Page 35 of The Bodyguard Affair
“Exactly. Simple as that,” I say, really trying to sell it. It’s notlike my entire reputation, career, and sense of self-respect are on the line or anything.
He nods again, surprisingly casual, like we’re agreeing to trade library books, carpool to work, or water the other’s plants while they’re away. “All right. We’re doing this.”
“Wait, really? You’re fully okay with this?” I ask, forcing down a mouthful of pasta.
“Why are you so surprised? It seems like a good cause. Helping you, Gretchen, and Eric save your reputations. And your job.”
“I mean, it’s a commitment. And you said earlier you were very single by choice. I can only assume you like your freedom.”
“I guess you could say that. My job isn’t exactly conducive to a long-term relationship. Ask my last girlfriend.” There’s a glint of sadness and regret in his eyes.
“How long ago did you break up?”
“Three months ago,” he replies, clearing his throat as he pushes his empty plate away.
“I’m sorry.” I shift in the booth, feeling guilty for asking so brazenly, and also for barely having made a dent in my own meal.
“It’s fine. The long-distance wasn’t working, which is for the better. I don’t even know where I’ll end up next. Hoping to get a new posting in the fall, but who knows. Postings can be unpredictable.”
Most CPOs stay for a couple years. It surprises me that it’s so short-term, given all the complexities of the job. A strange sensation coils in my stomach that I can’t identify. Disappointment, maybe? Shock? I go with the latter. “Any places you’re hoping to go?”
“Nope. I’m open to anywhere, as long as it’s not here,” he sayswith conviction. It all makes more sense, actually, why he’s not afraid of risking his job or reputation to “date” me. He’s not sticking around.
“Not a fan of Ottawa?” I ask, half joking but genuinely curious.
A shrug. “It’s just…I grew up here. I know it well enough to know it’s not where I want to stay long-term.”
“That’s fair. We do have shit transit. And terrible weather.”
“Horrific weather. Snowiest capital city in the world,” he chimes. “I spent my whole childhood shoveling driveways. Not looking to continue that into adulthood.”
“So since we’re doing this, we probably need to work on our story in case people ask. Maybe also establish some ground rules,” I note, the tips of my fingers tingling with something that feels a little too much like excitement. Not that this should be classified as that. Anxiety-inducing, maybe. But not exciting.
His eyes meet mine with interest. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, we will need to have at least one photo together on social media,” I say, trailing off at the sound of cheering coming from the other side of the dining area. About five waiters have emerged from the back to sing “Happy Birthday” to a man at a table near the fireplace. According to the balloons decorating the table, he’s celebrating his “25th,” despite his snow-white hair and walking cane.
Nolan temporarily spins around to watch the spectacle. “Gotcha. I’m not on social media, so that’s all you.”
I clear my throat. “Okay. We should also discuss PDA. Are we going to stick to holding hands? Hugging? We probably don’tneedto kiss, do we?”
He shrugs, one arm slung across the back of the booth like it’s no big deal. “I mean, we already kissed. Most real couples kiss, I’d assume.”
My face burns at the mere memory. “If you remember, things were kind of a disaster between us physically.”
“Physically?” His jaw twitches. “Was it really that bad?”
I blink. Is he serious? Has he magically forgotten? Have I lain in bed for hours and hours, replaying the whole thing in my head and withering to dust from embarrassment every time, all for nothing? “I mean…we hadnochemistry,” I say bluntly, though I really mean I, Andi Zeigler, have zero chemistry in this body.
He sits back in the booth, evidently offended. “No chemistry?That’s a pretty big statement based on one drunken instance three years ago.”
I sit back to let Ralph clear our plates. “I busted your lip. And smashed my head against the dresser. All within a span of less than thirty seconds. Do you actually not remember?”
He lets out a hearty chuckle, sure of himself. “I remember, Andi. But it was a long time ago. Maybe we’ve improved.”
“If anything, I’ve probably gotten worse. I’m extremely out of practice,” I tell him honestly, playing with the hem of my sleeve.
He appraises me, his eyes twinkling with interest. “You haven’t dated since?”
