CHAPTER EIGHT
SEVEN
“One thousand square feet of bachelor paradise,” Jordan murmured the words her brother had used to describe my apartment during our marathon meeting over subpar eggs. She paused in the middle of the great room—exposed brick, freshly updated wood floors, industrial style lighting that could be toned up or down a million ways depending on the mood. She nodded as her gaze skipped around the room then finally settled on me.
She looked too fucking pleased with this situation.
“What’s with the messy floors?” She jerked her chin toward the wood shavings scattered near the trash can. Oops. I’d cleaned up before I rushed out the door to meet Jordan the day before, but had apparently missed the mark when I tossed the remnants from my latest project.
“Can’t a guy forget to sweep once in awhile?” It was easier than telling her the full truth. It seemed wise to keep her at arm’s length, even though now we’d be living a breath away. “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.” I led her to the faux bedroom set up at the back of the apartment. “It’s not as luxurious as the Ritz, but I think you’ll survive.”
I opened the door to a minimalistic spare room, an add-on by the previous tenant.
“Couldn’t even finish the walls, huh?” Jordan teased.
The walls didn’t fully touch the ceiling, a common tactic to get around the strict Manhattan renovation codes, according to the agent who showed me the apartment. I hadn’t gotten around to setting it up as a true guest room since arriving in the city.
Well now I had a guest. The most unexpected one imaginable. And the brothers had already ordered her a brand-new king bed, which was en route to my apartment.
“I didn’t think I’d have a house guest,” I told her.
“How am I supposed to use my vibrator in peace?” she countered. “You’ll hear every second of it.”
I clenched my teeth. Not the mental image I wanted to start our cohabitation with. I was already tortured enough by seeing her on a near nightly basis under purple lights, writhing against a steel pole in little more than a strip of spandex and a few pieces of glitter.
“Would it trouble you to believe that you can do whatever you want in these four walls without me giving a damn?” I turned toward the kitchen. The Fairchilds gave me a blank check to outfit this place as I wanted, including hiring an interior designer to completely make over the space. The result really was the bachelor pad of my dreams—minimalistic, tasteful, and modern. All new appliances. Gorgeous black marble countertops. An entire set of weights and resistance bands next to a flat-screen so large I could climb inside if I wanted.
It was my oasis from the outside world—the chaotic NYC I was still getting used to but already loved.
And though part of me was eager to latch on to the idea that Jordan was invading my oasis, a larger part of me was curious to see what happened.
“So where’s your room?”
I tipped my head toward the tiny hallway tucked behind the kitchen. “That way. Bathroom too.”
She watched me expectantly.
“You need to see it all, huh?”
“I’ve seen you in your underwear; now I need to see what color sheets you have.”
It amused me that she was interested enough to mention it, but I made sure to school my reaction to zero. I led her to my bedroom door, opened it, and let her peek inside. The bed was still made from the morning before, light-blocking shades drawn over the windows that overlooked the busy street ten floors below.
“Gray comforter…” she began.
“Gray sheets,” I finished for her.
She nodded to herself, as if this confirmed something. “Just a bed and a rug. Not even a dresser.”
“I have nightstands,” I corrected her. “And my clothes go in the closet.” I couldn’t believe I was rationalizing my bedroom to her, so I clamped my mouth shut.
“I’m surprised you even have a bed in there, since I was sure you just roll into the closet at night to plug in.” She sniffed, heading down the hallway for the bathroom, pushing the door open. “Nice. Roomy enough for my skin care routine. Yeah, I think I can stay awhile.”
“Temporarily.”
“Right.” She smiled brightly at me, blinking a couple of times. “So do you have sweatpants inside your closet or do you just have thirteen sets of this exact outfit?”
I brushed past her, heading to the kitchen. It was time for a protein shake. “You’ll never know.”
“Well now we’re roommates. I can snoop. I’ll find out if you’re secretly a robot.”
“You don’t want to start that game,” I warned her, pulling open the fridge. “There will be consequences.”
“Now that I know you sleep with guns, I don’t doubt that. Can I at least borrow a comfy T-shirt?”
