Page 3 of The One

“Not with air guns.” I snort a laugh but quickly cover it up with my hands. Still, I’m smiling behind them.

“See? Was that so hard? All you have to do is tell a small joke. Puts someone at ease.”

"I don't want to put people at ease, usually."

“Right, because you’re like a bodyguard.”

“Sure.”

I furrow my brows. “That doesn’t sound like a realsure.” This man is so confusing.

“A real sure?” Now it's him with a puzzled expression.

“I said ‘like a bodyguard,’ and you said ‘sure,’ but your sure didn’t sound like you actually agreed.”

“Never been a bodyguard.”

“Right.” I nod. “Wait, you’re not?” I feel like we go in circles a lot. For someone short on words, we seem to go around and around with them. I still have no clue what is going on.

"No."

"So you're not like"—I motion to my body—"guarding me?" This time, when he glances over at me, his eyes roam up and down. Probably noticing my stupid teddy bear pajamas. Well, only stupid now because I’m wearing them in front of this handsome as hell, manly man. Yesterday, I loved them, but no one but me saw me in them before. Except my new best friend, and she said they were cute.

“I’m doing more than guarding you.” What the heck is that supposed to mean? The giant warehouse door we pulled up to slides open, diverting my attention, so I don't even ask.

This does not seem safe. In fact, this is likely a haunted house. Not that I’ve ever been to one because I’m a total scaredy cat. All of my childhood, my brother loved playing pranks on me. It brought him complete joy and made me scream in terror.

Mr. Hulk pulls into the warehouse. The only light comes from the headlights as the door closes behind us. "Ah, I might be getting scared again," I admit.

“Angel, let—” Something lands hard on the vehicle's hood, cutting off Hulk Man, and I let out a scream that probably justwoke up all the ghosts in this building, alerting them to their newest victim's arrival.

3

CHURCH

For the first time in a long fucking time, a scream cuts through me. They are normally not something I pay much attention to. In fact, I can even tune them out. Not this time. Not hers. In the entry bay, the light in the warehouse starts to flicker on.

“Angel.” I try to soothe her, but I know I am failing. I don’t know how to calm someone down. I have spent my whole life doing the opposite: trying to instill fear in them, never mind soothing them. I flick her seat belt off, hoping that maybe not being constricted might help. It doesn’t. I grip her precious face between my hands to make her stare into my eyes. “You’re safe.”

She holds on to my wrist without attempting to pull my hands away, her face still etched with terror. The screams are a million little cuts to whatever soul I might have left inside of me. I don’t know what comes over me, but I have to get her to stop screaming. I can sense myself starting to become untethered by the sound.

I press my mouth against hers. The second I do it, it stops. A small gasp comes from her. I keep my mouth pressed firmlyagainst hers. Her lips are softer than I could have ever imagined. Everything about her is so damn soft. I could sink into her and get lost forever.

Angel's eyes start to soften. The terror is melting away as she leans toward me more. Looking for comfort? I don't know, but I don't want her to ever stop. A loud meow has her making a small jump, causing her mouth to leave mine.

That damn cat. I should have known that keeping it around would be a bad idea. I'm not sure why I did it, but I'm doing a lot of things that I shouldn't be doing. Not that I'm going to be stopping some of them.

"I think I'm okay," she whispers. I’m not sure if she’s trying to reassure herself or me at this point.

“Are you sure?” If not, I could kiss her again. It was quite nice. Getting into one’s personal space isn’t something I enjoy, but it often comes with the job. With Angel, I enjoy everything. She even smells nice.

“Was that a cat?” Angel tries to peek out of the corner of her eyes. I still have her face in my hands. She’s not trying to get away from me, but I know she wants to look for herself. I reluctantly release my hold on her, knowing that part of this battle I’m going into is winning her over. That’s new to me. I’m used to using brute force to get what I want.

“It’s a cat.” Angel peeks around, trying to find it. “Shall I get rid of it?” It was because of her that I acquired the cat. She would often draw these doodles in the corners of her papers of them. One had been roaming around outside. I thought she might enjoy having one. There had been no pets in her father's home.

The little asshole cat has grown on me over the past few days. Normally, when I say get rid of something, I mean send it to whatever maker they believe in, but I could drop him at a shelter. Consider making a donation to facilitate his adoption. He might be an asshole, but I like having him around.

“Get rid of him?” Her eyes widen, this time not in terror but in sadness.

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