CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SEVEN
The buzzing of my phone on my nightstand was the first thing to bring me out of a catatonic state.
The splitting headache was the next.
I groaned, launching an arm toward my phone. I groped blindly until I connected with it and silenced it. I glimpsed the time as I did: 9:38 a.m.
This was the latest I’d slept in years. Possibly a decade. All thanks to my good buddy Trojan and his arsenal of alcohol.
I rolled onto my side and sighed. I’d been awake for four seconds and already felt like warmed-over garbage. Goddamn you, Trojan.
When I rejected his offer to meet up with the sexy brunette he’d catfished for me, he’d turned to shots as a way to punish me. We haven’t drunk like this in years, he insisted while dumping rum down my throat. There was a reason I hadn’t drunk like that in years. Because the next day fucking sucked.
Trojan’s stance was clear: starting shit with your client’s little sister—and the person I was protecting—was a bad move. But he’d seen firsthand how enmeshed I was. I couldn’t even lie and say I was upset that she showed up. Seeing her body packed into that skimpy black dress paired with her trademark leather jacket—eyes only for me—had more of an effect than I wanted to admit as a seasoned professional. If she’d been anyone else, I’d have been after her from the second she walked in the door.
But of course it had to be complicated. Trojan insisted I still needed to get laid—which was true. I needed to get laid four weeks ago. But I didn’t need some unknown pussy and bland personality.
I fucking needed Jordan. In my arms. Wrapped around my cock. Lips locked to mine.
And I had no idea how to move forward from here. I’d slipped up twice with her. I couldn’t let it happen a third time.
I hauled myself out of bed, needing something—anything—to dull the consequences of my night out with Trojan. I stumbled out of my bedroom, squinting against the sunlight flooding the apartment. The scent of eggs and bacon was the first thing I noticed, making my stomach turn. Not a good sign. Jordan turned to look at me from the stove, her eyes going wide.
“Warn a girl next time, why don’t you?”
I squinted at her, stumbling toward the cabinet. “What?”
“You’re…basically nude.” She waved a spatula in my direction. “Jesus, Seven. You’re just asking for it, looking like that…”
I ignored her as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet. I was wearing boxer briefs and nothing else. Big deal. Still, her gaze washed over me like molasses.
“Do you want some food?”
I grunted.
“How about a hydration drink?”
I nodded, struggling to open the ibuprofen. I couldn’t make the cap come off in my disoriented state. Jordan was at my side a moment later, prying the bottle from my hands.
“Let me help you, Oh Drunk One.” The lid popped off and she portioned out a dosage for me. Then she filled a glass of water for me. I swallowed the pills in a big gulp.
“Thanks,” I rasped out.
“You should go back to bed.” She flicked off the burner and grabbed my upper arms, navigating me toward my bedroom. “I’ll get you all tucked in and then bring you some goodies.”
I could only respond on the inside. Externally, I was unable to do anything but put one foot in front of the other. In my bedroom, I tumbled back into bed. Everything inside me hurt. Jordan went around tidying up: picking up my strewn clothes from the night before and slinging them over the back of a chair, plugging in my cellphone, and bringing me a Gatorade and more painkillers for later.
“All right, Seven. I think you’re all set.” She booped me on the nose before she left. I could only smile on the inside until my eyes closed and I drifted back to sleep.
When I awoke again, I could tell it was much later. This time, my phone read noon. When I tried to move, there was less screaming from my internal organs. I chugged the Gatorade, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. Progress. I rubbed my eyes, stood up, and pulled on some sweatpants.
The first time in my adult history that I’d skipped an early morning working during the week, and I had Trojan to thank. My phone screen showed plenty of missed texts from that lovable fucker, including a couple of missed calls. He had to know what he’d caused. The last text he sent simply said: Alcohol poisoning or nah?
I wrote back: You tried your best but failed again. I’m alive.
I pocketed the phone and headed to the bathroom to take a piss. Out in the living room, Jordan was in the kitchen again, now working on lunch. This time, I could absorb more details, like her messy bun and the wispy, sparkling strand of hair that had escaped next to her face. The simple black sports bra and boy short bottoms she wore told me she’d likely been practicing at the pole. Her little bare feet were adorable, toenails colored cerulean. Her luscious tops of her breasts in her skimpy lounge bra begged me to bury my face there, but instead I just lifted my fingers at her in a salute. This is how it has to be.