I gritted my teeth, studying the contents of my fridge without having any idea what I was looking at. “All your things are being packed up for you. They’ll be delivered later.” Besides, seeing her in one of my T-shirts would be the final straw. I was hanging on by a thread as it was.
“But yours would be better.”
I finally remembered I was looking for a protein shake and snagged the bottle from the shelf. In lieu of a response, I twisted the lid and chugged. When the bottle was half drained, I sent her a stern look. “What are your plans for today? Because I have some things to take care of.”
“Oh. By all means.” She gestured at the thin air between us. “Take care of your things. I’m off today, so I’ll just be spending the day getting settled into my new home.”
“Interim solution.”
She sent me a pretty smile and batted her eyelashes. “Right.”
I’d been stationed in Afghanistan. I’d been put through the wringer as a Marine. I’d dealt with more loss than I wanted to think about.
But Jordan tested me. There was only so much near-naked writhing I could absorb from her tightly packed frame before I busted a nut in public.
Which meant I needed to take matters into my own hands. Literally.
By day three of co-habitation, I was at my fucking limit. Sure, she paraded around nearly nude at least three times a week at the club, but that was no match for how many times I’d glimpsed her fully exposed in my fucking apartment.
I should have demanded a signed contract before allowing her bed to be delivered. Something like I do solemnly swear to always wear clothes in the common rooms and never drop my towel accidentally when I leave the bathroom door open for the fifteenth time, thus allowing Seven to enter the bathroom when he thought it was empty.
The number of times I’d seen her athletic ass cheeks and the immaculately trimmed hair between her legs made it hard to do anything but stay locked in my bedroom and beat off. And when I finally got the bathroom to myself—properly locked, of course—there was no way to stop what came next. Specifically, my cock. All over the side of the shower wall.
That’s where I found myself yet again that Friday morning after my early workout. The water rushed over my shoulders in a warm stream, and my cock strained as I pumped my fist along my length, balls to tip. She had a night shift at the club later, so I needed to be fully drained. I needed to be so non-horny that I wouldn’t spend the entire shift thinking about the heat I might find between her legs or how tight and silky she’d feel if I were to slip myself inside. She was five foot nothing; I was a beast in comparison. I’d need to spend a few hours stretching her with my fingers first, which only sent my balls tightening.
I grunted. My fist slid faster over my cock, thoughts homing in on my favorite outfit of hers so far at the club, a one-piece white fishnet bodysuit, crisscrossed with strings down the center, as good as see-through. I wanted to tear it off her body with my teeth. I’d buy a hundred versions of it and destroy them all.
My thighs tensed and I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Jordan like this. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about any client like this. But fuck if I could help it. She was all I could see—in my life and in my head. I was fucking drowning in this woman, and the scariest part was that I wanted so much more of her.
Absolutely, unequivocally not allowed.
I teased myself with thoughts of Jordan on her knees in front of me, wrapping those pretty lips around my cock and swallowing me whole. That did it. I swallowed a groan as my cock pulsed in my hand, shooting out round after round of milky cum that disappeared down the drain with the water.
Done and dusted.
Now my fucking day could begin. I finished washing up, snapped off the water, and dried my body, eyes on the door in case Jordan somehow picked the lock and pretended it was an accident. She was a brat, so I wouldn’t put anything past her. Part of me wondered if she wanted me even half as badly as I wanted her.
But it doesn’t matter. Because it’ll never happen. She’ll move out soon, and you won’t be her CPO for much longer. Then this inconvenient attraction will be easier to deal with, by ignoring it completely.
That was the kernel I needed to hang on to. My close protection company was one step closer to being a reality, since I’d filed the paperwork earlier that week. The Fairchilds knew of my plan and fully supported it; in fact, they planned on becoming my primary clients. While I was happy to gain a fuller understanding of Jordan’s needs and risks while getting her protection plan off the ground, they knew that I’d eventually hand her protection over to someone I considered equally qualified.
That was the plan.
And I’d arrive at my destination much more quickly if I had more time to begin the hiring process. But Jordan’s work schedule was nonstop. And almost all downtime was now devoted to counseling myself through this intrusive attraction to her.
I stepped out of the bathroom with my towel knotted around my waist. Just as I did, a knock sounded on the door. Jordan met my gaze from the living room, where she was stretched out on a yoga mat.
