Chapter 15 Lexi
Lexi
The AI video of Justin plays in my head on a loop.
I contemplate for the hundredth time requesting Marcus reassign the weekend guards and allow Jack and me to stay here permanently.
But I know it’ll be denied. Since we got back from the studio, I’ve made several calls, brought Marcus into the conversation and refreshed my email no less than fifty times, yet I’m not doing enough.
Who the hell is this person? Why are they doing this?
When, and how, will they strike? I know damn well that encrypted IP addresses are not decoded in a snap.
If they were, no one would encrypt. But still, not having the answers gnaws at me.
We need to do more – I need to do more – but I’m lost for next steps. And I hate being lost.
After I escort the masseuse from the house, I shake off the uneasy feeling and shift to trusting the security team, as well as my own abilities. As long as I’m here, Justin is safe. And for now, that has to be enough.
A few minutes later, Justin floats down the stairs, glassy-eyed and glowing. If I didn’t know better, I might think the masseuse really did do happy endings. ‘Did you get a facial, too?’
‘Kind of. She spent about twenty minutes massaging my face.’ He stretches his arms and yawns. ‘It’s so relaxing, right?’
I shrug. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘You’ve never had a massage therapist rub your face?’
‘I’ve never had a massage.’
He pauses at the edge of the couch. ‘You’ve never had a massage?’
I’m not sure if I should laugh or chuck a pen at his shocked expression. It’s not like I told him that I stepped onto a UFO last month filled with ’80s pop stars or something. ‘I mean, I’ve had physical therapy that has massage components, but I didn’t leave the room looking all—’
‘Looking all what?’ His eyes twinkle.
‘Satisfied.’ I try to choke back a giggle and follow him to the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, Justin slides over to the freezer and grabs a tub of ice cream. ‘Want some?’
I lift an eyebrow and sit on a chair at the island. Of course I want some. We’ve had ice cream every night. Justin has turned me into some sort of fancy ice cream Pavlov’s dog, and I practically pant whenever he opens the freezer.
At some point Justin’s trainer will cut him off from all sugar, but until then, he said he wouldn’t stop his bedtime routine.
I take a seat, and dammit. Yep. Here I go again, watching the way his back muscles flex under his snug T-shirt as he scoops.
God, I have a thing for backs. Why does Jack get to accompany Justin to his morning workouts? Unfair.
I seriously need to stop thinking like this.
When he spins toward me, I scowl. ‘Really?’
He grins and adds a larger scoop before sliding me the bowl and handing me a spoon.
‘That’s better.’ The chocolate dances on my tongue and I refrain from moaning. ‘This stuff is so good. Ben and Jerry’s. Has a greater ice cream brand ever existed?’
‘Nope.’ He scoops up another bite but pauses the spoon in mid-air. ‘Hey, can I ask you something?’
Oh no. Please, please, don’t ask me exactly what I thought of your naked ass in your movie.
Which was phenomenal, obviously. I still can’t get over how embarrassed I got when we brought it up.
That day, the dimly lit living room barely hid my blush.
Under the bright kitchen lights, he’ll one hundred percent read my face. ‘Sure.’
‘Have you always wanted to be a bodyguard?’
Oh thank God. ‘I wanted to be in the military, actually.’ I roll another dollop of ice cream on my tongue. ‘But I was disqualified from enlisting because of my diabetes.’
‘I didn’t realize you couldn’t enlist because of that. Makes sense, I guess.’ His spoon clanks against the side. ‘So did you see an ad or something and thought this was the next best thing?’
‘Not exactly.’
I tell Justin how I worked in the diner with my mom but wanted out.
Small-town living wasn’t for me. Still isn’t.
Sure, my town is what people think about when they hear ‘rural America’.
Everyone knows everyone, church ladies bake bars and pies for fundraisers, and the town’s pecking order is God, family and sports.
But it’s also stifling. When everyone knows everyone, it also means gossip is a local pastime.
‘I finally saved up enough money and moved to Minneapolis.’
‘Did you like it there?’ Justin rips a paper towel off the roller and wipes a drop of ice cream from the counter.
‘Yeah, the city’s great, but everything was so expensive.’ Sadly, my body nudges me that I’ve hit my sugar max. I set the spoon down and reach for a water. ‘I waited tables, worked the register at a gas station, and then found a dojo to teach martial art classes.’
