Page 10 of Obsessed with my Guardian

“No, thanks. Is Eloise not up?”

We’ve fallen into a routine of driving to work together unless one of us has other commitments. I haven't made a big deal because she hasn’t tried anything since the kiss, but being around her has certainly been harder.

I pull out a Leonardo di Caprio performance on the daily to pretend I’m not interested in her.

Why did I kiss her?

A part of me succumbed to the moment, I know. There was more than that, though. Like I finally acted on something I wasn’t even sure I needed.

Now, I rub one out in the shower every night like a fucking perv, thinking about how good it felt to have her in my arms and kiss her. Imagining all the other things I want to do with her.

“Oh, she left already. Was up early,” Mrs. Wilson informs me. “She said she needed to get her workout in because she has a date later.”

I frown. “A date?”

“Yes.” She touches her heart. “This boy she’s been telling me about. You know, this is so great for her. She needs a distraction, bless her heart.”

“A boy,” I repeat, taking a long sip of my coffee. I no longer taste the Italian grains. The only flavor in my mouth is the bile bubbling in the back of my throat.

Mrs. Wilson looks up at the ceiling, tapping her chin with her fingertips as she tries to remember something. “I think his name is Jayden.”

Jayden. The name makes it all too real, and the acid sensation amplifies as it travels from my throat to my stomach. “So she’s been seeing a guy named Jayden.” When did she find the time? Did she text this guy? Had she met him previously?

“Reed, she’s young. She lost her dad, and you know what she was like in the first few weeks. So lost and lonely. It’s hard when you don’t have family left.”

Knots twist in my gut. Yes, it’s hard when you have no family… but I’m not restraining every male instinct and keeping away from Eloise so a douchebag can come and sweep her up in her most vulnerable time. “I understand, but she needs to be careful.”

“I’m sure she is.” Mrs. Wilson leans closer. “Because she doesn’t have, hmm, a mother, I already had a conversation with her to ensure she protects herself. Turns out she’s already protected.”

“Protected,” I repeat in a small voice. My shirt suddenly feels a size smaller.

“Yes,” she says, turning to unload the dishwasher. “She’s young, and I was worried. Poor thing doesn’t have a mom, and I wasn’t sure she knew how important it is for a woman to be careful.” She removes a few plates from the dishwasher and sets them on the counter. “Luckily, the world is different nowadays, and this generation can school mine.”

Anxiety cools my bloodstream. Did I throw Eloise into another man’s arms by not allowing us to go any further? I shake my head, confused. No. She doesn’t like me that way. She’s confused. She only wants me because I’ve been there for her since her father’s passing.

But I’m clear on one thing—I don’t want some stranger touching her. Taking advantage of her. This isn’t right. I… I should have done a better job protecting her.

Determined, I slide off my seat.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Wilson asks.

Stop this nonsense. I square my shoulders. “I have some stuff to do.”

“Of course.”

I dash out of the house and make it to the flagship gym in minimal time. This has to be some sort of joke. This Jayden is just a friend. Mrs. Wilson is turning it into something bigger with her silly romantic notions and her conversation about birth control. I scowl. An important chat for sure, but the idea of her having sex with anyone else sends a fear I can’t describe deep into my chest.

My blood feels thick—so thick, it scarcely moves through me. A sheen of sweat slicks my forehead, and the overall sensation of impending doom hangs heavy on my shoulders like a pair of large dumbbells.

When I get to the gym, I go to the second floor—with all the state-of-the-art workout machines—and find Eloise on the stair climber, humming as she listens to music on her Air Pods.

I walk up to the front of the machine so I won’t startle her. “Hey.”

She takes her Air Pods out and puts them in the cup holder but keeps on exercising. “Hey.”

I stare at the sweat sliding down her body. She’s wearing a modest tank top with leggings, very appropriate for the big boss of the company. But I can still see how perky her breasts are under the fabric clinging to her skin, the dip to her waist, and her curvy hips. I touched her ass before, cupped it, an incredible memory that haunts me like a resentful ghost from a horror movie.

I square my shoulders, intent on not getting distracted. “Mrs. Wilson mentioned something about a boy.”

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