“Expecting anyone?” she asked.
“No.” I headed for the door, running a hand through my damp tresses before peeking through the peephole. Axel and Damian stood on the other side. “Looks like it’s for you.”
Jordan’s brows knitted together in confusion as I tugged open the door. Axel waved at me, holding a bag of takeout food in the other hand. “Morning.”
“Hey.” I stepped aside so the brothers could enter. Both wore standard business casual attire, dark slacks and button-ups, as if they’d come straight from the office. “Come on in.”
Jordan remained silent, burying her face in her mat in a deep stretch.
“Hey, Jordan,” Damian called out hopefully.
“Morning, little sis,” Axel added.
She mumbled something unrecognizable and kept her face buried in her mat.
“I think that was hello,” I offered.
“We brought breakfast,” Axel said, lifting the bags slightly. “Since it’s been, you know, hard to get this one on our schedule.” He cocked a thumb toward Jordan.
“Are you hungry?” Damian called out, dropping his bags on the counter before running a hand through his longish dark blond hair.
Another unintelligible mumble.
“I guess she’s doing her workout,” I said.
Axel hummed to himself as he arranged the bags on the island, tattoos peeking out from behind the cuffs and the collar of his shirt. His gaze swept my way, clearly sizing me up. “Damn, Seven. What’s your gym routine? I need abs like that.”
“It involves a lot of push-ups.”
Axel leaned closer, pointing. “I’ve never been able to get these divots. Do you think they help your skills as a bodyguard, or are they just to inspire confidence?”
I wasn’t afraid of laughing with the brothers. They didn’t threaten to unravel me and my very foundation if we became close. I cracked a smile. “I can’t answer that with a client in the room.”
“Fair enough.” He turned toward Jordan. “Okay, little sis, we’re gonna lay out the spread now.”
Damian got to work unloading the bags and filling up my kitchen island with boxes of food. The scent of eggs and pancakes hit me, making my stomach rumble. “I’m gonna go get dressed. Give you some, you know…time together.”
Damian sent me an appreciative look and I headed to my bedroom. Inside the quiet, dark haven, I let my towel crumple to the floor and heaved a deep sigh.
Living with Jordan wasn’t all bad. For how much of a brat she was, she kept to herself when she wasn’t flaunting her body and forgetting how doors worked. It made me wonder what the hell she was getting up to in her bedroom when she disappeared for hours at a time. But there was no way in hell I’d ever ask, because it would only take one more mention of her vibrator to break me entirely.
Even though I’d nutted in the shower that morning, it didn’t mean I was fully prepared for tonight’s shift. Jordan had a later shift at the coffee shop, eleven a.m. to close, and then the evening would be spent under the purple lights, watching her hump steel and shake her ass cheeks. Fuck, I was getting hard just imagining it. The more worrisome part of this arrangement was that now, when she sauntered onto other men’s laps and let them put their hands on her hips, heat prickled up my spine and across my shoulder blades. My hands formed fists without wanting to.
I needed to get my head straight—I needed time away from her, where I knew she wasn’t holed up inside my guest room. I just wasn’t sure how to get it.
In my closet, my gaze fell to the mess of woodworking tools I’d thrown inside hastily from my last carving session. I couldn’t stand leaving everything out, especially with how much dust and wood shavings it created. But I carved as frequently as I could. It was the one surefire way to get my mind calm and on track. I needed it more and more lately, it seemed. One of my base blocks tumbled out—balsa wood—and I stacked it back up for whenever I had a chance to work next.
I pulled out my standard attire—black button-up, black slacks, a belt. Contrary to Jordan’s beliefs, I didn’t have thirteen version of the same outfit in my closet. I had seven. It was a good number. Besides, there were minute differences in the clothing—different brands, different quality fabrics. Not that she’d know that.
I took my time getting ready. Maybe she’d open up a bit with her brothers. Her petulance around them irked me less since she’d snapped at me at the Ritz Carlton. Jordan had her reasons—and even though I didn’t understand them fully, I respected them. She was entitled to her own secrets. We all had them, were driven by them. But if they had a shot at reconciling and really connecting, this was it.
