Page 93 of South Beach Bodyguards

Normally, ribbing didn’t bother me, but I was on edge. “Yeah, well, easy for you to say. Not everyone has a stepsister they can date. You didn’t even have to leave your house to nail her.”

Ryan’s nostrils flared.

Romeo’s jaw dropped. “Man, that’s a little rude. He wasn’t even living here, you know that.”

Yeah, I knew that. I was just being a dick because I was in a nasty mood. “What, everyone else is allowed to give shit, but I can’t? Fine, I’m heading out.”

I was going to drive by Olivia’s, make sure she was all right. That would let me sleep better. They all looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but no one argued with me. I left the Spanish-style house, for once not jealous of the cool-ass house Ryan had grown up in with his father, our boss at Miami Security, Mickey Harris. I always hated that I succumbed to such a petty emotion as jealousy, but today I could give a shit about not feeling like I fit in anywhere, that I had no childhood home. That I was the mixed race kid who didn’t belong with the Haitians, or the Latinos, or the whites, even though my genetics could be traced to all three.

None of that usual shit was on my mind because I was focused on Olivia.

What I didn’t expect to see when I drove past her building was her, leaving with a short brunette, both wearing short skirts and high heels. Olivia’s hair looked curled and fluffed and she carried a sparkly little purse. They were going out. Fuck and fuck. That seemed like a lousy idea. And clearly she wasn’t feeling as wrecked as I since she planned to hit the clubs for a girls’ night out.

So, I decided to follow her. Because I was protecting her. Not because I was jealous. Or anything like that at all.

Not jealous at all. Nope. Not even when she went into a hot club on Ocean Drive and danced with a parade of guys, while I hung back and watched her like a stalker. I felt like a stalker. I felt pissed off and horny and betrayed. My arm was throbbing and a glance down in the men’s room had showed it was enflamed and red. I should have used the antibacterial cream and bandages Olivia had bought me. She was right. I was stubborn.

I was drinking too much. I had a buzz from multiple shots of tequila. But every time some guy approached Olivia and she smiled or laughed, I needed a drink. The club was loud, the lights pulsating, and I had a headache back behind my eyes, mingling with the alcohol buzz in a bad romance that wasn’t going to end well.

The bouncer approached me and said, “Hey, man, you need to come with me.”

I reacted defensively. “I have a conceal and carry,” I said, assuming he was going to toss me because of my gun in the back of my waistband.

But he shook his head and thumbed in the direction of the offices. If Ricardo Davis owned this fucking club I was going to lose my shit. So I stalked over to the office with him, brimming with attitude. But once inside, when I could actually speak without shouting, I was speechless when I realized he was pulling out a first aid kit.

“Man, you can’t be bleeding all over the club. Airborne pathogens and shit. Just wrap your arm.”

I glanced down. I was bleeding again, a sluggish red river weaving around my elbow. “Sorry. I didn’t even realize it had opened up again.”

The guy was older, more like my mom’s age. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine.” Such a lie. I wasn’t fine at all. I was feeling things. Fucking feelings. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Maybe loosen up a little. Dance with a girl or something. That’s kind of the point of going to a club, you know.”

“I thought the point was to go and watch the girl you’re into dance with other guys until you got so drunk you made a scene and embarrassed the fuck out of yourself.”

He laughed. “Or you could do that.”

“Your idea sounds smarter.” I rubbed my head, thinking I needed to drink some water. I was getting too fuzzy for my taste, especially since I was carrying a gun. “I’m going to go get some water.”

He reached behind the desk and into a mini-fridge. “Save yourself the trip to the bar.” He tossed me a bottled water and I caught it.

“Thanks.” I held my hand out and shook his. “I owe you.”

Sometimes a total stranger got you to pull your head out of your ass more so than your own friends could.

I went back to my seat, chugged the water and debated whether I should catch an Uber. Olivia hadn’t seen me, but she didn’t look like she was going to be leaving anytime soon. I’d seen nothing suspicious or anyone I knew to be involved with Benito. Maybe I needed to take my sorry ass home.

But then after maneuvering around a group of girls, I came face-to-face to Olivia.

If I had been feeling irritated, the look of her face said she was downright furious.

It made me smile.

The fact that Wester could smile after stalking me all night like some self-appointed cock-block, made my head want to explode. When you’re in the midst of an identity crisis, suffering from PTSD, and completely wasted on vodka and Red Bull, the last person you want to see is the guy you hooked up with. Like those are just rules. If a girl goes out to forget about a guy, he has a lot of fucking nerve to be exactly where she is trying to get over him.

Not that I needed to get over Wester. I just needed to forget him and what had happened. Too buzzed to be discreet, I poked a finger into his chest. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Are you stalking me?”

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