Chapter 22 Lexi
Lexi
As the club music beats beneath my feet, my stomach tightens as Ivy not-so-subtly drapes herself over Justin. I cannot shake my dark feeling about her, and my gut isn’t typically wrong. Something’s off.
A tired-looking Zane approaches from my side. ‘When’s your shift over?’
‘Not soon enough.’ I check my watch. ‘Less than an hour.’
I follow Zane’s gaze to the couch, and heat prickles my skin.
Ivy’s giggling and trailing her hands on Justin’s forearms. This is exactly what I shouldn’t be doing.
Monitoring their interactions for his safety, fine.
Monitoring because jealousy simmers inside, not fine.
I’m this close to crossing a line, and I need to stop.
Earlier tonight Justin looked at me that way when he saw me in the dress.
It’s not that I haven’t picked up what he’s throwing down.
I have. I’m pretty sure my brewing feelings are not totally one-sided, even with him saying I’m not his type.
But I’m his staff. Hired to protect. Sworn to an oath.
Even if Justin feels something, I can’t act upon it.
I’d lose my job. My integrity. I’d put him in danger.
So yeah, the urge to rip Ivy’s face off is not good.
‘It’s gross, right?’
Zane’s words snap me from my thoughts. ‘What’s that?’
‘The way these women act. It’s like Justin could say he spat on someone’s face and they’d giggle.’ Zane digs in their purse and pulls out a lip balm. ‘I love how Justin’s all hunched over with his hands clasped like he’s praying. Pretty sure he’s hating every second of this.’
I don’t know. Sure, his eyes aren’t doing the full-on sparkly thing, but he is smiling. He might be loving it for all I know. Of course, Justin probably gets hit on constantly. But since most of our outings are work related, I don’t normally have a front seat to the action. I don’t like it.
And I hate that I don’t like it.
‘This must happen a lot, huh?’ Yep. I’m unabashedly one hundred percent digging for intel.
‘Yeah. But he rarely acts on it.’ Zane tips their head toward a different couch. ‘Want to sit down with me?’
More than just about anything. Heels suck. ‘No, I shouldn’t. This spot gives me the best vantage point.’
‘Suit yourself. I’m gonna order another drink,’ Zane says, tugging on their bag. ‘Need anything?’
I shake my head. Zane gives my arm a squeeze before they walk away. I’m so ready for this night to be over. Forty-six minutes left. Just survive the next forty-six minutes.
For the next ten minutes, I scan the room, do a soft occupancy calculation, maintain an internal live feed as to which exit paths contain the fewest amount of people, and absolutely do not let myself look at Justin and Ivy any more than what’s needed for my job.
I grab my purse from the table next to me, check my blood sugar levels, pop a few pieces of a protein bar in my mouth and return to my position.
When my gaze travels back, Justin catches my eye and a dimple pops up. He says something to Ivy, who smiles, but the moment Justin crosses the room to me, her smile drops. And it’s ridiculous, but satisfaction fills me. I’m blaming my irritation on wearing a dress.
‘Having fun?’ he asks, leaning next to me against the wall.
‘Fun?’ I say, peeking at him through a side-eye. ‘It’s better than getting waxed but worse than a pedicure.’
He smiles with that soft grin that does stupid things to my insides, then inches closer until we’re shoulder to shoulder. It’s not smart that his body is touching mine. I get distracted when that happens, and distraction is a hazard.
‘You look beautiful tonight.’
The flutters reach from my scalp to toes, but I ignore them. He’s polite. A little tipsy. He’s my goddamn client. ‘Thank you.’
A few moments stretch between us, when Justin crosses his arms. ‘I’m having a problem.’
I tense immediately. Did someone say something, slip him a note, whisper about something weird happening outside the club? ‘What’s that?’
‘Well, I’ve got a few drinks in my system. I’m feeling good. And this music is on point.’ A side grin appears. ‘I want to dance.’
I eye him quickly but resume focus on the crowd and a clearly agitated Ivy shooting me death glares. ‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t want to dance alone. I think you should dance with me.’ He nudges me softly. ‘Let’s loosen you up a bit.’
‘Are you serious?’ I look at his face. He’s absolutely not joking. ‘First, I don’t dance. Second, I can’t lose focus. A place like this has too many risks.’
‘Wait,’ he says, crossing his arms. ‘Are you saying if you dance with me, you’d lose focus?’
Dammit. Can he read my face? I groan. ‘Get over yourself. That’s not what I meant.’
He perks up with a devilish grin and tips back a bit more of his drink. ‘So, what did you mean?’
I shouldn’t be entertaining this. I can’t dance.
I meant what I said … I don’t dance. On the mats, in the gym, I’m ultra-coordinated.
The dance floor’s an entirely different story.
‘I mean I won’t be able to keep an eye on the perimeter if I’m dancing.
I’d inevitably expose my back and wouldn’t be able to sense a potential threat. I can’t compromise your safety.’
Justin’s shoulders drop. ‘You’ve got to lighten up, Doc. There are no threats here. Not everything is a life-or-death situation.’
His innocence is endearing. Sometimes I wish I could have this outlook on life. But I know better than anyone that losing focus, even for a second, could, in fact, be a life-or-death situation.
Ivy’s gaze burns a hole into me, and I’m over it.
