I dazedly walk over to Farrow. Not taking my gaze offthatexchange, and I sink down next to him. “What’s up with that?” I whisper to him.
“It’s called abuddy-guard, wolf scout.”
I’ve heard security use the term before.Buddy-guard(noun): one who protects a very-important-person while also being their close friend.
I’ve known that Akara understandseverythingabout Sulli, her habits, her likes and dislikes—I just never really honed in on their “friendship” until…
Until I started fucking my bodyguard.
Great. Is my perception of every bodyguard-client relationship going to skew on the side ofthey’re copulatingnow? My mind is a rabbit hole that I didn’t ask to fall into.
“Lean back,” Farrow says, sipping his beer.
I do, and we’re shoulder-to-shoulder. But my narrowed eyes remain plastered on my cousin and her bodyguard. I lower my voice, ensuring only Farrow can hear. “Do they look super close to you? More than a buddy-guard?”
“No.” He sips his beer, at total ease right now. I observe my cousin. She shoves Akara’s carved bicep, laughing as he hides the bowl behind his back.
I grimace—are they flirting?I try not to even touch my mixed feelings. I’m a hypocrite if I dislike the mere idea of Sulli with her bodyguard, but some part of me tramples through the “Hulk-Smash Akara” territory. “You sure?”
Farrow turns his head to whisper in my ear. “I’ve known Akara a long time, and he’d never cross that line with Sulli. He’s a securitylead. He’s too professional. And he knows Ryke Meadows would kill him.”
My dad will kill you. My jaw tenses, and he must sense my sudden thought.
He whispers up against my ear again. “If your dad scared me, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”
That reminds me…I haven’t regretted crossing a line with Farrow. Not once.
My shoulders lower a fraction, and Farrow bites into an English muffin, sandwiched with egg, bacon and cheese. Which he made at his townhouse after showering and brought it here. Even though we bought snacks for tonight.
His love of breakfast foods has no bounds. Farrow willliterallyorder sunny-side up eggs and sausage seven days in a row for every meal.
Farrow extends the half-bitten sandwich to me.
“I thought you don’t share.”
He licks his thumb, lips lifting. “I share with you, only.”
I grab the sandwich. “Because I’m your client.”
“Try again.”
Because I’m your…“You tell me.” Are we labeling this relationship—I don’t know? This is my first relationship—when do the labels come? Maybe Farrow has like a six-month minimum before he considers a person his…
I watch him survey the room out of his peripheral. Farrow being subtly alert of our surroundings—I love. I’m more obvious. Staring straight on.
Janie uses the remote to find a horror movie on Netflix. Akara and Sulli are chatting quietly, and she’s stacking chips on a donut. Quinn plays with Ophelia, the white cat scurrying beneath his muscular legs.
“Maximoff.” Farrow captures my gaze. He stops himself from speaking more, and I can’t feel disappointed. Because I know he sees someone watching us. He stares straight ahead at the television.
I take a bite of his food before handing the sandwich back. Then I unscrew my water bottle and swig.
“What the hell is up with this one?” Quinn frowns at a calico kitten pawing at his ankle.
“It hates you, Oliveira,” Farrow says into a swig of beer.
“He,” Janie corrects Farrow with a pointed look; when she sees me watching, she forces a smile likewe’re friends; don’t worry, Moffy.
Did that convince anyone? Wallpaper, lamp, table, man on the moon—you all fucking convinced? Me neither.