Once she flew the coop into her own place after this “interim stay,” I doubted she’d send check-in texts or make lunch dates with the brothers. Hell, once she fully recovered from the shock of the recent assault, I wasn’t even sure she’d keep me on as a full-time protection officer. I was prepared for her to call her brothers out of nowhere one day and ask to end my assignment.
I just couldn’t figure out if that would be a relief, or a disappointment.
I dressed slowly then brought out my laptop to check email and do what little work I could on my fledgling business. The most important part was the hiring process, so I created a decent help wanted ad and saved it. But that was all I had time for. Jordan would need to leave for work soon, and the day would melt away from there.
Out in the living room, Damian and Axel sat on the couches. Jordan was still on her mat, cross-legged, holding a plate of food as she shoveled a bite into her mouth.
“Everyone behaving out here?” I asked in my best bouncer voice.
Axel twisted to smirk at me. “You know, with those abs and that voice…”
Damian sent him a withering look. “Axel. Can you please stop objectifying Seven?”’
“I’m just asking for it, aren’t I?” I teased, heading for the open end of the couch. “I’ve heard that line before.”
“Are you hungry?” Axel tipped his head toward the kitchen. “We brought enough for everyone and their bodyguard.”
Jordan’s gaze sizzled on me. But when I flicked my gaze her way, she jerked her eyes to the plate in her hands.
“I’ll grab something on the way out,” I told him.
“He’s very particular about what he eats,” Jordan said, suddenly popping to her feet. “He has indigestion. Or maybe it’s IBS. Possibly various food allergies. Very dangerous to eat outside of his prescribed routine.”
Axel and Damian laughed under their breath as Jordan strode to the kitchen to drop off her plate.
“Do you need a doctor recommendation?” Damian asked.
“I’m fine,” I reassured them. “She’s just…”
“Watch your words,” Jordan warned from the kitchen.
“Sassy,” I finished. “She thinks I’m geriatric because I’m in my thirties.”
“Hey, we’re in our thirties.” Damian tipped his head back to look toward Jordan.
“You’re all extremely old and brittle,” she informed us. “At death’s door. No amount of exercise will save you.” She flashed a plastic smile as she headed toward her bedroom.
“At your age, your brain isn’t even fully developed yet,” Axel shot back.
She stopped just as her hand hit the doorknob. “My brain is fully functional, thank you very much. And it can recognize an old man when it sees one. Time to get ready for the coffee shop, boys.”
“I’m not old, I’m distinguished,” Axel called out as her door swung shut behind her. Then he laughed. “It’s nice to be harassed by my little sister.”
“How did it…go?” I kept my voice low, looking between them.
Damian tipped his head back and forth, and Axel lobbed a sigh. “We’ll talk another time.” He clapped my back before coming to his feet. “We’re gonna head out, since the workday is starting.”
“Thanks for the food. Stop by anytime.” I stood too, trailing them to the front door. They were both over six feet tall, but I towered over them.
“We plan on coming by as often as we can,” Axel said in a low voice, his gaze drifting toward Jordan’s door. “With breakfast or lunch, just to see if we can… you know.” He shrugged. “Baby steps.”
“Appreciate you, Seven,” Damian said, giving me a meaningful look as he opened the door. “Oh, and we’ll let you know when the uh—”
“Fuck, we didn’t tell him,” Axel interjected.
Damian grimaced, looking over at me. “Shit, that’s right. You were in the bedroom.”
I blinked. “What did I miss?”
“We asked Jordan what she wanted for the apartment here,” Damian said. “If there was anything we could send or provide. And she said she wants a pole, for practice.”
“You’re cool with that, right?” Axel asked.
Every last organ inside my body was groaning at the news. But I had to be cool with it. This place was on their dime. I had no right to refuse something they wanted to gift their little sister.
“I’m sure she’ll love it,” I said, unable to make my lips curl upward, so I resorted to making my eyes smile. Or at least trying.
“Awesome. We’ll handle the details. You just let the guys in when they come to install it,” Axel said, squeezing my shoulder. “See ya later, Seven.”
