Page 9 of Chalk Outline
“You better not piss someone off on Halloween night. You know, too many incidents, a lot of fake blood and skeletons. Today is not the day to fuck around and find out.” I wink and pat the warm hood, but I perk my ears when a low laugh drifts from the street.
I stride forward, my eyes searching between distant trees.
There’s no one out there that I can see.
Yet.
“Whatever you say,” the driver mutters.
“Come on, let’s go already!” the girl in the back exclaims. “See you at the party.” She pops her bubble gum and waves at me as I glance at her over my shoulder.
Crumpled leaves crunch under my boot as I reach the curb beneath the flickering streetlight. The tires of the jeep screech again as they race toward the party at the end of the street, and a black SUV with tinted windows follows closely behind.
“See, you have a death wish.” My bodyguard claims as I kick and land my fist against the hard lines of his back repeatedly. He takes his sweet time lowering me against his toned body—its sharp cuts and tight muscles—before my shoe hits the ground. I skim my teeth over my bottom lip. I know he works like a maniac in our house gym, but damn. “If I’m bound to save you ninety-nine times a day, this job will be much more interesting than I thought.”
“That car stopped in time.” I wriggle out of his hold and push him away from me. “You don’t have to throw me over your shoulder whenever I’m in danger.”
Inching closer, his body heat cloaks me again, his face hovering over mine as I lift my chin in defiance and narrow my eyes at him. “I will do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.” He grits out with fire in his eyes, pulling me in like a moth to a flame. “If that wasn’t clear a year ago, I don’t play games. Your safety is my priority. Your body is mine to shelter. You. Are. Mine.” His minty breath reaches my parted lips, and I inhale it. Him.
My heart surges wildly in my chest. This feeling is unlike anything I have experienced before.
“No,” I reply with fierce determination. Waves of electricity surge between us, and my skin prickles with goosebumps. He remains expressionless, probably planning to get back at me for being a brat. “You just try to touch me every chance you get. You think you affect me, but you don’t.” It’s a complete lie, and he knows it.
A slight curl pulls at the corner of his lip. “So, I don’t get you wet?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. I fight the urge to bitemy bottom lip. Instead, I sink my teeth into my tongue hard. “Like the other day when you had a wet stain on your leggings and I had to walk behind you so no one would see.”
I curve my eyebrows in question because I have no idea what he’s talking about, but the incriminating gleam in his eyes tells me he doesn’t bullshit me. Blush creeps up my cheeks, so I fire the only thing that comes to mind, “The only wet thing is the sweat on my skin when I dance nonstop while you’re watching, enjoy the show. But you can do something for me if you’re sooo worried about my safety. Teach me how to protect myself.”
Narrowing his ice-blue eyes a fraction, he maps my soft features, memorizing each. “We’ll start tomorrow, so don’t get a hangover.”
“Ah, you—” I point and smack my finger down against my thigh at once. I don’t even like to get drunk anyway. “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, watching the joy pour out of his stupidly handsome face.
“You’re not even twenty-one. Don’t get worked up about it.”
“I’m at legal drinking age somewhere in the world.” I bite back.
Eyes blazing, he intentionally slams his front against mine, tilting my chin up with his forefinger and thumb. “I promise to buy you a drink when you get there.”
“What makes you think you will still be my bodyguard two years from now?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the next jab.
I find it charming that he takes his job seriously, but that talk-back brat in me just can’t let him have it his way.
“I’m not going anywhere, so we’ll have to wait and see,” he whispers, almost brushing our lips together.
He’s just turned twenty-one himself. He’s the youngest, most inexperienced bodyguard I’ve ever had, but my grandma trusts him more than anyone.
“Just blend,” I say casually, finishing the conversation.
“Enjoy the party.” His gaze shifts to my maroon-colored lips and then back to my aquamarine eyes as he slowly steps away.
My husband became my bodyguard when I turned eighteen. Despite his stubbornness and overprotectiveness, we got along quite well because we mirrored each other more than we cared to admit.
Leather rustles behind me as I walk forward. The wind blows through the row of bare trees lining the sidewalk. I grip my pocket knife tightly and slant my head, just enough to catch a faint shadow in my peripheral vision.
The contract I signed never specified when or where I would be taken away, and it’s been a week. I go out every night, waiting for them to come and get me. Whoever they are, they watch me closely. I can feel their laser gaze boring through me.
I count to ten and then spin on my boots, but there’s no one behind me—the street is empty, and a couple dressed like Jack and Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas on the other side appears to be heading toward the party.
Where are you?