I stare back, holding a more assertive eye than her, when she finally squirms and shifts her focus to her friend.
I sigh and look back at Justin. ‘I’m here to perform my job to the best of my ability, which means I need to be constantly assessing our surroundings. ’
‘Well, assess this.’ He pushes himself off the wall and stands directly in front of me.
‘I’m going to dance with or without you.
So, if it’s without you, that means I’m taking one of those women from the couch to dance with me.
’ He juts his head toward Ivy and her friends, and a diabolical grin crosses his face.
I stare up at him through my thick, fake eyelashes.
‘Are you going to dance with us? Is that how this personal security thing works? We might dance close. Like really close,’ he says.
‘How will you see if she’s trying to stab me?
Or has poison? What if she’s a trained assassin?
You leave me no choice, Doc. I want to dance.
Since you’re blatantly refusing to dance with me, I guess you’ll have to—’
‘Okay, fine!’ I spit out, half exasperated, half laughing. ‘I’ll dance with you. But let the record show this was not in my contract.’
‘Yep, yep. Got it. You’ll get a bonus for this. I’ll warn you, though. I’m pretty good. Like Dancing with the Stars-level good. Just follow my lead.’ He grabs my hand, with a firm, protective grip, and my arm buzzes.
He leads me to the center of the VIP dance area, between a small group of people who smell like alcohol and expensive perfume, but I guide him to the corner for a better vantage point.
And then, he moves. Jesus. He’s not kidding – he’s good.
The flow of his hips sway with the beat.
He might be joking, smiling, shaking his arms to demonstrate how I need to loosen up, but he’s doing it all in perfect rhythm.
Is there anything this guy isn’t good at?
‘You gotta move.’ He tugs at my wrist. ‘Otherwise, it’s just me dancing with a statue.’
I’m so not in my zone. People are too close, we’re getting bumped into, my heels feel like shit. The awkward nerves plant my feet into the floor, and if I even attempted to dance, I’d look like a suburban mom. ‘I don’t dance. At all. I don’t even know how to.’
‘You literally just have to move.’ He smiles again, encouraging, and God those dimples.
As he sways, he places a gentle hand on my waist and my breath catches. I move a few small steps, trying so hard to ignore the electricity shooting down my hip, while focusing on the crowd behind him.
‘Let’s try this.’ He twirls me halfway so my back is to him, wraps his muscular arms around me, and sways. ‘Side to side, see? Easy. Don’t overthink it.’
God, he smells good. Woodsy, salty, with a faint hint of citrus and pine. And his arms. So warm, so firm. I feel small, cocooned, shielded. Something I haven’t felt in forever. The way I’m melting is so not smart. I should stop. But I don’t.
Soon, we are moving in sync. He pulls me closer, his chest pressing against my back, my ass is just a whisper away from his lap, and every part of me wants to grind into him.
This is so wrong, but feels so good. I can’t stop.
The butterflies are in full flight. Could I just stay here forever?
Pretend this is a real moment, not my buzzed client having fun?
I want to drink this in and allow myself to feel this … whatever this is … for a while longer.
Soon, it’s just me and him. I’m not there to protect him, I’m not his employee.
We’re alone, together, on the dance floor.
For the first time in years, I feel so beautifully feminine, soft and relaxed.
Justin’s fingertips glide from my waist to my forearms, sending gentle goosebumps swooshing through my skin.
I want to move closer, push up against him and feel him through my dress.
My heartbeat pulses in my ear, matching the beat on the floor.
I lose myself in the music, in my thigh tingles, in the heat rising between my legs and flushing my body.
His hands grip my hips and press me into him.
Tighter. Closer. God, I want to feel his body against mine.
To touch him, just once, to see if he wants this as much as me.
To see if I actually am his type. My mouth is wet, hungry and I lick my lips.
He slides his palm down my thigh, and my belly quivers.
The touch is so delicious, and I immediately crave more.
I rest the back of my head against his chest. Loose and free and in heaven.
Wanting to stay like this forever, I close my eyes.
What the fuck am I doing? Closing my eyes?
I snap upright, and Justin immediately drops his hands. ‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that …’
Arousal screeches to a halt and mixes with disgust. This is it.
My final straw. The last time I was distracted, both my client and I were nearly killed.
And here, I fucking did it again. Flames ignite, burning my face, my chest, my gut.
‘I’m returning to the observation area. I’m happy to frisk one of the women you want to dance with if you’d like. ’
I’ve officially crossed the line. For one night, I can’t control myself. Who have I become? This isn’t me. I let emotions compromise his safety, and I feel sick. I press myself into the wall, the coolness shocking my bare upper back, and breathe out the rage.
Justin sits back down near his friends, with a flushed face, drooped shoulders and a deep frown.
He looks so remorseful, but I’m the one with remorse.
I’m better than this. More disciplined than this.
My stomach contracts, clenching down so hard it might crash into my liver.
I compromised Justin’s safety. And for what?
So I could feel fucking pretty? Or because I needed to be touched – like that – after so many years to dull the loneliness I refuse to admit that consumes me?
He’s a client. This is selfish. Dangerous.
Tonight needs to end. I need to go home. Now. I scan the crowd, disgusted with myself and resume my visual sweep.
But when I glance back to Justin’s table, I nearly break into a sprint.