She looked delighted as I came into the kitchen. “Well, look at you! Wearing pants, like a real, live human.”
“Humans can just wear underwear.”
“Not when they’re built like a Greek god.”
I smirked, heading for the kettle. “That’s sweet of you. Can I use that quote on my professional page?”
She laughed, knocking her hip into mine as I filled the kettle. “You feeling better?”
“1000%. Trojan almost fucking killed me last night.”
“Sounds like a good friend.” She offered wry smile. “I didn’t even hear you when you came home. And I was up pretty late.”
“I don’t even remember coming home,” I admitted. “I know Legs drove me, because he’s the last outgoing call in my phone.”
“You finally ready to eat?” She washed her hands in the sink, jerking her head toward the stove.
“Inherently prepared from the first day of life.”
She smirked. “You must be feeling better. I made some paninis. But I also saved the breakfast burrito I made earlier. Your pick.”
“Ooh. Panini sounds good.”
She sent me a sexy smile as she brushed past me, knocking me with her hip again. “Why do you have to make it sound so seductive?”
“Panini is not a seductive word.”
“You could say anything in your just-woke-up voice and it’s seductive, okay?”
I reached for a teabag from the cabinet. “So I’m a Greek god and I’ve got a seductive voice. Anything else you’d like to share to boost my ego?”
“You’re the best kisser I’ve ever met.”
I fought a smile as I ripped open the tea bag and placed it in an empty mug. “Thanks. Ego officially inflated.”
“Would you say it’s at about a seven right now?” She looked at me expectantly.
“Higher.”
“Then you’re going to need to apply for a legal name change. I should have known—your name is referencing your ego, isn’t it? Is your new name Nine now?”
I bit back a laugh. “Nope. You can call me Eleven.”
“Better than Seven-Eleven.”
My shoulders shook with laughter as I poured the boiling water over the tea bag. Once it was full, I moved to the kitchen island and slid onto a stool to watch Jordan finish the meal.
“How do you know that isn’t my name already?” I teased.
“So this whole time I should have been calling you Mr. Eleven?” She sent me a doubtful look. “I want to see your license. That’s the only thing that will lay this to rest.”
I rose wordlessly, heading for my wallet. It had been on the kitchen counter all along; not only that, Jordan had been within stealing distance of this wallet plenty of times, yet to my knowledge, she’d never looked.
“You mean to tell me you never took a peek for yourself?”
“I’m weird about boundaries,” she said, “as in I actually respect them.”
“Unless it comes to date nights.” I slipped my driver’s license out of its laminated holder and handed it to her. She took it eagerly, gobbling up the information. A moment later, she gasped.
“No way.” Her gaze slid up to me, looking awed. “You’re Antonin Silva.”
I nodded, sliding back onto my stool. “That’s me.”
“Why do they call you Seven?”
“Somebody misheard my last name in boot camp, and it stuck.”
“So it isn’t referencing what number in the robot production line you were.” She pursed her lips, her gaze stuck on the license once more. “Six four, huh? And two hundred thirty pounds. I told you—Greek god.”
“Now that you’ve received this confidential piece of information, I trust you’ll tell no one.”
“As long as you tell me where the names come from. Antonin and Silva both sound a little…foreign, but not the same foreign.”
“My mother is from the Czech Republic and my father was from Guatemala.”
Her brows lifted. “Do you speak either of the languages?”
“Nothing more than understanding the occasional outburst or bad word,” I told her. “My lullabies were in Czech. But when I fucked up, I heard about it in Spanish.”
She took one last look at the license and then pushed it toward me. “I bet your parents have an interesting origin story.”
“My dad was military. Mom was a recent immigrant to the US. They met in California, got married, settled in Nebraska, and eventually divorced. Nothing wild.”
“Nothing wild that they told you,” she corrected, smiling down at the plates as she slid the paninis off the electric griddle. “So do my brothers know about Antonin?”
“Nope.”
She gasped, touching her chest. “I feel so honored.”
“Consider it your twenty-day reward.”
“What does that—” Her eyes went to slits. “Is that how long you’ve been my bodyguard?” When I nodded, she added, “Feels like twenty years, Seven.
“Since you were born, then?”
Her mouth rounded, delayed shock and delight spreading across her face as she chucked a cherry tomato at me. “You jerk. I am not twenty.”
“You sure act like it sometimes.” I couldn’t resist needling her. Last night unlocked something—I was showing her my legal name and sharing more with her than was necessary. But it felt good. It felt natural. “Crashing my guys night out because you were jealous.”
