Chapter 31 Lexi
Lexi
I stretch my arms against the headboard and stare at the ceiling as the morning light streams through the blinds.
Over a week without working with Justin, and the ache of missing him hasn’t dulled.
I thought visiting my parents would help ease this monstrosity inside.
Even though it was great seeing my family, I’m still hurting.
I’ve been living off comfort food and our text message exchanges while scolding myself every day for what happened during my diabetic shock episode.
Last night, the messages stopped. I shouldn’t be this upset, but going to bed without hearing from him disappointed me more than it should. He’s a client. Former client, actually. I should let this go.
I hop in my Jeep and make my way to a coffee shop.
During the drive, my mind flashes back to the way he looked at me in the nightclub.
The way his hand grazed my thigh, the electricity that shot to my core.
And even though I don’t remember much, and the humiliation runs rampant, the way he took care of me …
Stop. What am I doing to myself? I pull the Jeep in front of one of my favorite local spots, grab a coffee and bagel, and sit outside watching locals start their daily grind. But this is not where I want to be. I want to be with him.
Since I’m not protecting Justin, it seems like I could have free rein.
Maybe call him up, ask him out, explore these feelings, but it’s not that simple.
He’s still under a threat, the stalker has not been caught, and I work for the company assigned to his detail.
Even if I did call him and confess how I feel, what then?
Jack escorts us out? I try and separate my need to protect from my need to taste his lips. Zero good options exist.
After some time away, I’ll compartmentalize and drop him from memory. I’m a pro at this. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. Hopefully.
Who am I kidding? Last night I started watching one of his movies, but of course the opening scene was a shirtless Justin lying in bed, watching a woman leave his hotel room.
The way he whipped off the blankets, the camera panning so damn close to exposing him, made my breath catch.
I fought the urge to replay it and ended up shutting off the movie after twenty minutes.
I crunch into the bagel and wash it down with the coffee that isn’t as good as the stuff Justin makes when my phone buzzes. Damn my heart clenching at Justin’s name on the screen.
Justin: I’m sick of this shit. You want to keep me safe? From whatever the hell people are whispering about?
Justin: I just fired sunglasses man. And your agency. I refuse to work with anyone but you.
Justin: So, ask yourself one question. Am I safer on my own or with you?
I nearly choke on the coffee remnants. No. No, no, no … he can’t do this. He wouldn’t. This is beyond reckless. How the hell did his team agree to this?
My finger skips across the screen and taps on Marcus. When he answers, I belt out, ‘Is it true? Justin fired the agency?’
‘It’s true,’ Marcus says.
I leap from the café bench and pace the sidewalk.
‘Can’t you do something?’ I ask, already knowing there’s nothing we can do.
The agency operates on a free will contract.
If the client doesn’t want us, we walk. End of story.
‘This isn’t safe. Justin might be in real danger here, and we’re leaving him unprotected? ’
‘You know I can’t do anything.’ The click of a keyboard sounds through the phone. ‘But yesterday he had a package delivered at the studio. Not good.’
My pulse thuds at the way Marcus said package. ‘What was in it?’
‘A jug of blood and severed fingers.’
Jesus Christ!
‘Prop blood only, and fake fingers, but they didn’t know that at first. It certainly got the attention of the higher-ups.
Sounds like there were some serious discussions yesterday.
But Justin remained firm, refusing to work with any other security personnel except you.
’ Marcus pauses. ‘He agreed to keep Jack there last night, but sounds like it was only because his assistant convinced him to. If you return, he’ll reinstate our agency. ’
A shaky breath leaves my mouth.
‘Do you want back on the job?’ Marcus asks.
Do I? Sitting in my apartment is giving me a severe case of cabin fever.
Being restless made me participate in unholy activities, like going to Ikea to look at throw pillows and a wall clock.
One afternoon I even attempted baking brownies, which was an utter fail.
Who knew replacing butter with olive oil would make such a difference?
The jobs Marcus presented – like working backstage at a state fair concert – were dull and beneath my skill level.
After spending a profound number of hours at the shooting range, shopping for new shoes and even getting a pedicure, I’m officially bored.
The idea of being around Justin in a professional capacity is both thrilling and heartbreaking. Our texting banter gives me a lust buzz I haven’t experienced in a long time. But he could’ve been seriously hurt because of me, and I can’t just sweep that under the rug like nothing happened.
What do I do? I swallow back the rest of my coffee, chat another minute with Marcus, then hang up. Justin’s text haunts me: Am I safer on my own or with you?
Back in my Jeep, I review the message over and over and rest my head against the back of the seat. Breathing out, I type a reply.
Doc: I’ll be there at noon.
A few hours later, I park my Jeep in front of Justin’s fountain and hop out, filled with the same sensation as when I throw on my favorite hoodie the moment fall hits.
‘Welcome back,’ Jack says as he exits the house. ‘You ready to return?’
‘I’ll let you know at midnight when we swap shifts.’ I grin, but I already know. Two minutes in and my stomach uncurls from its week-long knot. ‘Walk me through everything I missed.’
After Jack’s debrief, I head inside and move into the kitchen. The sound of approaching footsteps perks my ears, and my stomach flutters.
‘Hey!’ A shirtless, sweat-misted Justin bounces into the kitchen with a huge smile and a towel wrapped around his neck.
God, that perfect V at his torso taunts me. If I could just dig my fingers there one time … I swipe my tongue on my bottom lip but then spin away.
I will not, under any circumstance, allow my feelings to get in the way ever again.
This is my second chance to prove I’m worthy of this position, and I’m not fucking it up.
I can’t believe the last time I was in this kitchen Justin was helping me on the floor.
‘Hey.’ I curse the heat in my cheeks. ‘Sounds like quite a bit happened since I was here last.’
