Page 49 of Shatterproof

Not the man who had me eat a cheeseburger while we took his truck through the carwash to ensure we weren’t being tailed.

Not the man who literally carried me from his parking space to the elevator when my cheap giftshop flip-flop broke all because he didn’t want me to risk burning my feet on the hot concrete.

Thatis the man I definitely shouldn’t be hoping stops looking at me like I’m a fragile trinket he’s afraid will get damaged through customs and starts looking at me like he wants to rip off my packaging.

Briefly shutting my eyes to collect my composure is mindlessly done.

How am I this horny?!

Whyam I this wound up?!

Was Morris right?

Does a brush with death have an undeniable way of forcing you to go after what you really want in life?

Another set of buzzes pulls my eyelids back up to see the screen.

Harv: I hope you know how glad I am you’re okay.

Harv: Text me whenever you want. I’m here for you.

“That work?” Slater promptly interrogates, pulling my gaze back to his.

“Not exactly.” He lifts both eyebrows in a wordless request for more information, which unintentionally makes me defensive. “Do youneedto know who’s texting me? Is that…protocol?”

“Protocoldictates I can confiscate your device and search it any time I deem necessary.” Slater folds his arms firmly across his chest. “Would you like me to follow protocol or simplytell mewho’s textin’ you?”

“It’s just Harv.”

There’s no denying the hardlines that appear on my best friend’s face.

“He was just checking on me.”

“Checkin’ on you.”

“Telling me he’s glad I’m okay.”

“Glad you’re okay.”

“Why are you repeating what I say like I’m speaking in code?”

“Are you?”

My brow furrows in confusion over the accusation as much as the navy-blue dispersing in the air.

“Is ‘checkin’ on you’ and ‘glad you’re okay’ code for ‘are you alone?’ and ‘is now a good time to talk about dinner next week’?”

“What?!” Bewilderment immediately bursts through my tone. “No.”

“No, it’s not code for that shit, or no, you’re not plannin’ on goin’ to dinner with him next week?” His words darken and tremble during their descent to the floor. “’Cause protocol dictates I escort you on dates too, Arley. Even when they’re with our fuckin’ boss.”

Guess it was just wishful thinking that we wouldn’t have to revisit this subject again…ever.

“How about you turnoffour cell for the night?” The dark hue in his voice indicates it’s clearly not a suggestion. “Worry about work, or what should be work but isn’t, in the mornin’ instead?” He sucks away whatever words got stuck in his teeth. “Get someactualrest?” His open palm extends itself my direction. “Phone.”

I begrudgingly slam the device into his hand and mock, “What’s next? Sending me to my room?”

“Yup.” Slater powers down the device without breaking eye contact with me. “Your roomis nowmy room,and my room is now the couch.”

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