Shaking my head, I do as he says, closing my window and pressing the button that locks all of the doors. It’s only when I’m done that he turns and walks across the sidewalk and stops to face the truck. His eyes flick from me and back to the menu board he’s reading every couple of seconds as he checks on me.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.
I throw open my door, jump out and march toward him.
He’s on me before I even make it halfway.
“Sinclair!”
It’s a deep, gruff warning. One that does something funny to my stomach as it’s coupled with a large solid arm wrapping around my torso like a shield.
“Why can’t you do as you’re told?”
The vibrations from his voice hit my ear along with the same warm, minty breath. A thrill skates up my spine.
My father never said I had to behave for Denver. Perhaps if my family insists on treating me like a child, I should act like one. Winding up Denver is the closest I’m going to get tohaving any fun until they drop the whole ‘personal bodyguard’ nonsense.
“I wanted to watch them make it.” I pout.
Denver looks at me, a muscle in his cheek clenching before he glances up and down the street. “Fine. But you stay by my side.”
“Thank you.” I bop the end of his nose with my fingertip. “You know you’re almost cute when you’re angry. Almost…”
His nostrils flare, and I swear he’s grinding his teeth to powder.
True to his word, he stays a couple of inches behind me, and I can feel the heat emanating from his pissed off face as I take my time pretending to choose.
“Are the berries organic today?” I ask the guy behind the truck’s counter.
“Sure are. Great for the complexion, not that you need it, Sinclair.” He grins, and I giggle.
“Scott, you’re such a flirt,” I scold gently, loving the grunt that comes from behind me.
I take longer pondering the menu when really I know all of the regular smoothie combinations they offer. I stop here at least twice a week.
“What are the specials today?” I ask.
Scott leans over the counter, his blond floppy hair falling into his eyes. “I was just about to write them on the board. You want to help me name them?”
“Ooh! I do.” I look over my shoulder at Denver, raising my brows like he should join in on my excitement.
He stares back at me, his face a mask of indifference.
I turn back to Scott as he reels off a list of berries and coconut milk and points to a baby pink mixture in one of the blenders.
“It matches my outfit.” I smile, doing a mini wiggle in my workout gear. “You think we should call it Sinclair?” I turn toDenver. “What’s the first word you think of when you look at me?”
He presses his lips together, his eyes roaming up and down the street as he studies each person walking by.
“I’ll help you,” I offer. “Stubborn client, needs babysitting, helpless, treated like a child, difficult, spoiled?—”
“Princess.”
“Sorry?”
His eyes meet mine and he breathes out the single word again, only the way he says it sounds less like the insult I suspect it’s supposed to be.
“Princess.”