When the door shut behind them, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck. Just what I needed. Private exotic dancer performances in my own fucking home. As if seeing her on the stage several nights a week wasn’t tantalizing enough. Now I had to potentially start my day watching her toned and limber body slide down a pole?
I wouldn’t last a week. But I tried to swallow the panic. To focus on something else. I spotted the leftovers of their breakfast spread. Food was a good idea. Feed the beast of hunger, so that the beast of sexual desire might shut the fuck up for a second.
I grabbed a sausage link, checking my watch. We needed to be out of here in three minutes to make Jordan’s shift on time if she planned to use public transportation. I was her bodyguard, but I wasn’t her mom, so I didn’t plan on reminding her. I snagged my laptop from my bedroom, shoved it into its case, and loaded it into a satchel I slung across my chest. Today’s goal was to make more progress on the hiring front. Handing off Jordan’s care to a trusted new hire was the only way I’d stand a chance of making it through this assignment without doing something I deeply regretted.
Once I reentered the kitchen, the door to her bedroom opened and she breezed out. She had winged eyeliner on, a simple lip gloss, and the Black Brewtifulballcap covering her dark blonde ponytail.
“Ready?” she asked.
I swallowed the rest of my sausage link. “Born ready.”
“I bet you just tremble in anticipation waiting to use that phrase, don’t you?”
“Born to use it.”
She rolled her eyes, then snapped the black strap of my cross-body bag. “What’s this?”
“A strap.”
She cocked a hip, narrowing her eyes. “No shit. What’s in the bag?”
“Why do you care?”
Her nostrils flared. It was too easy to poke her—and be poked by her. It made me want to spend the whole day just diving into this dynamic that had been growing between us. Even though that was the absolute last thing I should be doing.
“You hide all your weapons in your pants. Why can’t you just put whatever’s in here in your pants too?”
I laughed—on accident. It just slipped out. She looked delighted.
“I only have so much room in there,” I told her, grabbing another sausage link.
“I thought it was like the closet to Narnia or something.” Her eyes were on me as I wolfed the sausage link and went for another.
I swallowed the rest of my food. “I’m not that magical. Still just a man at the end of the day. Can we leave?”
She sighed, but I could tell it was just for dramatics. She tugged her ballcap lower on her head. “Could have fooled me. I swear you need to plug into the wall at night to recharge.”
“I’m not a Tesla.”
“But you do admit that you’re part electric?” she challenged.
I made sure to not even twitch with amusement. “No comment.”
“Fine. Let’s go, Mr. Roboto.” With her black jeans, ballcap, and leather jacket, she looked every inch an undercover celebrity. The secretive aura she pulled tight around herself only contributed to her mystique.
Once the door opened, she sprinted down the steps, and I was compelled to chase her. Something about Jordan activated my beast mode. I wanted to protect her at any cost. But I always wanted to consume her; make her mine; fill her and fuck her. Chasing her sated at least part of this forbidden desire.
Five floors down I managed to elbow past her, but she shrieked with laughter and grappled at my arm and yanked me back. I let her slip past me again and she tore down the steps, our footfalls making a thunderous noise in the stairwell. By the time we reached the ground floor, we were both breathing heavily.
“I won.” She launched a fist into the air.
I pulled open the door for her to pass through to the lobby. “I let you win.”
“Now, now, now. Don’t be a sad sack thirty-something.” She strutted through the lobby, impossibly cocky, her persona cracking only momentarily to wave at Arthur the doorman. “We just need to work on your fitness level.”
I fought the grin. “Oh, are you a personal trainer now too?”
“I can walk in eight-inch heels for eight hours and launch my body weight up a steel pole. I think I’m qualified.”
She had no argument from me. I saw the way her muscles worked under those lights. I was, among other things, an admirer of her fitness. Not that I’d ever share that with her.
“You might benefit from starting a pole routine,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed through the main doors and onto the streets of Tribeca. “Once it’s installed, I’ll work on getting you into shape.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I said, falling into step beside her as we strode toward the subway station. I didn’t plan on informing her that I was already in shape.
“Oh, it will. Unless what you’re saying is that…you’re too insecure in your masculinity to try the pole?” The way she looked at me, her eyes alive with mischief, told me she relished pushing my buttons just as much as I suspected.
