Page 40 of The Bodyguard Affair
She sucks in a long breath, her chest rising and falling, as though she’s just come to that same realization. And that’s when she breaks eye contact, her incendiary gaze flicking to my lips. The silence pulses between us and it’s almost unbearable.
This is where I’d normally take control, pull her in, grab her ass, and roll her hips over me, over and over again, until we both come apart, until she’s screaming my name. But then my stupid conscience steps in. I think about our conversation earlier tonight. Our agreement. She seemed dead set on this idea that we had no chemistry, which was exactly why our “situation” was going to work so well. As friends.
And then there’s the fact that I’m not in any position to entertain a relationship, including something casual.
So even though she’s currently looking at me like she wants to fuck me right here on this floor, I don’t want either of us to have any regrets. I don’t want to complicate an already complicated decision.
I do exactly the opposite of what I want. I give her a light tap on the thigh and whisper, “We should probably get some sleep now.”
That snaps her out of it. “Yes, yes, we should.” She rolls off me instantly and practically dives back into her bed and turns off the light.
We lie there in silence for what feels like hours. I try just about everything to purify my thoughts (including picturing every family member, including my grandma, in a muumuu). Nothing works.
I contemplate addressing what just happened. But what the hell would I say? Technically, nothing happened, which is for the best. Making something of it would just heighten the awkwardness.
So I pathetically settle on, “Good job, by the way. You’re a natural. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Her easy laugh is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.
Chapter 17
Andi
The two days in Squamish go about as well as they could, considering the circumstances (the circumstances: when I mounted him without notice on the floor of our hotel room).
To be fair, we were practicing self-defense. He was meant to be on the ground. But I wasn’t meant to straddle him like a horse. I don’t know what the hell came over me. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had sex in three years and am basically a born-again virgin. Maybe I’m ovulating. Maybe I felt like I had something to prove after he admitted my boobs weren’t memorable. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s offensively attractive, shirtless, and sleeping mere feet away from me. I’m only human.
I also hadn’t expected to love the feeling of his body underneath me, the friction, the way I could feel every beat of his heart like the softest vibration. If he hadn’t ordered me off him (in the nicest way possible), I probably would have kissed him or worse. If history is any indication, it would have gone south, becausethat’s just my life. A series of failed social interactions. And I need him for the summer, possibly until Gretchen’s gala.
Fake dating aside, we mutually agreed on our friendship status. It would be nice to have a friend I can talk to about (mostly) anything. I can’t let my overactive hormones screw it up.
So I spend the next day solidifying my permanent residency in the friend zone. I barely spare him a passing glance when he’s shirtless after a shower, water droplets clinging to each ridge and groove of his hard-earned abs (okay, maybe I snuck a peek or two, or twelve).
Thankfully, work is busy for both of us. Eric has a meeting with the premier of BC (the head of the provincial government), followed by a press conference and a couple community appearances. Gretchen has a visit to the local soup kitchen, as well as an elementary school. When I’m not following at her heels and doing gala prep on the side, I’m on the hunt for fresh flowers for her hotel room and a very specific face serum she once found at a farmer’s market six years ago but can’t remember the vendor’s name (really narrows it down). If that weren’t enough, her publisher has also requested her proposal for her next book, a vegan cookbook. Naturally, she’s asked me to write the whole thing based on exactly two handwritten bullet points.
By the time Nolan returns to the room around nine, I’m almost too exhausted to talk. But one can’t be too careful. As an added precaution, I’ve tucked myself into a cocoon of blankets in my ugly pajamas and turned the lights off. No talking of any variety, including small talk. He seems fine with that, settling into his makeshift bed on the floor without a fuss.
The morning we’re set to leave is our first test. At the strong suggestion of Bethany from PR, I help Gretchen and Eric snapsome “casual yet romantic” photos on the hotel balcony for social media. I’ll hand it to them, they really do look like they’re in love. You’d never know there’s turmoil by the way Eric wraps his hand possessively around her waist, or by the way Gretchen beams back at him.
Once Bethany is satisfied with the photos, Gretchen turns her attention to me. “You two should get a shot,” she suggests, wagging her finger in my direction. I glance over my shoulder at Nolan standing a couple feet behind me, his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
“Us?” I clarify, still not used to being referred to as “you two.”
“Who else?” she says with an eye roll, gesturing for him to come closer. He inches forward reluctantly, so reluctantly, she has to urge him to pose closer to me.
Realistically, it is an opportunity to get a good picture for social media.
Nolan shoots me a funny smile before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I lean in, resting my head on his chest, allowing myself one liberal sniff. He smells like a mixture of minty toothpaste and fresh laundry, just like he did the night we met.
“Okay, act like you really like each other. Give us a quick kiss,” Gretchen prods, unimpressed by our lack of PDA.
“She wants us to kiss,” I whisper to Nolan.
I expect him to scrunch his face at the prospect and give me horror movie eyes that scream,You really want to try this again?Instead, he just watches me for a moment, a look of curiosity fleeting across his features. “Doyouwant me to kiss you?” he whispers.
I study his face for a moment, really study it. I take in theperfect slope of his nose. The fullness of his lips. The tinge of pink in the crests of his cheeks. Damn right, I want him to kiss me. But I settle for, “It would be weirder if we refused.”
This is the part where he could run away entirely, or laugh in my face—either would be an appropriate reaction. But shockingly, he nods and leans in.