She rolled her lips inward, a pretty pink staining her cheeks. “Here. You better eat before your Greek stature starts to shrivel. Or should I call you…Griego?”
“So you know some Spanish, too.” I eyed the steaming panini hungrily before I took a bite, noting the warm, gooey explosion of mozzarella first, followed by roasted red pepper and seared chicken. She and I smiled at each other as we ate; I already had so many memories of us like this, one of us sitting on the stool, the other eating while leaning against the island mid-clean up, too eager to enjoy the food and too reluctant to break eye contact or step away from the moment.
“Holy shit, this is good,” I mumbled between bites, inhaling the food in record time. Jordan was barely a third of the way done when I put my plate in the sink. “I win.”
She laughed as she chewed, elbowing me.
“You take your time. Me and my tea are going to continue recuperating on the couch.” I scooped up my mug and wandered into the living room. Our cohabitation had always been charged with sexual tension, but now, I realized that was only part of the picture.
I’d always felt buzzy and aware around her because somewhere inside, I knew the danger that lurked. That if I dove headfirst into her, I’d be swallowed whole. An effortless gulp that would dissolve me and any progress I’d made.
It was happening already. Our easy banter and teasing that transitioned into sharing secrets. Her taking care of me while hungover. That was just the beginning. I felt it deep in my bones. The electric excitement that Jordan inspired was a promise, but it was also a warning.
If you go deeper with Jordan, you will drown.
I settled onto the couch carefully, taking a sip of my tea. Perfect temperature. I drank it slowly while Jordan finished her food. After the sounds of a quick kitchen clean up, I felt Jordan’s weight on the couch next to me. She’d curled up, head on the back of the couch, mere inches from me. Her angle was clear—but she wasn’t overstepping it.
“So tell me, Greek god.” She gestured at my bare torso. “When you’re built like this, why on earth don’t you date?”
I sighed, shaking my head. “I was just over here trying to enjoy my tea…”
“I think it’s a fair question.”
“Do you date?”
She blinked. “Well, no.”
“See? Point made. Everyone has reasons. It’s unrelated to perfect physique.”
She smirked. “All right, now I’m gonna call you Eleven.”
“You inflated me; this is what you get.”
She bit her bottom lip. I could see the gears of her dirty mind turning. “I did inflate you, you’re right. Especially the other night.”
I dragged a hand down my face. This was a minefield. Every turn was going to be fraught with innuendos and tension. If I followed that path, then I’d have minutes, maybe only seconds, before I pulled her onto my lap and started grinding against her.
But the hangover, mixed with the light of day and plenty of time to distance myself from those back-of-the-restaurant kisses, had helped to knock some logic back into me.
“That’s not what I meant. Jordan—” I drew a deep breath, setting down my tea on the coffee table. I turned to her, drinking in her tiny frame, her dark blonde ponytail, the fresh heart-shaped face of hers that felt like both coming home and the most insane turn on.
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t…do this.” I gestured at the dissolving inches of space between us. Her knee was against me, her warmth sinking into me. “Living together is just making this harder. But the truth is: I was hired to protect you. Not fuck to your brains out.”
Her eyes lit up. “Was that an option?”
I gritted my teeth. As far as my cock was concerned, it was the only option.
“I want things to go smoothly,” I went on. “Which means not ruining the most important business contact I’ve made in my entire professional career.”
Her face softened. “I don’t see how you and I could ruin anything for your career.”
“You might not feel it yet, because I know you’re unsure about them, but your brothers are crazy about you. If they found out that they hired me to protect you and I turned around and started fucking you instead? Jordan, that’s not how I operate. I don’t know how else to explain it to you. I do not fuck my clients. Not even when she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my entire life.”
Her gaze dropped, her lips turning downward. “Do you really mean that?”
“What part?”
“The last bit.” Her voice came out barely a whisper.
“Yes. Trust me, Jordan—” I stopped myself, unsure how much I should admit. I’d already gone way too far. But that was par for the course with her. “If I was a normal man, and you were just someone I knew…then yeah, maybe this would make sense.”
“What do you mean if you were a normal man?”
I reached for my tea again. But instead of drinking it, I stared into the murky depths, remembering all the reasons why getting close to someone was a bad idea. I could already feel the tug on my heart when it came to Jordan. The undertow, taking me out to sea. My heart couldn’t withstand shattering a second time. It had been barely patched together, thumping but injured, after my fiancée’s murder. Almost ten years later, I was mostly fine.
