Page 19 of Bodied

“So,” she said to the back of Wesley’s head, “what do you think?”

He turned to see her and was on his feet in seconds. Lauren expected a snarky comment followed by mild approval, but Wesley seemed unable to say anything at all. His jaw dropped, and she glanced down, thinking she’d had some kind of wardrobe malfunction without noticing. She blushed, embarrassed. Then she blushed even harder when she realized what was really going on. There was no wardrobe malfunction. Wesley was just stunned.

He confirmed it with his clumsy attempt to say something. “I… You look… Wow.”

She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but the way he was looking at her made it almost impossible. “Thanks, I guess,” she muttered. “It’s just for the symphony. My mom will expect me to be dressed up.”

Wesley managed to close his mouth long enough to say, “Well, she won’t be disappointed. You look great.”

“Thanks again,” Lauren said, grabbing her nicest coat from her coat closet. “Now, let’s go be extremely boring and serious for three hours.”

Wesley wore the same suit Lauren had purchased for him weeks ago. It seemed to be the only formal wear he had, which wasn’t too surprising. What did surprise Lauren was how much better he seemed to look in it. Had he gotten it tailored? Was his posture better? What was it? Suddenly, she couldn’t stop staring at him. Even in the car on the way there, she kept glancing over at him, noticing the way he carried himself. Something had to be different, and there was no chance it was her.

At the symphony, Lauren and Wesley sat in Anne Bartlett’s box beside one another. The rest of Anne’s security team stood around them in uniform, but Lauren insisted that Wesley be allowed to embrace his role as the boyfriend, so he got to sit with the other patrons.

The performance meant nothing at first, and then Lauren started to listen, to really hear it. Something moved her more than she would have expected. The violins swelled, and so did her heart. Normally, she would have made every effort not to show that she’d been moved by anything set up by her mom. But this time, for some reason, she felt more comfortable being vulnerable. Maybe because, for once, she didn’t feel she was completely alone.

She reached over and touched Wesley’s hand. He would only think she was playing her role, so it was more than safe. But when he took her hand and let his fingers slip between hers, she suddenly felt less like this was a role either one of them were playing. His eyes glassed over the same way hers had, and he squeezed her hand almost too tightly. She definitely wasn’t alone, she realized. The music was getting to him, too. For the first time, the two of them were interacting at one of her mom’s events in a way that wasn’t just a joke. It was a real, genuine connection, and that scared Lauren more than everything else she claimed to be worried about.

When the symphony was over, she let Wesley drive her home in silence and waited while he swept her bedroom. Then, before he left for the night, she decided to go to bed. She didn’t want to talk to him about anything that had happened that night. “Lock up, will you?” She tossed him a key. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sure.” He glanced down at the key and then back up at her, confused. “But are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’m just tired. Goodnight.” And she left him alone in her living room without another word of explanation.

CHAPTER9

WESLEY

Wesley pulled up to Lauren’s apartment, dressed in his jogging gear as usual, and waited for her to emerge like he’d done every morning since he’d been assigned to her. Five minutes passed, and he began to get irritated. She was rarely late. He didn’t want to worry and wished she would have at least texted him to let him know she was going to be late this morning. Not that she owed him that. Ten minutes later, he was done waiting.

He grumbled the entire way to her apartment building’s main entrance. She was forcing him to deal with the front desk, which he did not appreciate. There was no chance she had snuck out the back again, was there? She had to know better by now.

“I’m here for Lauren Bartlett,” he said to the concierge.

Luckily, the man seemed to remember him. He rounded the desk and headed straight for the elevators without a word to Wesley, who spent most of the ride up to her floor worrying about what her not showing up for her morning jog could possibly mean. He worked himself into a panic by the time he reached her front door and wound up pounding on it with more force than was probably necessary.

She didn’t open the door.

Wesley knocked again, harder, but there was no response from inside. “Lauren, I’m not knocking again. You have ten seconds to open the door before I open it for you.”

Luckily, she had given him a key. If she hadn’t, he would have been forced to kick the door down, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. This whole situation was really starting to freak him out. He unlocked the door and made his way inside, his hand near his weapon, at the ready. The place was too quiet. The kitchen was a mess, and an empty half pint of ice cream still sat on the coffee table alongside an open bottle of vodka and a shot glass.

“Lauren?” he said. “If you’re here, this isn’t funny.” He made his way down the hall, his hand even closer to his weapon now.

Wesley slipped into Lauren’s bedroom half expecting to draw his gun. Something wasn’t right here. His heart was pounding in his chest as he eased his way around the door. A lumpy shape was buried under the comforter in Lauren’s bed, and Wesley breathed a huge sigh of relief when he heard it breathe and saw it shift. She was fine. She was just… He listened again. She was crying?

“Lauren?” he said. “Are you okay?”

From deep within her blanket cave, Lauren whimpered. “Go away. I don’t want to see you right now.”

He let his hand fall back to his side and willed his adrenaline to slow down. “I thought you were in real danger. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She launched a crumpled, used tissue out from under her comforter. “Just go away already.”

Wesley wasn’t hearing it. He sat at the foot of the bed and made himself comfortable. “I’m going to sit right here until you come out with the truth.”

Slowly, she emerged from her blanket fort. Her face was red and puffy, her eyelids swollen and crusted with dried tears. She had clearly been crying most of the night. “It’s stupid,” she finally said. “I’m just a stupid, immature, spoiled princess. You were right from the beginning. I think way too highly of myself.”

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