He licks his spoon completely clean. This motion should not make me warm.
‘You obviously like teaching,’ he says. ‘Although you almost broke my arm when you showed me that one move.’
‘Stop it! Really? Someone needs to call the Academy and let them know you’re in the running for the most dramatic person of all time. I did not almost break your arm.’
As Justin finishes his ice cream, I tell him about the night where I noticed a man observing me at the dojo. Marcus is strong and fierce and beautiful, and hard to miss. ‘His posture terrified me, like he was a combination of royalty and special forces. I still wonder if he’s secretly both,’ I say.
That day changed my life. There’s a before I met Marcus and an after.
It’s hard to articulate my feelings for Marcus.
Father figure seems disingenuous and a bit of a slap to my own dad.
Mentor doesn’t even begin to describe our relationship.
He’s saved me, more than once. Figuratively and literally.
He’s the person you want in your corner if you’re under attack but also want in your corner when your marriage falls apart. He’s my person, if I ever had a person.
‘My studio manager, Dave, introduces us and we go for dinner,’ I continue, telling Justin that Marcus asked me about my shoulder which I’d dislocated a couple weeks prior.
‘When I asked him how he knew about my shoulder, he said something about me grabbing my backpack with my non-dominant hand and one shoulder being slightly higher. My mouth dropped. Then he laughed and said, “Besides, Dave told me”.’ I grin.
‘After that we talked about random stuff. Dreams, goals, how fast my mile is—’
‘How fast is your mile?’
‘5:20.’
Justin lets out a low whistle and I can’t help my smile. The next time we’re bored, I’m challenging him to a race. ‘Anyway, Marcus said he created a security firm and only accepts top-notch talent after thorough evaluation and hands-on training.’
‘What type of training?’ he asks.
‘Intense physical and tactical for a year,’ I say. ‘I asked him if he was going to see how many push-ups I could do, and he asked me how many times a perpetrator challenged someone to a push-up contest. Pretty sure he cemented my loyalty with that single comment.’
‘God, I love this stuff. For my films, depending on the director, it feels like I’m in boot camp.’ He props his elbows up on the counter. ‘Never know, Doc. One of these days I might end up protecting you. I did kill twelve men with my bare hands in my last movie.’
I laugh. ‘Uh huh … yep.’
He grabs my bowl and stacks it on top of his. ‘So, then what happened?’
God, he is so easy to talk to. So easy. As I continue, the conversation doesn’t feel like I’m sitting with a client.
I don’t get warm, yummy feelings when talking to clients.
It’s so reminiscent of the early days when me and Katey got together.
But except for scraping our dollars together to get shitty coffee and day-old baked goods, I’m in a gourmet kitchen on cushy chairs, feeling the remnants of top-tier ice cream on my mouth.
‘After everything, he offered me the job.’ I gulp down water to drown out the sugar.
‘He said I was a perfect fit but was honest and said he also needed to increase the women on his staff for low-profile work. He said female operatives can often pick up on body language and cues that male operatives may miss.’
Justin sits back and taps the sides of his chair. ‘I think that’s fair. But don’t you think there’s more to that? I often pick up on things, or can sense moods, but mine was because it was key to survival in my house.’
Whoa. Record scratch time. I thought the other night was a fluke when he shared about his family and sister.
I want to hear so much more about him, his life, his family.
I’m trying to convince myself it’s for research or for protection, but I know that’s not true.
I’m intrigued. Which is a dangerous place to be.
‘If you ever want to tell me more, I’ll listen. ’
‘Ack. This is your story time, not mine,’ he says. ‘Not that you aren’t great, because you are, but there must be women all over the country. Did he say why he chose you, specifically?’
‘Yeah, Dave sent him videos of me teaching and a few old basketball tapes, and Marcus told me I had je ne sais quoi. I remember just staring at him before I finally told him that I didn’t speak French.’ So freaking embarrassing.
Justin laughs. ‘How did he pick that up from the tapes?’
Who knows? Now that I know Marcus better, I swear he has a sixth, seventh and eighth sense. ‘He said I was quick on my feet and watched me give up a good shot for a teammate to have a great shot.’
‘This is giving me so much insight into how you were as a player. Not nearly as cocky as I thought.’ He grins. The most perfect, disarming, lovely grin. ‘Then you got the job?’