“It has nothing to do with manliness,” I said.
“A real man would try.”
“Listen, I get that you want to see me work the pole. But Root Bear isn’t coming out to play.”
“So you’re saying he’s in there somewhere.” Her brows lifted and she nodded. “Okay. I can work with that.”
“You’ll be working with nothing,” I reminded her.
“That’s what you think.”
We spent the rest of the walk bickering like siblings—about pole dancing, about fitness, about nothing at all. It was equal parts amusing and cathartic to just shoot the shit like this with someone. To poke endlessly, to tease, to challenge.
By the time we’d made it to East Eighth, I was grateful for the chance to get some alone time. I needed to focus on my business. Not on my out-of-check-and-only-growing attraction for my client’s sister. I pulled her aside before we entered the warm haven of espresso and muffins.
“You’re off at two, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, “but we won’t be going straight to club after this. I need to make a stop in Chinatown after my shift.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“I need to swing by my old apartment.”
“We already got your things,” I reminded her. “There’s no reason for you to go back there.”
She nibbled on the inside of her lip for a moment, glancing away. “There is, actually.”
“What is it?”
Her brows drew together for a moment and she tugged at her black ballcap. “There’s a cat who lived in the neighborhood…”
“And…?”
“He was sort of mine,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “I need to check on him. It’s been too long.”
I let this information sink in before I continued. “A cat.”
“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a thing called a pet? Humans have them as companions—”
I lifted a palm to silence her. “I know what a pet is, thanks. But you didn’t mention a cat before. Why is this just coming up now?”
“Because he’s a street cat,” she hurried to explain, “but he’s my cat. He didn’t live inside with me. At least not all the time. I just need to make sure Ranger is safe. I saved him once, and I can’t go abandoning him like everyone else has in his life.”
“Fine. We’ll go check on Ranger. Until then, I’ll be in the corner working.” Pedestrians filed past us on the sidewalk. “Just let me know before you leave for a break or anything.”
“Should I tell you when I have to tinkle?” she asked.
“You can keep that to yourself.”
“Okay. Just be sure to order an Earl Grey or something. I don’t want them thinking you’re my boyfriend or stalker.”
I blinked. “You haven’t told them about the arrangement?”
She scoffed. “Of course not. I’m not trying to look like a freak.”
“You haven’t told anyone about what’s going on, have you?”
Her brows furrowed, and there was real frustration burbling in the background. “No. Why would I? I need to go—I’ll be late.” She pulled open the tinted front doors of the coffeeshop and headed inside, leaving me with my growing suspicions.
Jordan didn’t share shit with anyone. Not even her supposed friends. There wasn’t a single person in her life—that I knew of, at least—who knew she was linked to the Fairchilds and had twenty-four seven protection. And I had a feeling it wasn’t because of who the Fairchilds were.
Jordan was a lone wolf and wanted to stay that way.
You know someone just like that.
I pushed the thought away. I didn’t like drawing parallels between Jordan and myself. Not only did it leave the door open to an emotional connection between myself and a client, it would almost certainly lead to me digging deeper. Getting to know her even more because I was so damn curious. I was already at risk of knowing too much, simply from living with her. I was an expert at keeping up walls, but this was getting to be too much.
How could I keep up the walls without shutting her out completely? I still needed to fucking protect her.
A flash of red hair further down the sidewalk caught my eye. Jordan had confided in me that redheads made her anxious now, until she could verify they weren’t Dustin. I’d been on high alert as well.
Every instance had been a false alarm.
Except for this one.
Dustin locked eyes with me from about a half-block away, looking spooked. Then he turned on his heels and walked the other way. Electricity sizzled through my forearms, sending me into high alert. I was prepared to chase him down and shove his face into the cement. But I took a deep breath and held my ground.
So Dustin did have the balls to show up again after what I’d done to him.
I couldn’t be sure whether his appearance on this street was coincidence or not. But it was too close to Jordan’s orbit for comfort. I’d have to inform Jordan, even though it would spook her. And I’d have to let her brothers know.
