Never Say Yes To Your Bodyguard (I said Yes #6)

1. Ephemeral

Chapter one

Ephemeral

“H elp! Someone grabbed my PUSSY—” I’m shouting while running, so the next word, “cat,” never makes it out of my mouth as I run out of breath. And I realize just how bad I’ve messed up when the heads of practically everyone around me at the cat convention whip around. A few sets of goggly eyes fix on me. “My cat!” I yelp, pointing in the direction of the big dude clad in all black who is rapidly speeding away, throwing elbows all through the crowd and forcing it to part for him.

He has Peach Lips. She’s mine, and I’ll do anything to get her back.

Including giving chase.

In platform boots.

It’s not working out so well so far, and I realize with a horrible, gut-wrenching disappointment that even if I have decent shoes on, my five-foot-four frame is no match for the burly burglar who is heading straight for the arena’s exit.

Even if I catch up with the guy, all he’ll have to do is shove one of his meaty palms in my face, and he’ll lay me out flat. He can hold Peach Lips above his head so that I can’t reach her. He’s clearly a terrible human being who likely has an accomplice, and they probably won’t be above tossing her around while playing keep away.

The thought of something happening to her makes me want to puke.

Also, sprinting. I’m not that out of shape, but when I said platform boots, I meant the five-inch rainbow-hued with stars variety.

Honestly, it’s a shock that I haven’t faceplanted straight onto the tiled floor yet.

It’s mom-strength. When one’s child is threatened or taken, you get superhuman strength. I wish it were speed. Ugh, I wish very badly it were speed.

“That guy took my cat!” I scream again, mustering all the breath left inside me. My lungs are steaming and heaving, but I keep going, forcing my burning legs to propel me forward. “Peach Lips! That guy is trying to steal her! Someone help!’

More heads turn. I hear people start talking, and they’re staring. At me. At the exits. Looking, trying to locate her.

“There!” I point at the black-clad figure. He’s moving like a freight train, still plowing his path. The exit isn’t that much further. They’re all around the building, and this week, I’ve used pretty much every single one of them, so I know where they are. If the crowd wasn’t so thick tonight for the last night of the convention, that asshole might have gotten away long ago.

Even still, he’s gaining ground on me, and I’m dropping back.

My legs are pillars of fire, and my feet are blistered. My lungs are an inferno, but my heart is worse than all of it.

I want to drop to my hands and knees and beg.

Please. Please, don’t take my cat. I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. She’s literally all I have. My ride or die. She needs her medicine. She likes her heating pad, and she has special food because she has allergies and no teeth. She loves the sun. Her perch in our window is her favorite thing in the world. I need her. Without her, I’m lost. If I lose her, I lose what little I have left of my tattered and worn heart.

“Stop him!” I’m so hoarse by now that it’s a wonder anyone hears me.

But he does.

He comes out of the shadows, also dressed entirely in black and also a brick shithouse, mountain shadow, supervillain-himself-looking dude. He’s all muscles and square chin and black combat boots, his black T-shirt emblazoned with the white blocky letters that scream he’s SECURITY.

He’s in front of the guy fleeing with my cat tucked up under his arm like a loaf of bread as he carries her football style.

It’s appropriate then that the cat nabber gets clotheslined and football-style tackled to the ground. He doesn’t see it coming and ends up flat on his back. I’ve been running my platform boots off this whole time, so I catch up with the fray as a crowd and three more security personnel gather around and get involved.

“Please!” I hold out my arms. “My cat!”

Everyone is all oohs and awws and simpering mush as Mr. Superhero Security passes me Florida’s Ugliest Cat, legit voted for five years in a row. Ugly meaning cute. If you know, you know. Peach Lips is also a world-famous internet sensation. The thing about the ugliest cat title? It’s a badge of honor. We wear our weirdness and our differences and what some people think of as disabilities with pride.

People can be mean. They can be horrible. The internet can be a sad, judgmental place filled with nasty old trolls and people who don’t think the person reading that stuff on the other side of it all has feelings, but it can also be a great thing. A great place. A place where wondrous things can happen.

