Page 48 of Shockproof

“He’s jus’ startin’ out with his caterin’ business, so I thought workin’ an engagement event would be a great fit to add to his resume as well as an elegant choice Hilda would approve of.”

Melting into the seat can’t be helped.

Protectiveandthoughtful.

How the hell did I get this lucky again?

“Why don’t you put away your gun-”

“She has a gun too?!”

“-and get the door for us? I’m gonna help him bring his shit inside.” Slater shoots his guest a mirth-filled smirk. “Assumin’ he’s done freakin’ out about this little misunderstandin’.”

“Misunderstanding?!” Tamura shrieks in tandem with stepping back to give my bodyguard space to exit the vehicle. “Is that what you call going John Wayne on an innocent chef?”

More bursts of Japanese flood the air prompting me to tuck the weapon back out of sight and hustle to the house like requested.

The process of getting the event properly set doesn’t take nearly as long as I deduced it would. Thanks to the helping hands of my burly boyfriend, Nik, my sister-in-law aka Monte’s wife, and my mom – who evidently enjoy decorating more when mimosas are involved – getting the house arranged is done in half the time while organizing the non-sushi related food – including the desserts I finished and dropped off relatively late last night – is completed with about twenty minutes to spare for contemplation regarding the party breakdown I swear is going to be a disaster.

Everything – gratefully – kicks off without the slightest hitch.

Guests love walking up the fancy white carpet into the house where they have their choice of grabbing something bubbly or a cold brew. They adore dropping off gifts near the bubble prizes for the games being played later which they then admire. They even get excited playing with the free-floating balloons and taking selfies under the “bubbly” balloon arch.

I mostly keep a polite distance not wanting to invade a moment or interrupt or – if I’m being brutally honest with myself – inject myself into a conversation I can’t contribute adequately to. Beautiful, brightly colored lettering swirls around the room and the happy couple as they shake hands, give hugs, and accept praise for their decision to tie the knot. It’s mostly a manageable sensory situation; however, the instant anything gets a little overwhelming, Slater sweetly wraps an arm around my waist and insists I check on things in the kitchen, the one area guests are being directed awayfromto allow the sushi chef the space him and his assistants need to keep food properly flowing, but that I’m able to sneak awaytoin order to compose myself.

Ring Hunt is the first game we play in which guests search the downstairs areas and patio for Ring Pops. Since mom, Nik, and myself hid the gems, we opt out of playing, yet that doesn’t stop their partners from joining the pursuit due to their ridiculous competitive nature. To say they’re disappointed when they don’t even come in second or third would be an understatement that becomes easy to forget when T playfully wraps his arms around their necks and insists on consolation beer chugging together.

Fun, lighthearted conversations flow around two more games, lots of cupcakes, and the best sushi I’ve ever had in my life, sushi so good in fact that I find myself seriously running the risk analysis for investing in his catering company.

The math says keep crunching.

My stomach says give him my lifesavings.

I’ve just finished tossing another Blistered Shishito Pepper into my mouth when my parents come sauntering around Slater into the kitchen territory.

Dad releases a small chuckle, “I knew the second I spotted Wahl, you’d be within three feet of him.”

Slater merely smirks and slides a hand into his pants pocket.

“The man really does not let you out of his sight except to pee,” he adds, orange words springing around like little bouncy balls.

“Eventhat’snot always the case,” I playfully poke at the same time Dad snatches up one of the green treats.

“I take my job very seriously,” my boyfriend insists, blue lettering soft in color but firm in form.

“Would that be the job of protecting the client or protecting the woman you love?” Mom teasingly inquires on a tip of her champagne glass in his direction.

Slater’s answer is swiftly shot back with another cocky smirk. “Yes.”

Their combined laughter along with Tamura’s has my cheeks tinting and me reaching for the nearby green beans to hide my blushing.

“I think when they have kids someday he’ll do the same thing to them,” Dad states between loud chomps.

“Oh…” my mother golf claps against her glass in agreement. “I think he will too!”

“AndI thinkwe should end this conversation and play another game.” Licking the delicious garlic flavor off my lips is followed by picking up a napkin to clean my hands. “Maybe something less physical than Ring Toss?” There’s no preventing my head from tilting in concern. “How’s your back doing, Dad?”

“Nothin’ a little beer couldn’t fix.”

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