‘That’s an understatement.’ Justin lines up apples, carrots and spinach on the counter. ‘Green juice?’
‘Sure, thanks.’ I pull out the chair at the island and flip open my laptop.
The words blur. God this is so awkward, but I have to address the Hollywood-sign-size elephant in the room.
What happened on the dance floor. The fight with him and Conner.
Whatever’s happening between us. There’s something here.
I can feel it, I’m sure he can feel it, too.
But I’m an employee. And I want to be back here.
But that means everything else needs to stop.
Friendly, fine. Flirty, not fine.
He tosses the items in the blender, fills up two glasses and hands me one. After a few sips of the sharp, citrus juice, I exhale. ‘Hey, we need to talk …’
‘Now?’ he says, giving me a look that says he absolutely doesn’t want to talk about anything. I can appreciate the fact that he wants to seamlessly slide back in like nothing happened, but that’s not reality.
Oh, this is terrible. Terrible. Communication is the worst thing ever invented.
I’d choose a dislocated shoulder over the conversation we need to have.
I focus on the juice before I shift my gaze to meet his.
‘I need to be completely honest with you. There’s been some, ah, blurred lines between me and you.
’ The words feel like glass shards. ‘I love that we get along so well. But I cannot risk your safety or my professional reputation. So, stuff like Conner, the dancing at the nightclub … it can’t happen.
’ God, I hope he can’t hear the crack in my voice.
He leans against the counter with creased eyebrows, and several long, awful moments pass. Do I want him to say something? Drop it? Be silent? His eyes search mine and his mouth parts. But then he switches his gaze back to his glass.
‘Got it,’ he finally says.
Jesus, he needs to put a shirt on. I’m using every ounce of willpower to focus on his eyes and nothing else.
Ten minutes into my first shift, and I’m already close to breaking my oath.
It’s probably safer to stare at my screen, so I don’t drool.
The shirtless scene in the movie I started watching during my time off was nothing like it is in person.
‘I … ah … thank you for your help when I was here last during my diabetic shock.’ I hate this. ‘I wanted to show you a couple of things in the extraordinary off chance it happens again, okay?’
His body perks. He grabs a shirt off the back of the chair, thank God, throws it on, and sits next to me. That scent. How can he still smell good after being all sweaty? Remnants from his morning shower, salted, misted skin. Heavenly.
I pull a few items from my bag and spread them across the counter. ‘These are glucose tabs, almost like candy.’ I palm a small pill bottle container. ‘If I drop, I should have the wherewithal to grab them. If not, I need about three or four, and then I’ll recheck my numbers.’
He tilts his head at the bottle. ‘Understood.’
‘This is my needle and insulin.’ I point to my vial and syringe.
‘You’ll never have to worry about this, but it’s good for you to know what it looks like.
Low blood sugar is an imminent danger, not high blood sugar.
Got it? I know in the movies they make dramatic scenes where people do an emergency injection, but that’ll never happen. ’
‘Okay,’ he says with a nod.
So far, he’s giving no indication that he thinks I’m weak, and the tightness in my chest releases. ‘And this right here is a glucagon injector.’ I roll the object in my palm. ‘Similar concept to an EpiPen. This is in the most extreme cases. Administer this and call 911.’
‘The other week …’ His mouth twists. ‘Was that considered an extreme case?’
This is the absolute worst. ‘Yes. That would’ve been a time I needed it.’
‘May I?’ When I nod, he picks it up and reads the back. ‘How does it work?’
‘Since I have the pre-mixed one, just open it up and shoot it in my stomach or thigh. Someplace with a layer of fat it can stick to.’ I study his face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but his eyes are focused on the items. ‘I’ve managed my diabetes to near perfection for years.
The chances of this happening again are slim, but not impossible.
If you can’t handle this, tell me right now, and I’ll walk with absolutely no hard feelings. ’
‘No chance.’ His voice is firm, and the corners of his lips turn up. ‘I just got you back.’
Why did he have to use those words? And in that way?
Flutters rush through me and I chew on the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning.
‘You did the right thing when you gave me juice last week. That’s a good way to increase my blood sugar levels quickly.
But if you don’t have juice, use Coke. If all else fails, give me straight white sugar. ’
‘White sugar.’ He sets the injector back on the counter and shakes his head. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? Probably would’ve been easier for you to ingest.’
I polish off the rest of the green drink. ‘That day, how did you get me to drink the juice? I have very little memory.’
He wipes up a drop on the counter with a napkin, and I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding my eyes. ‘Um, liquid CPR? Is that a term?’
Is he blushing? ‘What does that mean?’
‘I, uh.’ He clears his throat. ‘I put it in my mouth, and then, ah … transferred it to your mouth.’
He what? All color is absolutely draining from my face.
‘I’m sorry, Doc, that sounds stupid invasive.’ He rubs the back of his neck. ‘I was going to say something, but didn’t know if I should, or if you’d feel weird about it … but … well, I kept trying to make you drink it and you were choking, and I panicked, and I didn’t have a straw, and—’
‘It’s totally fine.’ I stare at my laptop as a wave of emotion engulfs me. Part disappointment that I don’t remember his beautiful mouth on mine. Part mortified that I was that severely incapacitated. Part terrified that if he wasn’t there I could’ve died.
But the other, overpowering rush comes from being taken care of. By him. This emotion goes against everything I believe about myself as a person – the strong one, the tough one, the one who doesn’t want coddling. And yet, it feels … nice.
‘Thank you,’ I finally say. ‘That was really smart. I don’t know what to say.’
He grabs our glasses from the counter and brings them to the sink. ‘Don’t worry about saying anything. I would’ve done it for anyone.’
I cock an eyebrow. ‘Even sunglasses man?’
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Nope, sorry, not him.’