Page 65 of The Bodyguard Affair
“No,” I admit. It was always so quick, there was never even achance I could get there. “But that’s common. Seventy percent of women don’t come from penetration.”
He sits forward, mouth shaped into a grimace. “That doesn’t mean you should never come. There are many other ways.”
“It’s okay, honestly—”
“You don’t know how amazing you are. Any guy lucky enough to have a chance with you would be an absolute tool not to learn what you like and get you off. Bare minimum. If I were your boyfriend, I’d…” He trails off without finishing that statement. His hand flexes at his side.
“You’d what?” I dare to ask, leaning forward to meet his fiery gaze in a challenge, his knees just barely pressing into mine. It’s the smallest brush of skin, but it’s enough to set me ablaze.
He’s so close, I can make out the little rings of gold around his irises, the soft mossy hue that blends seamlessly into brilliant blue. I can smell the cinnamon on his breath as it feathers over my jaw, exploding in little shock waves over my skin.
I shift, crossing and uncrossing my legs, all too aware of the heaviness growing between them. Maybe it’s all the sex talk, but my brain has left the station. It’s long gone to a traitorous place. A place where all I can think about is what his lips would feel like. How the rough pads of his fingers would feel digging into my hips, skating up my thighs. How it would feel to be touched like no one has ever touched me.
Something has shifted between us, like it did that night in the Squamish hotel room. It’s something in the added millisecond of a glance. I wonder if he notices, or if it’s all in my head.
That’s when he clears his throat and pulls his knees back, ending the contact. “Oh shit. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’msupposed to get back to my mom by midnight. I should probably get going.”
“Right. Of course,” I say, blinking from the whiplash of the conversation. My entire body is on fire as he stands and heads to the door.
“See you at work tomorrow? Lunch?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Lunch.”
Chapter 27
Nolan
It’s been a full day and I still haven’t recovered from that conversation about sex. Maybe it’s the unfair, mind-blowing fact that Andi hasn’t been treated the way she deserves in bed. Or maybe I’m just an asshat baby who can’t handle a simple conversation about sex with a platonic friend—who happens to be obscenely attractive.
I was a half second away from kissing her, and I’m fairly certain she wanted to kiss me, too. The only problem is, I would have wanted to do a lot more. Things could have gone from zero to a hundred quick if I hadn’t left so abruptly. It’s for the better, I keep telling myself, especially since I’m leaving. In fact, Jones texted yesterday to let me know he might have some good news about a posting soon, though there were no details. He doesn’t like to say too much until it’s a sure thing.
I don’t want to make things more complicated than they haveto be. Besides, I like hanging out with Andi. Really like it. If we got physical beyond our arrangement, it could get awkward, which is why I’ve decided that intimate hangouts at her place are probably a bad idea.
The next time we see each other at lunch, I act like nothing happened. Like I didn’t have a hard-on the entire rest of the night just thinking about the way the thin fabric of her dress clung to her skin. We keep our conversation casual and light, neither of us bringing up what happened (or didn’t).
It’s better this way, because after work, we take the forty-five-minute drive to a farm to spend some time with the rescue dogs. I’ve been stoked about the idea ever since she brought it up in Squamish.
The place itself is a little hobby farm southwest of the city. It’s a nice setup, with a massive gated area divided up into various pens and enclosures, all connected by a dirt pathway. There are also communal covered areas for the dogs to come and go for water and shelter. We’re immediately met with wagging tails and yips from particularly excitable ones running up and down the fence, seemingly rejoicing in our arrival.
A sturdy woman in overalls and muddy rain boots trudges over to meet us. Three large dogs follow close at her heels, nipping playfully at her pockets, presumably for treats. Her weathered face breaks into a smile when she spots Andi. “Andi! Great to see you. It’s been too long.”
“I know. I’ve been so busy this summer. But I see you remodeled the enclosures.” Andi gestures toward the pens.
“We did! Finally got Hank to build ’em. Took a while for the dogs to get used to, but now they love ’em,” she explains, her gaze shifting to me.
“This is Nolan,” Andi says, stepping aside so I can shake Deidra’s calloused hand.
“Nice to meet you. Welcome to the farm.” Deidra glances at the dogs, now sitting obediently at her feet. “These three here are some of our permanent residents,” she explains, her voice softening with affection. “Bernie is the golden retriever. He’s one of the first ones I ever took in, five years ago. He was found with mange in a parking lot dumpster. The collie is Brenda, a puppy mill rescue and the boss lady. She’s a herder so she likes to keep everyone in line. The big guy is King. We think he might have some wolf in him, but we don’t know for sure.”
Andi bends down to stroke King’s head. “Deidra takes in the dogs that are surrendered from death row at the main shelters,” she explains. “She’s able to adopt out most.”
Deidra gives a modest shrug. “Usually, they just need some basic obedience training and a lot of belly rubs. Nine times out of ten, they make amazing pets. And the ones that don’t, we keep here.”
“Wow, running a place like this sounds like a lot of work,” I say, impressed.
Deidra nods, chuckling as Max nudges her hand for attention. She obliges, ruffling his fur. “It is, but it’s worth it. Every one of these dogs deserves a second chance at a happy life.
“We have about ten rescues right now,” she explains, taking us to the pens for a mini tour. They lead into a larger, grassy area, where the dogs without behavioral issues can socialize with one another. A couple bigger dogs follow us in, all vying for attention. “We try not to take more than that, given the space. But the shelter is always calling us. They’re overrun, especially after spring litters.”