But if I ever experienced pain like that again, I wouldn’t be fine. I’d be destroyed. And I didn’t trust myself to limp out of the wreckage a second time.
“It’s not worth getting into.” I dipped my teabag a few times then set the mug back on the coffee table without drinking.
Jordan was quiet for a few moments. Then she sighed, pushing off the couch.
“Well, you make a good point,” she said. “No use wading into something that neither of us even wants.” She drifted toward the pole in the back of the apartment. “Unless you mean that fucking part. I’m pretty sure we both want that.”
“Don’t be a brat,” I warned.
“How is telling the truth bratty?” She laughed, hanging on to the pole with one arm as she swung in a slow circle.
“Just make it easier on both of us and don’t bring it up. How about that?” I sipped my tea testily.
Jordan stayed quiet as she climbed the pole. A moment later she was in the bat formation, her gaze bouncing around the room.
“What’s the big deal about honoring my brothers anyway?” She let her arms hang slack toward the floor. “It’s just work. You make more business contacts. You find new clients. Life goes on.”
“Like I said, you might not get it, because you guys have some…family issues. But they mean a lot to me. They’re not quite brothers but…they’re not just my clients, either. They feel like family, somehow. And I know better than to throw something like that in the trash.”
She didn’t know just how small my circle was these days. I had Trojan at my side. My mother was in a nursing home. And the Fairchilds. That was it. Everyone else I kept at a distance. Jordan couldn’t become an addition to that circle, even though it seemed impossible to keep her out. She needed to be transferred to a different officer immediately. But even if she was under the care of a different officer, it didn’t give us the green light to be together.
Because letting her in would only lead to me falling in love with her. And I knew better than to go down that road a second time.
Jordan heaved a sigh, then reached up and grabbed the pole between her legs. She slid down a moment later, catching my gaze across the room.
“You done drinking that tea? Let’s get started on your lesson.”
I lifted a brow. “You have to be on drugs.”
“The only thing I’m high on is the pole.” She tipped her head. “Come on. Up and at ’em.”
“Jordan.” I tried my best to make my voice sound authoritative, because I was not getting on that fucking pole. “I’m hungover as shit.”
“This will help.”
“I disagree.”
“You need to learn a basic move before I find my own place. The clock. Is. Ticking.” She punctuated her final words with hand claps. “Now come on, don’t make me activate your military competitiveness or whatever you Marines have dormant inside you at all times.”
I admired her tenacity. That was the only reason I set my mug down and joined her. I paused at the base of the pole, crossing my arms. “I haven’t stretched.”
“You won’t need to.”
I sighed, joining her in front of the pole. She tipped her head back to look up at me, and for a split second, I saw how this could end: me, dipping down, catching her face in my hands again, coaxing those heartbreaking kisses from her lips.
I wanted that so badly. But I wanted my inner stability more. I wanted my future, unchanged and unbothered. I wanted the Fairchilds’ respect. I wanted this all to be worth something, not just a humiliating chapter in my quest to expand and succeed.
The air buzzed between us. She felt it too. Jordan took one of my hands and placed it on the pole, smirking.
“Just grab this thick shaft right here and follow every instruction I give you.”
A laugh rippled out of me. “I know better than to agree to that.”
“You’re probably right. The last time you did that, you and I ended up doing something we’re not allowed to bring up anymore.”
“Thank you for remembering the new rule.” My skin prickled with anticipation as she positioned my other hand on the pole, about an inch above the first one.
“There we go. Just like that, Mr. Eleven.” She placed her hands on my hips and adjusted my stance, bringing them closer to the pole.
“Once you see how good I am, you’ll be calling me Thirteen.”
“That ego just continues to grow.”
I sniffed, squeezing the pole extra tight. “Your fault.”
She sent me a heavy look before tapping my right knee. “Bring this up here.” She showed me with her own knee. Once I did it, she showed me how to bring my other leg up.
The delight on her face once I was launched halfway up the pole had me smiling right back at her.
“You did it!” Jordan clapped. “The stiff body builder is officially mounting my shaft.” She pushed onto her tiptoes, resting her hand on my thigh as she added, “And that’s the most action either of us will get with each other, isn’t that right, Eleven?”
The twinkle in her eye as she winked promised me nothing but bratty mischief.