Page 105 of Unexpected Hero

“I’ll follow you to ensure your safety. My car is over there.” He flips his thumb over his shoulder. “Wait for me before you pull out.”

“That’s what she said,” I mutter, unable to stop myself. Fortunately, he didn’t hear my immature joke since he was walking toward his car already.

He plants his feet and looks my way. “What was that?”

Maybe he did hear me.

But he doesn’t deserve my joke.

“I just said thanks.”

I’d like to tell him to kick rocks and that I don’t need an escort home. But my hotel is sketchy in the daytime, let alone this late at night. So I accept his offer with the manners I was raised with.

He nods and retreats toward his car.

Once I’m behind the wheel, I tap out a text to Stella to tell her I survived the shift and am on my way home. We messaged back and forth throughout the evening until about an hour ago when she said she was falling asleep. But she made me promise to send her a message when I was leaving the club and another one when I was home safely.

And unlike James, I don’t lie to my friends.

As he pulls onto the street behind me, I make a childish face in the rearview mirror, complete with my tongue sticking out.

On the drive home, I let the rush of getting through my first night at the club wash off me. I sing along to the radio at the top of my lungs, holding nothing back. It’s some type of endorphin blast or stress relief.

By the time we pull into the hotel parking lot, I’m not as petulant as I was when he insisted on following me home.

Part of me is tempted to confront him about his bullshit. But the other half is just too tired to deal with it. It can wait another day. It’s best for me to talk to Stella and get her take on the situation. She’ll help balance my knee-jerk, impulsive response so I don’t go off half-cocked and cause a big scene.

Before exiting my car, I bend over the seat and shove all my crap back into my purse. And on cue, James is standing there, silent as a tree and scaring the shit out of me. Again.

“Oh mylanta!”

On the bright side, I didn’t spill my purse this time. Hooray for small victories.

“Shh. Easy, Lettie. So jumpy tonight.”

I drop my hand from my chest and exhale with gusto. “Quit sneakin’ up on me.”

He holds his hands out in front of him. “Wilco.”

My nose wrinkles. “Huh?”

“Sorry. It means I will comply.”

Too tired to ask about the odd phrase, I roll my eyes. “Well, thanks for following me home.” I lower my chin and step to the side to walk around him. “Have a good night.”

Five or so feet from my car, I hear footsteps behind me. A glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, he’s following me.

I stop, and so does he.

In a huff, I turn around, some of my frustration seeping onto my face. My Southern manners are harder to tap into when I’ve been up for this many hours and put through an emotional wringer. “What are you doing?”

With zero inflection, he replies, “I’m following you to your room.”

I slope my head to one side. “Yeah. But why?”

He squints like he’s baffled. “To ensure your safety.”

My head falls, curving in an inverted arc. “Am I in danger or somethin’?” My accent slips out a bit stronger than normal, in part because of my fatigue and the other part because I’m getting as mad as all get out at his confusing treatment.

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