“There’s food in the house,” Maverick told me gruffly, oblivious to the shift in my attention as I let alcoholic scents that these four men seemed to share make me feel dizzy.
Then a particularly harsh breeze filled the little garden we were standing in and took their scents along with it as it whipped through the towering trees around us.
The fog in my mind cleared with it and I was fully back in the driver’s seat.
Side-stepping around Maverick, I yanked the gate open.
“Lennon…” Maverick growled his voice full of warning.
But I was too far into my bid for freedom to give up now and freedom tasted like a full breakfast plate and a glass of fizzy soda.
Holding up both of my middle fingers—something that would have 100% gotten me grounded had I done it to Agent Brady—I shot the four of them a toothy smile.
“I’m going to go get some pancakes, boys, so you can either come with me or stay here. Your choice.”
Then I turned on my heel and left the yard, followed by the sound of Dallas cursing under his breath as four sets of feet began to move after me.
Victory was mine today—even if it was only for a plate of pancakes that wasn’t served out of a Styrofoam to-go carton.
Chapter Seven
Cy’s Diner — Sara’s Springs, Missouri
3 months & 1 week until the election…
“Can’t you guys at leastpretendto look normal?” Lennon asked, her voice colored with irritation as we crowded around her in the booth.
Maverick, who was sitting in a chair at the end of the table, glared at her from over his mug of steaming coffee. “We are acting normal.”
Lennon looked at him from over the massive stack of pancakes in front of her and just rolled her eyes at the alpha. “All of you tense up whenever someone opens the door. Some people here might get the wrong idea.”
The localshadbeen looking at us funny ever since we walked in—probably thanks to our different stages of undress.
I was the only one still in my suit which only made the contrast to Zeke’s jeans and t-shirt, Dallas’s hoodie, and whatever the hell was going on with Maverick, that much worse.
In fact, Lennon looked the most normal out of the five of us as she dug into her pancakes with a relish that made me have to force myself not to stare as she licked her lips.
It had been almost a month since we’d started protecting Lennon Holloway and I was pretty sure I was in deep, deep shit.
I liked Lennon. From the way her faint cherry alcohol scent seemed to cling onto every surface of the tour bus like a tantalizing trail leading me to the promised land all the way to her prickly, terse attitude when she felt like we were being overbearing.
There was no way that a crush like this would ever work out. I knew that.
Even if Lennon wasn’t the current object of our protection—and super damned off-limits—she was still the daughter of the president and granddaughter of a former vice-president.
The Holloways were basically American royalty… and I was most definitely not.
And yet, even knowing all of that, I was filled with a sick sense of glee that I’d managed to finagle my way into the seat next to her.
Reaching over, I snagged a slice of bacon off of her plate and popped it into my mouth.
“Hey!” Lennon protested as she attempted to stab my hand with her syrup-covered fork. “That was my bacon.”
“It may be your bacon, Lennon, but it’s in my mouth,” I said, grinning at her as I continued to chew. “You’re more than welcome to retrieve it if you want it that badly.”
I watched her gray eyes widen with surprise. Her cheeks then flushed before she seemed to reboot in a blink and she was back to glaring at me again.
“Then order your own,” she shot back, wrapping an arm around her plate in order to protect her food.
