Page 9 of Maybe This Time (About Time 0.5)
Callum’s quiet at first, his dark eyes a little thoughtful.
When he says nothing, I stare harder. “Right? It would be, don’t you think?”
He clears his throat. “Sure. Of course,” he says, but sounds noncommittal.
“So I’ll keep resisting him?” I ask, since I need the reminder for myself.
“Exactly,” my friend says. “Resist. Don’t get involved with your client.”
I arch a brow. “Um, I’m the client.”
Callum shakes his head as if clearing it. “And the corollary applies to you. Don’t get involved with your bodyguard, no matter how tempting.”
Damn straight.
Even though the temptation is, admittedly, stronger than I’d thought.
More powerful than I’d expected.
And so damn in my face, since the man I’m attracted to is by my side every night.6StoneThe next few weeks, we’re on the road, and Jackson and I are together nearly every night on a short European tour, visiting Vienna, Paris, and Madrid.
In Paris I am officially starving after the first show, so we swing by a brasserie near the hotel in Le Marais, where I order a salad and a glass of wine as the bells on a nearby church strike midnight.
“And for you, J-man?” I ask, dropping a nickname on my bodyguard for the first time.
He lifts one brow. “Should I call you S-man?”
“That or Favorite Rock Star Ever,” I say with a grin.
He doesn’t crack a smile. “We’ll stick with Stone.”
“Fine, J-man. Leave the nicknames to me. And the ordering. What tickles your fancy?”
He tells me he’ll have the chicken dish, with vegetables on the side, and a glass of water.
When the waiter arrives, I handle the ordering in French.
After the server leaves, Jackson asks, “Are you fluent? That was a little more than tourist French.”
I nod, pride spreading through me that he noticed. “Yeah, pretty much. Learned it in high school and college, but I made an effort to keep practicing, since I tour here a lot.”
A small grin crosses his face. “That’s awesome. It’s always good to know another language.”
“Yeah, it is. Are you impressed with me?” I ask with an eyebrow wiggle, like I’m fishing for compliments. Because I am.
But the man isn’t stoic for nothing. “Do you want to impress me, Stone?”
God, I do. I really want to impress him. “I always want to impress you,” I say lightly.
“Good. I’ll keep that in mind,” he says in that deadpan tone that leaves me wondering if I’ll ever make any inroads with him beyond his dry sense of humor.
But then, why do I want to?A few nights later in Madrid, my stomach rumbles before the show, so we find a café, where I practically salivate for a veggie paella.
“I’ve got this one,” Jackson says, then he handles all the ordering, speaking in Spanish. He does it again the next morning when we order breakfast at a local spot, and it’s hella hot to hear him talk in another language.
But I have to remind myself it’s just empirically hot. It’s not specifically hot. It’s not hot because I’m attracted to him.
Since I’m not.
There’s a whole wide world out there full of beautiful, fluid people, and there’s no reason I should focus all my attraction on somebody who wouldn’t be attracted to me.Next, we travel to Tokyo as promised.
Jackson is focused, diligent, and on alert like he always is as we make our way through the Narita airport with the team, then to our waiting cars that whisk Veronica, Candi, the other bodyguards, staffers, Jackson, and me to downtown Shibuya in the heart of Tokyo, the intersection made famous in Scarlett Johansson’s Lost in Translation. Six streets converge, and thousands of people cross all at once every time the light turns green. It’s a madhouse, an absolute zoo of people and neon and lights and energy, and I love it.
“What do you think?” I ask, holding my breath, since I want Jackson to like the city he most wanted to visit. “Is it what you hoped for?”
He nods a few times, taking it all in. “Worth it. Definitely worth it.”
Warmth spreads through me. A warmth from fulfilling one of his desires.
I only wish I understood why I like this sensation so much.A few nights later after a concert, we’re heading back to the hotel. When we reach the revolving doors, I stop in my tracks.
“Everything okay, boss?” Jackson asks.
Boss.
The word bristles me. I am his boss, but I also want to have fun with the man.
Maybe I can have both.
“I’m too amped up from the concert, and I want to go play some games at an arcade,” I say, since Tokyo is a city that knows how to have a great time, a metropolis that embraces games and festivities, from karaoke to pachinko.
“You like arcade games?” he asks with a lift of one eyebrow.
“You don’t like games?” I counter.
“Love arcade games. Pinball is life,” he says with a wry laugh.
