn’t look like a Russian thug in a Rocky movie, and who was a good hugger. Because she basically walked around looking like she needed a hug.

That wasn’t me. So no matter what my dick was saying, I had to make my stance clear. “I don’t want either one. That’s not my point.”

It sounded harsher than I meant it to, and her face made that clear.

Her mouth dropped open.

I wanted to apologize, but I stopped myself. If I did, I would end up awkward hugging her, and then because I felt awkward and because she was so short and cute and sexy I would kiss her. Then suddenly I’d have her on the bed and I would take her, all of her, then I would bolt post-sex and be cold and remote and she would be hurt.

So I kept my fucking mouth shut.

Hurt her a little now or a lot later. I’d stick with hurt her a little.

I stared up at Ryan, my neck cramping. In my fantasies about Ryan I seemed to have shrunk him down in size a little. He was huge. I’d also made him a little less of a prick. He was blunt. And maybe I overly sensitive, but he didn’t seem to think much about my feelings.

“If you don’t want me, either one of me, then mind your own business.” It didn’t sound sassy, like I intended. My voice just sounded shaky and hurt. So I turned and continued into my room. I wished Ryan would just wait downstairs for me and not stand there in the doorway, watching. Judging.

There was no telling what was going on in his head, because his face was a stoic mask. I had only seen him break that expression once when I thought I had perceived lust in his eyes, but now I wasn’t even sure. I had probably just imagined it because that’s what I wanted.

“It’s my business because it’s my job and because my father cares about your mother.”

That was the sound of all my delusions shattering. “How long am I going to be stuck staying at your place?” I asked, flustered. I went for an overnight bag from my closet. I hoped it was not going to be longer than a night because I was really uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“A couple of days.”

That wasn’t so bad. I could survive that. Part of me wanted to just call my mom and put a stop to the whole damn thing, but then a second part of me wanted to be around Ryan. I couldn’t help it. That wasn’t even the drunk Julia side of me. It was my true self, the one who had noticed that Ryan was loyal, hard working. The one who wanted to climb him like a tree and find out for myself what it was like to have a man deep inside me.

In other words, the daydreamer who spent far too much time analyzing statistics at school, and not enough time talking to guys.

Also, I couldn’t lie. I was the girl who couldn’t watch horror movie or crime TV and I didn’t read suspense novels. I freaked myself out too much and wound up sleeping with the lights on. The thought that I could be in danger, crazy as it may seem, was terrifying when I allowed myself to think about it.

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“This used to be my room,” Ryan said.

I knew it was his room. That’s why I had chosen it. It had made me feel like I knew him in some way. That we shared a secret. My bedroom wasn’t particularly representative of me. I’d left the blue paint intact and hadn’t removed his belongings from the bookcase and walls. He had walked out after high school and left everything behind and I had just moved in around it, adding my own artwork and personal photos to the walls next to his sports posters and bikini models.

“I know.” I pulled my drawer open and grabbed a couple of tank tops.

Ryan fingered a baseball trophy on the bookcase. “You could have packed all this stuff up and tossed it or given it to my dad.”

That made me stop what I was doing and forget all my embarrassment. “Why would I throw out your stuff?” I asked, astonished. “These are your memories.”

Ryan pursed his lips and flicked the signed photo of a former Miami Dolphins quarterback. Dan Marino. The quarterback with the perm. I had to admit, I wouldn’t mind taking that down.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “Because this is your room now, not mine?”

“If it bothered me, I would have picked a different room. I don’t like blank walls. I like clutter. History.”

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