Page 19 of Layla

I rub my hands together. “Awesome. Start talking.”

“What do you want to know?”

I look him over, thinking about that. Suddenly, I want to know everything. “Let’s start with the clothes. Do you always wear a tie?”

He takes a sip of his coffee. “When I’m working.”

“You do realize that you’re on tour with a rock band, right? You do not have to wear a suit.”

“There’s no jacket,” he points out again, and I roll my eyes.

“Fine. You do not have to wear a tie.”

His expression turns thoughtful as he sips his coffee. “Actually, I’ve been discussing that with Sean. There’s an argument to be made that blending in a little more with the band and the rest of the crew would work in our favor. You may get me into jeans and t-shirt yet.”

I’d rather get you out of them, I think, then immediately push the thought away. Yes, the man is ridiculously hot. But he’s also here to put a serious cramp in my style. I refuse to have lustful thoughts about him.

I’ll just have to be sure to never look at his forearms again, because holy hell, they are doing something to me.

“Do you iron your jeans, too?”

He snorts, actually snorts, with laughter. “No.”

“But you do part your hair with a ruler, right? I mean, you have to. No one’s hair is naturally that neat.”

“I was in the military, okay? I got into the habit of keeping things orderly.”

“I knew it!” I clap my hands together “You totally look like a military guy. Were you like, black ops or something? I bet you were.”

His lips are twitching as he looks at me. “Again, you watch too many movies.”

“So, you left the military for the glamor of looking after spoiled rich people?”

He shakes his head. “I left the military when my tour was up. I went back into law enforcement.”

I groan, throwing a hand over my eyes. “You’re a cop? I have a freaking cop following me around, telling me what to do? This is literally my teenage self’s worst nightmare.”

He pulls my hand away from my eyes. “Stop being such a drama queen.”

He releases my wrist almost immediately, but I can still feel the heat of his fingers on my skin.

“I’m not a cop,” he says firmly. “I left law enforcement years ago. And I’ll never go back.”

His voice sounds harsh, almost angry. But not at me. I get the feeling that he’s angry at someone else entirely.

“You enjoy this glamorous lifestyle too much?” I ask sarcastically, gesturing around at the rumbling bus, wanting to lighten his suddenly dark mood.

He relaxes back into the seat cushion. “Private security is rarely glamourous. But it pays the bills and I enjoy it, for the most part. I like to feel like I’m helping someone.”

“This week you’ll probably just feel like you’re herding cats. Our schedule is insane.”

“I’ve seen it. Looks like you have a lot of appearances planned.”

I nod. That’s putting it lightly. We’ll be in New York for two shows this week and the label is taking advantage of it. They have us performing on several talk shows, sitting down for three print interviews, a few photo shoots, a video shoot. I have no idea how we’re fitting it all in. “Have you ever worked for a rock band before?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve protected some celebrities, but no rock stars, no.”

I grin. “Then you have no idea what you’re in for this week.”