Page 3 of Don’t Fall For A Bodyguard

Lennie: I’m Payton, Lennie’s hubbbiiiieeee. We’re marrrrrrriiiiieed!!!! Loookie!

“Oh. My. God. How did this happen?” I squeaked.

“You were downing shots at the after-party like it was spring break!”

“Don’t yell!” I shouted, making my head throb even harder. Then another memory flashed in my head. “And hey, I wasn’t the only one. You were drinking along with me!”

“Jesus, I’m never doing that again.”

“Fuck,” I blurted out, running a hand through my curls. “But how did we end up getting to, you know, that?—”

I pointed to his hand, unable to say the word.

“Married?” Lennie stated with a raised eyebrow. “Right now, I have no freaking idea. But I have a feeling that by tracking my phone, texting Valen, and getting much-needed coffee, it’ll eventually come to me.”

“We can fix this,” I insisted. “Or maybe it didn’t happen at all? Maybe we bought cheap rings and posed as a joke?”

Lennie took his phone again and tapped on it. Then he showed me another picture. It was me and Len, signing what looked to be a marriage certificate. Both of us glassy-eyed, with ridiculous grins on our faces. Holy hell.

“Ah, shit!” Lennie exclaimed and sat down on the bed.

“What?”

“The chapel. I remembered. That’s where Brodie and Van got married. I must’ve overheard Regan or Dawson talk about it.”

Regan was Lennie’s boss, and Dawson was his former colleague. Dawson was now married to Wayward guitarist, Iain Holloway.

Lennie’s phone rang again. ‘Mom’ flashed on the screen.

“I’ll leave you to that,” I suggested, all but running to the bathroom, the sheet around my waist. “Shower first. Then we need to find a divorce lawyer.”

“The sooner the better.”

I whirled around at the last minute.“But I’m keeping the ring!”

CHAPTER 2

LENNIE

Isat on Payton’s bed, pillow on my lap, staring at my phone like it was about to detonate. Judging by the number of calls and texts over the past several hours, it was already too late.

My mom was calling for the tenth time in the past hour. I tapped decline and set my notifications to vibrate. I’d call her later. Much, much later. Fuck, my entire Italian family was gonna ream me out good. The replies had already started thanks to myhusband’sdrunken antics with my phone last night. They’d be happy as fuck to see me married, but eloping? That was a big no. Weddings were sacred. And when they found out that this was all a drunken mistake? I’d be saying ‘mi spiace’—I’m sorry—for the rest of my goddamn life.

Not to mention all the razzing from everyone in my security crew, including my boss, Regan, the other bodyguards, the guys in the band…

As I sat there and rubbed my head, memories of last night flickered in my mind, with more and more details coming to light. I’d drunk a lot, but not as much as Payton. I rarely drank and when I did, I didn’t overdo it. I’d sometimes been called up to work on protective detail with little to no notice, so it was safer to avoid alcohol. And being on guard, I was always awareof my surroundings. It was my normal. When I did drink, I could handle a lot of booze. Or so I thought. Until last night.

Turns out, it wasn’t the booze I couldn’t handle. It was Payton DeLaine.

No surprise there. The sexy blond hairstylist was a force all his own. He had confidence and style to boot. And that booty? Mmm. Fucking sinful. He was made for Sin City. Payton sparkled brighter than the neon lights that bejewelled the strip.

Except for last night.

I remembered that much, at least. He’d been sitting at the bar during the band’s after-party celebration, alone, downing shots at a rate that had me concerned. I was used to the party scene—I worked with rockstars, after all. But something was going on with Payton. He’d been quiet lately, not as flirty as he usually was. And he never drank heavily.

Even though I was technically off duty by that time, I monitored the situation, noting several men sitting at the bar, eyeing Payton. No surprise, the man was gorgeous, and when he walked into a room, everyone noticed. But, after an hour, Payton was so inebriated that he could barely stand up. When two strangers made their move on him, I intervened.

Protective wasn’t work mode. It was me. And something about Payton had all my vigilant instincts working overtime.

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