Page 24 of Daddy's Bodyguard

“We should make food or something.” Anything to escape the torture of having her body pressed against mine.

“Eating does sound good,” she says, getting up from the couch. “What’s your least favorite food, by the way?”

“Brussel sprouts.” I let her see how disgusted I am. “Shouldn’t even be considered a food.”

“I don’t like sour candy,” she says before heading to the kitchen. “Or fried chicken.”

“What? You don’t like fried chicken?” I can’t resist the urge to follow her. Especially not with that bit of knowledge dropped on my shoulders.

She doesn’t reply at first. Her hands get busy pulling something out of the fridge. I realize it’s mushroom caps. Then she reaches for some chicken, eggs, cheese, butter and goes to the spices. After organizing everything together, she looks up at me.

“It’s all fried food really. The only thing I tolerate is actual fries. I love them. Extra salty, with cheese.”

I’m not sure what to do with Sofia being open and not actively insulting me. So, I help her cook. Cooking makes sense. We talk about basic stuff as we work together.

But with every passing second, I feel Sofia pull away. By the time she shuts the stuffed mushroom caps in the oven, the old Sofia has returned. The pensive Sofia. Distant. But I won’t let it deter me. I’ve gotten a glimpse of her softness beneath the tough surface, and I want more. I need more.

Somehow, there’s a spot of seasoning on her forehead. I reach up to wipe it off. She tries to duck away from my touch, but I move my thumb over the garlic salt anyway.

“You’re like baby Simba,” she mumbles.

I suck my thumb and grin at her. “Kind of cute, right?”

“Always back to teasing with you.” She removes her apron and hangs it on the rack.

Is that what she thinks? That I’m just teasing her? She clearly has no clue how much I want her. I move towards her, blocking her path. “Want to play Uno or Scrabble or Monopoly? There are ways to spice them up.”

“Board games?”

“Something to do.” I wink. “Other than each other.”

“Work is something to do,” she argues. “And work helps people. Games just distract from reality.”

“Then we should donate games. Help people get some bit of joy in their lives.” I lean my head to the side. “Or are you unfamiliar with the concept of fun?”

“I can have fun.” Of course, she takes it like a challenge. Sofia is just that predictable. “And I could kick your ass in Scrabble.”

“How about we play without a dictionary? We just have to remember words. I’m thinking ten tiles per person. We can play diagonal as well as the normal way.”

“So we break the rules?” She tries to step around me, but I block her way. She sighs. “I thought military men were all about rules.”

“Rules are important. But I can’t talk about what I did and didn’t do in the military.” I smirk at her. “Confidential.”

“Are you telling me you were a spy? Well, I’d better hop on Facebook and let the world know.”

“Very funny.” I roll my eyes. “No one wants real war stories.”

“Maybe if they heard the real stories, things would change. Have you considered that?”

“Tell that to the author of Catch-22. Slaughterhouse 5 … All Quiet on the Western Front,” I murmur. “Didn’t do shit.”

“That wasn’t the real story. That was absurdism,” she argues.

“War is absurd in a lot of ways. But it’s a lot like that. It doesn’t make sense in the moment. It’s a sadistic game of chess in some ways.”

“Is it?”

For the first time, I think she’s actually asking me. She wants a real answer, not bullshit. Not just asking to ask. Sofia’s dark eyes drink me in, and I’m powerless to stop my tongue. “Sadistic and unforgiving. One wrong move by a pawn can doom an entire unit.”

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