I called Damian to give him the news. He was dismayed, of course, and wanted to continue with our current around-the-clock protection plan. And I couldn’t disagree with him. Dustin seemed like a wimp—but I knew better than to underestimate him. Who knew his connections? His secret interests? His dark fantasies? There were a thousand ways one encounter could unfold with someone who was mentally disturbed and unnaturally obsessed. I wouldn’t put Jordan at risk like that while her protection was in my hands.
Lingering outside on the sidewalk for awhile seemed best. I could monitor the flow of pedestrians, stake out the area from a few different locations. After about a half hour passed with no sight of Dustin, my mind resumed its former cartwheels about my inconvenient feelings for Jordan.
I reached for my phone. I needed reinforcements. I needed the insight that only my best friend in the entire world could offer.
Trojan. My brother in arms. My confidante. The one who kept me sane and stable.
It was almost noon. He was stationed out in California on assignment, so I knew he’d likely pick up. When one of us called, we always picked up. Even if we were in the middle of a warzone.
Trojan’s familiar bass rumbled in my ear after two rings. “Sevennnn.”
“What’s up, man?” I smiled in spite of my internal confusion, watching without registering the people flowing past me. “You busy?”
“Nah, I’m off today. You caught me at a good time. Everything okay?”
He was, like me, someone who floated in the wind. Letting his jobs take him wherever they may. A bachelor, untethered, hard drinker with a fitness routine, no plans for slowing down or putting down roots. We shared the same outlook. The same goals. The same past.
We were practically the same person in different forms. Which meant he knew me better than literally anyone else on the planet.
“How’d you guess I need some Trojan advice?”
“I can smell the desperation from San Diego,” he said with a laugh.
I heaved a sigh, my gaze landing on the stopped traffic on the street. “I got a new assignment. And I’m not sure how it’s gonna work out.”
“I thought you were set to open the business.”
“I was. But the brothers found out a few weeks back that their lost sibling was…” I paused, assessing my surroundings.
“Not lost?”
“Nailed it. I’m on close protection detail until further notice. And Trojan…” I sighed again, checking to make sure Jordan hadn’t suddenly materialized on the sidewalk beside me to give me more shit about learning a pole routine. I lowered my voice, just in case she developed bat hearing for this particular admission. “She’s twenty-five, she’s a stripper, and she’s hot as fucking sin. I need to get the fuck off this assignment but she’s high risk right now. She’s moved into my apartment temporarily until we can situate her into more stable housing.”
Trojan let out a disbelieving laugh. “All right. That sounds…tense.”
“Yeah, tense is one word you could use.” I expelled a burst of air, but it didn’t relieve enough of my pent-up frustration. “Plus, I swear to God this girl does not know how to cover herself up after a shower.”
Trojan groaned. “You’re living with an exhibitionist?”
“Feels like it.”
“My man, you know what to do.”
“Fuck her brains out?” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
His sarcastic cackle told me that this was not the right answer. “Not unless you want to lose the assignment. But you do need to get laid. When was the last time you got some action?”
I groaned. “Nothing since coming to New York.”
“Well, start there. You just need to let off some steam. That’s all. Once you get your clarity back, you’ll be able to handle the day-to-day a lot better. No matter how glorious her tits are or whatever this stripper has that’s got you in a chokehold.”
“She’s smart as hell. She’s funny. She’s incredibly fit—you have no idea.”
“Stop right there. She’s your assignment. I don’t want to hear how you two are meant for each other.”
I smirked as I glanced back at the doors of Black Brewtiful.“I never said that.”
“Well you were heading there. Just go get laid, okay? Or I’m gonna have to come there myself and make sure you find a girl to take your mind off the assignment.”
“Aww, you would do that for me?”
“I’ve got some PTO coming up, and Manhattan seems like as good a place as any to visit. Besides, I miss my Sevvy.”
I laughed at the ridiculous nickname. “Don’t fucking start. I’ll punch you as soon as you get off the plane if you call me that again.”
“See you soon, Sevvy.”
The line went dead, and I pocketed my phone, laughing to myself. I loved that fucker—he knew how to help whenever I was feeling lost. And if he was serious about the visit, it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Just go get laid.
It seemed easy enough. There were a million apps for this sort of thing. I could have a hot blonde in my lap by the end of the day.
So why was I only able to think about the blonde inside the coffee shop?