Page 8 of Bad For A Weekend

“What are you—”

I don’t give her a chance to finish her protest before I hook my hands under her arms and set her on the ground.

“Why was that hot?” her best friend mumbles from behind me.

“Z!” Baylor chastises him before looking at me with her vivid blue eyes. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.”

I ignore his mocking of my profession.

“I have cheer practice after school,” Baylor says, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders before accepting her crutches.

“Your doctor approves of that?” I ask.

Her face falls. “I’m not participating, but I am cheer captain, so I still need to be at practice.”

“Fine.”

“So you can pick me up after.”

“No. Your dad was very specific that the only times I’m not to be with you are during school hours and when you’re at home.”

“Do you always follow the rules, Owen?” She lifts a challenging brow that doesn’t make sense. I know the kid is scared. I’ve seen her cry at her window nearly every night when she can’t sleep. Yet it doesn’t stop her from wanting independence.

“When the rule is made by the same person who signs my paychecks? Yes, ma’am, I do.”

She groans. “Ma’am is worse than Ms. Giles. Just Baylor, please.”

I grunt again and leave her standing on the curb. But before I can shut the car door, she calls out, “See you after school then, Cujo.”

Cujo?

Baylor

“Who’s the Chris Hemsworth lookalike?” Sara plops down next to me to stretch before cheer practice starts.

Despite how painful it still is to move my body, I need to get back into it. I can’t cheer for two more weeks, but I can stretch with the girls, and after I get home, I can do some lifting. This is my senior year and my last chance to perform with a squad I’ve put so much work into the last four years. I’ll be damned if what happened stops me from our final performances.

“Who?” I ask, though I know who she’s talking about—the giant grump standing in the corner of the gym like a creeper.

“Him. He’s been watching you since he walked in five minutes ago.” She nods toward Owen with a pensive look. “He’s kind of hot for an old guy.”

She’s not wrong, but she’s not right either. There’s no “for an old guy” about it; Owen’s just plain hot. He has Double-O-Seven vibes with an air of aloofness that makes him intriguing and sexy. But his attitude strips all that coolness away, leaving him looking like nothing more than an arrogant jerk.

It’s been two weeks since he moved in, and I can’t get a read on him. He’s deeply invested in his job because our house has been turned into Fort Knox, yet whenever I try to strike up a conversation, he clams up and avoids me. I’d like to get to know the person I’m supposed to trust with my life, but he makes it impossible.

“My dad hired me a bodyguard.” I try to say it as casually as possible, but a sentence like that is anything but.

“Why do you need—” It suddenly dawns on her. “Oh,” she draws out before her head quirks to the side and pity colors her features. “How are you doing with all that, anyway? I meant to call, but Mom is on anew wavebender and won’t let me have my cell phone in the house. She even canceled the Wi-Fi, claiming it causes cancer. Can you imagine?”

“Is she still on her raw diet?” I ask, happy to have a change of subject.

“No. Thank God.”

“At least she only does one crazy thing at a time.”

Sara folds forward over her outstretched legs. “I guess.”

I glance at the clock behind the basketball hoop. “Time to get started.”

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