Peach Lips has raised over a million dollars for charities around the world, and that’s just in the past three years.

I happen to be one of “those people.” You know, a content creator. But I do have a job besides filming my cat. I vowed early on that all the money from her stardom would go to helping other animals who don’t have anyone to love them. And there are so, so many.

Peach Lips was once one of those.

Abandoned. Sick. Alone.

I found and saved her, and it might be corny as all fuck, but she saved me too.

So, having her back in my arms after I thought I might literally lose her causes a full-on nuclear meltdown. Tears, hysterics, head-peppering kisses, a tight hug—the whole bit. Peach Lips is used to being in crowds. She’s an ambassador, in a way. She loves people. She’s used to being picked up, petted, and loved. She’s very gentle.

When she was living on the streets, she got Scabies, and her fur never grew back properly after. I’ve tried everything, but it’s just a no-go. Either that or she’s actually mixed with something that doesn’t grow regular fur. Her genetic tests didn’t indicate it, but the company who did it also said she was an extreme case of mixed breed , which I’m pretty sure was nice talk for your cat is so messed up that even we have no idea.

I kiss that bald spot with only three single hair strands sticking out on her head so many times, soaking in her warmth and the weight of her in my arms.

I come out of my own little relieved to the point of real tears, snot, and blubbering sobs world to see the would-be cat nabber getting roughly hauled to his feet by four members of security.

Mr. Glowery Muscles SECURITY T-Shirt Newly Made Hero watches the whole thing with his hands on his hips.

“Are you okay?” A tall, red-haired female also with SECURITY across the front of her T-shirt asks when she appears, towering over me.

I nod, not trusting my voice because I’m still an epic, snotty, tear-stained mess.

“We’re going to have to fill out an incident report. You might even have to make a statement with the police.” She glances at Peach Lips and smiles. I mean, how can people not smile at this pure ball of angelic love? “You’ll probably want to get her back to your booth and get her settled. If you stay there for a little bit, I can send everyone over. I’ll try to make it as fast as possible because the convention is nearly over, and people are already packing up.”

“Thank you,” I mutter with a gulp, sniffling as loud as a bullfrog bellow. Literally. I don’t have a tissue, so I have to turn my face and wipe my nose on the sleeve of my wildly loud pink and green cat zombie print dress.

“You’re booth two-thirty-two?”

“That’s right. You know everyone’s booth numbers?”

“Nah, just yours.” The woman’s eyes get a little twinkly. I’ve seen that before—when people meet Peach Lips in person, and they realize they’re experiencing true magic. “I haven’t even been able to get there. It’s been so busy. I’m so excited to meet her in person. She’s such an inspiration for disabled senior pets everywhere, but for people too. I’m so happy you won your ribbon again this year. She’s not ugly. Are you, honey?”

I can tell she wants to pet her, so I extend my arms slightly, leaving Peach Lips’ back open.

“I’m Amanda, by the way,” she tells me as she reaches out. Her hand shakes, but when it makes contact, she strokes gently. A few seconds later, she wipes tears away. “There’s so much beauty in the world in so many different ways. Peach Lips is so special because she shows that even the discarded, the disabled, the elderly, and all the things people see as something that can be tossed out are important and worthy . Not everyone can afford to have a special needs pet or a senior pet, but more people should if they can. Peach Lips has no teeth, one eye, and she’s patchy all over her body. She looks like an alien animal, a werewolf, a dust bunny, and a pile of two-year-old compost had a baby, and that’s wonderful ! She’s unique. I have never met another cat like her. Bless your tiny little soul, angel. You’re just straight-up perfection in a tiny little ball.”

“Yeah.” My tears are still flowing. “All of that. I one hundred percent agree.”

“Do you want me to bring you back to your booth? You look a little bit shaken up.”

“I am shaken up. If something happened to Peach Lips, I’d…my…my whole world would be over.”

Amanda gives me a sympathetic look. “I understand, honey. Let’s go.”

She escorts me through the crowd, her hand resting comfortingly on my shoulder. She offers to help me pack up the booth, but by now, I’m quite efficient at it. I know she has a job to do, so I let her get on her way. She promises to stop by as soon as she can, and I appreciate that.

