Page 123 of Sinful Like Us
Still, she’s so afraid to love me.
I don’t know why. Not completely.
I just don’t.
And a part of me is scared of the full-blown answer. Maybe that’s why I haven’t pressed her hard enough to give me one.
24
JANE COBALT
An outingalonewith my boyfriend should have been a recipe for a wonderful, epic day. It’s why I jumped at the chance to go grocery shopping for seventeen people.
No one wanted the task of driving an hour in sleet and rain to the nearest food market. Especially after being caught in a storm after location-scouting yesterday.
Maximoff already promised Farrow he’d spend todayindoorsby the fire, and Tony was all too happy to relinquish his duties as my bodyguard to “Banks” when I asked.
For Tony, I think the drudgery of having to watch me shop for green beans was the least appealing. Or maybe he’s finally conceding in this strange bodyguard cock-fight. I can only hope.
Biscuits and jams line wooden shelves in the small Scottish shop, and it’s just Thatcher and me. No cousins, no siblings, no other bodyguards. A dream-like scenario. Only this isn’t the epic, wonderful day I imagined.
We’re currently at a standstill in the pasta aisle, a shopping cart wedged between us, a literal and metaphorical barrier.
This isn’t our first argument, but this one feels different.
More intense.
Like the billowing steam of a geyser right before the eruption.
I clutch a grocery list, torn apart in two equal halves. Ten different handwritings are scrawled on the paper after being passed around the house.
“We can’t split up, Jane,” Thatcher tells me for the second time. His tone is definitive. No room for compromise.
“We can actually.” My fingers curl around the list. “I’ll take the dairy and produce. You stick to the middle aisles. We’ll cover more ground that way. It’s more efficient than wandering around the store together.” I check my pink wristwatch. “We’ve already wasted ten minutes trying to locate the ketchup.” All the brands are different than the ones I’m used to in the States.
His frown deepens. “I understand that. But you know how this works. I’m on-duty, which means you have to be in my sight at all times.”
I draw in a heady breath.
My first reaction: utter, unequivocalattraction.Dear God, I’m attracted to how much he’s around me. Always present like an ever-consuming forest fire.
My second reaction:shame.Guilt. Horrible feelings that compound on each other.
My head is telling me that I shouldn’t want these things. I shouldn’t want him around me all the time. I should be able to walk around a food market without my boyfriend.
Pressure assembles on my chest, and I follow my head. “We’re the only customers.” I stick to facts aboutsafety. “The one employee is up at the front register, and she looks like she was alive during the Fall of Constantinople. She’s hardly a threat. This market might as well have been bought out and shut down for us.”
“But it wasn’t. And I usually don’t have to explain my job to you—”
“You don’t now,” I say stiffly. My chest is on fire. I waft my sweater for more air circulation. I drop my gaze for a fraction of a second.
Thatcher watches me with intense scrutiny, his eyes an extra furnace engulfing me whole. “Is this really about groceries? Or is something else goin’ on?” His South Philly accent comes through. Dog tags rest against his blue jacket.
He looks like Banks, but he couldn’t be more Thatcher Moretti. Stern and bold and commanding.
I lick my wind-chapped lips, air barely passing between them. Oxygen is dead-bolted inside my lungs. “I…” Words fail me. This is so new and different and I’m battling with too many warring emotions.
Head vs. Heart. I’m a Cobalt. My head should always win.