‘We ended the conversation with him saying he’d fly me out to LA for a skills test. I didn’t even have a suitcase; can you believe that?
It was just me and a duffle bag.’ I want to swoop in and hug my scared, but excited, twenty-one-year-old self, getting on a plane for the first time.
‘A month later, Katey and I packed our things and made the drive from Minneapolis to LA to begin a new life.’
He smiles. ‘Who’s Katey?’
Oh my God, why did I just bring her up? ‘My wife,’ I say, then add, ‘Well, my ex-wife.’
‘You were married?’ His eyes widen a bit and he pauses. ‘And … to a woman?’
I kind of love the flush filling his cheeks, even though I shouldn’t. I get the sense that he wants to ask about my identity. Maybe he’s felt the growing attraction I’m fighting, or maybe he’s curious.
Or … maybe he’s fighting it, too.
But I’ve also come to know Justin. Even with his grin and buttery, slight Nashville drawl that can pull stories out from the most unsuspecting people, he’s too polite to straight up ask.
‘I was,’ I say. I’m not normally open about my identity, or marital status for that matter, with a client.
But with Justin … it feels like I can be open about anything. ‘I’m bi. In case you were curious.’
Coming out always has a layer of awkwardness to it. But did I need to add ‘in case you were curious’?
‘Ah.’ He nods, and his lips curve into a grin. ‘So, you were married. Did your family like her?’
‘Yeah, they really did.’ I grab another two glasses of water, and hand him one. ‘My dad especially. He thought Katey was good for me. He worried less when she was around. Like he knew she’d force me to take care of myself.’
‘How did they handle it when you got sick?’ he asks as he slices into a lemon from the fruit bowl and a burst of citrus mists the air. ‘I’m not sure what happens when you develop diabetes, but I’m assuming it’s not good.’
It wasn’t good. I was so tired, had this horrible, insatiable thirst, guzzled apple juice a half-gallon at a time, and no one knew what was wrong with me.
‘I lost a ton of weight, which scared the hell out of my parents. My dad thought I was losing weight on purpose and kept saying things like, you know guys like meat on bones – gives us something to grab on to while shoving extra potatoes on my plate.’ I smile, but it’s not funny.
‘A few days later, he carried me to the car because I was too weak to walk and flew down the highway to the hospital. He just changed after that, you know? Even to this day, he never stops worrying. He has the same fear of sugar for me as a bullet.’
Several moments of silence pass, which is a very good thing. I’ve been talking so much that I’m parched. I grab a sliced lemon from the cutting board and squeeze it into my water.
Justin pulls his lips into his mouth for a long moment. ‘You admire your father a lot?’
The understatement of the century. My father sacrificed everything for me.
From him and my mom adopting me, to how they raised their family, to giving up their time and personal items. ‘After I got sick, I heard my parents whispering about things they could sell to pay for my medical bills. A week later, a man drove off with my dad’s beloved 1970 Chevelle, “Betty”.
It killed me. I spent years watching my dad fix this car by hand.
Betty was part of the family.’ To this day, the look my dad had that afternoon haunts me.
‘Know what he said when I asked him why he got rid of her?’
‘What did he say?’
‘He just said: “Time for Betty to go to a new owner, kid. Your mom was jealous of my mistress.”’ Why am I telling him this?
The memory guts me almost as much today as it did seventeen years ago.
‘But I knew why he sold the car, and I hated myself for it.’ Enough.
I just trauma barfed all over the man I’m supposed to protect.
What’s next, me diving into the debilitating pain from my divorce and how I’m not sure I can ever open myself up to love again?
These over-the-top personal conversations stir too many emotions, which is the exact opposite of what should happen while on duty. Never before have I ever wished a perp would break in and deflect everything happening. ‘Jesus. I can’t believe I talked this much.’
I can’t decode Justin’s softened expression, but a rare warmth rushes my body. He touches the top of my hand, his large hands dwarfing mine. They’re firm and warm, and I want to interlace my fingers and have him touch my skin a few moments longer.
‘Thank you for sharing a piece of you with me,’ he says. ‘It means more than you know that you trusted me enough to open up.’
And, shit. That tone, those kind eyes, this desperation for him to keep touching me …
Yep, it’s official. I’m a goner.