I finally set Peach Lips into her privacy cave. It’s a small wire dog cage that I crafted with felt, wool, fabric, and paper maché to look like a real cave. There’s even a sign on the front that’s all rustic and crooked with her name on it. The front opening is huge, allowing the door to swing open and closed, but further back, it’s dark and cozy in there. She has a plush cat bed, her travel food and water dish, and her heating pad that I can switch on and off. Inside, the walls are super soft and plush, and there are no wires showing that she could get something trapped in.

Some days, I wish I had a big, comfy cave to crawl into, but then again, I suppose I do, given that I live on a small bus.

Yeah, I’m doing the whole life in a van thing, but with a bus.

It makes travel easier.

“You okay, baby?” I ask, staring into the opening and petting Peach Lips’ head before I shut the door.

She starts to purr when I scratch behind her crooked ear. It’s her favorite spot. She’s on good medications, and I use as many natural products as I can. She’s a senior cat, but for a creature who admittedly looks so unhealthy, she’s actually not in the worst shape. She had some arthritis issues and some allergies in the past, and she can have a sensitive tummy, but other than that, she’s doing okay for a cat of her approximate fourteen years.

A shadow darkens my booth, and I look up, shutting the door as Peach Lips curls into a happy little cat ball.

“You,” I breathe before I can stop myself. My brain doesn’t usually have a habit of speaking first and thinking after, but this is a special scenario.

Mr. Hulking Beast Muscles Security Ghost Shadow Savior Dude is standing right in front of my booth.

He says nothing. Just hulking, scowling, and taking up all the space and oxygen in the place. You know, nothing I haven’t noticed over the past five days except that this time, he’s not in the shadows. He’s right here in front of me.

His glower makes my heart race. And not in a good way.

I stare. And stare. And stare too long. It’s hard not to stare when a man who looks like he does gets all up in your face after he’s saved your cat. He wears a scowl on his chiseled face that would appeal to approximately eighty percent of women because, apparently…lizard brain. I’m not entirely unaffected. I feel a quiver go through my lady bits, especially as my eyes trace the scar that extends from his ear, tracing haphazardly along his jaw. It almost wouldn’t be visible from the wrong angle, but I’m definitely at the right one to see it.

Despite his glower, his eyes are a soft brown velvet that looks like they’ll sparkle if this guy ever cracks a laugh once or twice in a lifetime. But I’m more than willing to bet that he doesn’t, at least not where anyone could ever see or hear.

And his body. Oh my god. On a scale of pass or smash, my ovaries are all, damn, that’s most definitely a smassssshhhhhhh.

“You’re here to…talk?” I stammer, my tongue as hot and fuzzy as some inappropriate areas of me are at this man’s almost indecent hotness. Let’s just say he fills out a T-shirt far too well. Tall and broad are one thing, but add to that the rippling muscles and veiny forearms and—yes. Just… yes . “To do the…the…in—incident report thing?”

Whoa there, body, hold up.

Think with the brain, not the box.

“I’m here because a pile of wilted banana peels could do a better job of protecting your cat than you’re currently doing.”

I’m so stunned that my mouth keeps right on trucking before my brain catches up again. “Uh…banana peels can’t look after anything. They’re banana peels.”

He gives me an exasperated look and says flat out, in that ominous, growly, emotionless, imperious tone, “ Exactly .”

Truly. Like, really. He actually goes there. Out loud.

I do my best to intimidate him with his badass, close-cropped hair and scarred and scowling persona, except I’m about a foot shorter than he is and a good hundred and twenty-five pounds lighter. My angry face couldn’t intimidate an ant with major jump scare and anxiety issues.

But just…fuck it.

I take back that smash. This neanderthal is a hard pass. All the hard passes. That ego he’s sporting and the ease with which he spouts total asshole insults without even knowing a person? Ugh. Gross.

If this asshole thinks he can come here and be a total butthole, he can think again. I might be a super nice person, but I am not going to stand here and take this after my fur child was just about kidnapped. On his watch.

He wants to play the banana peel blame game?

It’s so freaking on.