She narrows her eyes, like she’s weighing me. Then smirks. “So what, you made of steel or something?”
“Nah,” I say, grabbing a soda from the fridge. “Just better at hiding it than most.”
“Bet you say that to all your assignments.”
“You’re not an assignment,” I say. “You’re my path to salvation.”
That earns a real laugh. Soft. Surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting to enjoy herself tonight.
“If you’re depending on me for redemption, I’m going to highly advise you to look elsewhere.”
Her smile lingers this time, a little longer than before. She sets the book aside. I think that’s the first real laugh I’ve heard from her since I got here.
She tilts her head back against the couch and looks at me. “You always this serious?”
I sip my drink. “Only when I’m sober.”
She raises her glass in mock cheers. “That’s tragic. You should drink with me sometime.”
“You know Marcus would lose his shit if he found out I drank on duty.”
“Yeah, well, Marcus isn’t here. And if he was, he’d be too busy texting one of his side pieces to notice.”
She mumbles the last part. I don’t answer. Just walk over and sink onto the couch—close, but not too close, keeping a respectful distance.
For a moment, it’s quiet. Not tense, not heavy. Just… comfortable.
Then she tilts her head. “Why are you really here, Sean?”
I meet her eyes. “To keep you safe.”
She rolls hers. “No, I mean, this. This life. You seem like someone who could’ve been... something else. A cop. A teacher. Boyfriend material.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’m boyfriend material?”
First time anyone’s called me that. I’m practically married to my job. I don’t date. Don’t talk. Don’t try.
She shrugs, coy. “You’ve got the energy. You’re quiet. Capable. Got great arms. Steady hands. Look dangerous in a suit.”
“You making a list?” I tease.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, but her gaze lingers a second too long.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I smile. Something about her makes me want to open up. To have someone know me. Even if it’s just a small piece. So, I give her something.
“I used to think I’d be a therapist,” I admit.
She blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. But life happened. Money got tight. I joined the military. Saw too much shit. Got out. Went into the private sector. And now…” I gesture around. “Here I am. Babysitting the girlfriend of a very dangerous man.”
Her mouth tilts. “Sorry I’m not more exciting.”
“Oh, you’re exciting,” I say. “You just pretend not to be.”
She goes still at that. Then, says softly, “I don’t think I remember how to not pretend.”
