Page 3 of Protector

I let my mind think about five years from now. Who is that woman? How much have I changed? Will I be married or the proud owner of a lot of rescued cats?

Feeling the black card in my hand, I think about what I want for a change. I need more in my love life. I want someone to play with, let my guard down and be vulnerable and intimate with. Someone I can trust.

With thoughts of an imaginary man dancing behind my eyes, I fade off into sleep, letting him take me in my mind and wishing it were real.

CHAPTERTWO

One week later

Harris

My belch is long and loud. The crowd gathered in my brother’s kitchen laughs and cheers.

“You’re nasty, man,” Porter says, slapping me on the shoulder. I’ll take the hint and settle down, but I pull him close for another in his ear. Laughing, he pushes me hard.

The whole motley crew of circus folks are here celebrating his and Violet’s anniversary. I’m happy for my brother, just maybe, a bit jealous. After years at failed attempts at dating, I’ve finally given up. The last woman I went out with had big heart eyes for me, and I thought it would finally work out, but when the circus moved out, she didn’t even wave goodbye. She was ust another one to use me while I’m around and give zero shits when I’m gone.

My spiraling mood sends me back to the open bar.

“Bourbon and a water, please,” I ask Esmeralda, I old fortune teller slinging the drinks tonight.

Growing up in the circus is far from normal, but you’ll never meet a more connected bunch of misfits. I might be unlucky in falling in love, but I know I’m loved by my family. We grew up together, traveled together. Hell, Esmeralda helped my mother homeschool all of us kids through the years. It was a great childhood, and I’ve loved every day of my life with the circus, but I’m itching to see the world on my own terms.

Like lighting, that thought strikes, sending a rush of heat up my back. My arm hairs stand straight up, and then the doorbell rings. Esmeralda locks eyes with me, and for a moment, I think her arched brow is trying to tell me something.

Cheering and girl squeals erupt behind me, drawing my attention to the door. The crowd is thick, so I can’t see who’s arrived, but I decide to drink some more, instead of caring.

I wander around until I find the john and take a piss. Washing my hands before I leave, I don’t expect a tiny woman to barge in, but she does. Maybe five-five, the blonde looked up at me with dark brown eyes and unabashed appreciation. Her gaze sweeps up my body and back down until finally fluttering as she shakes her head.

“I am so sorry.” Waving her hands in front of her face, she turns to leave.

“Don’t be,” I say, hoping she’ll stay, but she bolts out the door. The moment strikes me as different. My feet move, wanting to be near her again. I search the downstairs with no luck then head out back where I find her red-faced and talking to Violet. Wow, she’s cute. Button nose, bouncy hair. And damn those jeans are painted on the most perfect hips I’ve ever seen. Her clothes have a hippie look like Violet’s, and I wonder if she was in her band.

Before I have the chance to google my sister-in-law, she waves me over. On my way, I grab Porter for backup.

“Hey, I need your help with this, okay?”

My brother gives me a confused look, but he knows he’s gonna have to wing it ‘cause we’ve stepped up to the girls.

“This is Harris. He’s perfect,” Violet says to the blushing blonde. Her eyes widen as we’re introduced. “This is my good friend, Ivy. She and her sister were my bandmates in Wallflower.”

Ivy. What a beautiful name.

“Harris is Porter’s brother. There’s no one I would trust more with my life. He’s the man for the job.”

I knit my brows in confusion, and for some damn reason, this is when my brother decides to back me up.

“Absolutely. He wouldn’t let anyone near you. No one would dare try anything around this guy.”

Wait, what the fuck is happening?

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Ivy needs more security. Her sister is in town and needs Ivy’s bodyguards more than Ivy does, but Ivy still needs someone and hates the company she’s working with.”

“They don’t speak,” My songbird says, looking up at me. Those eyes seem to crawl into my soul for permanent residence.

“I can crack a joke or belch the alphabet, and…nothing. It’s unnerving.”

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