Page 97 of The Bodyguard's Fall

Tate was lying on top of our bed, fully clothed, sans shoes, his legs crossed casually at his ankles and his hands behind his head. At the sound of the door, he glanced over and froze. A line of heat tingled throughout my body as his gaze roamed over me. He swore lightly before he looked back toward the ceiling, rubbing his eyes with a sigh.

I stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure where to go. Finally, he stood from the bed and made his way toward the bathroom, giving me a wide berth.

The room was cold. The air conditioner blasted noisily in the corner. I stood near the bed, rubbing my hands down my arms to ward off the chill. When he opened the bathroom door after a minute, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and began brushing his teeth, the whole scene seemed casual enough.

So I went in.

It was definitely too domestic a scene, especially for two old chums getting married on the fly to keep my job and save me from a stalker. If he wasn’t copying exactly how I brushed my teeth or nudging me out of the way with the side of his body so he could spit, he was scrunching his nose and making faces at me through the mirror. I attempted to hold my own, doing my own nudging and eye rolling when appropriate, but I was having a hard time keeping up in my frazzled state.

I bent to spit. He did the same. I held back. So did he. I started to lean forward once more, and he did the same until I finally nudged him out of the way with my hip, making sure it wasn’t his hurt side, which only made him grin and motion me to the sink.

Unfortunately, I missed the sink and spat right onto the counter instead, to his growing amusement.

Once we were done in the bathroom, we stood in front of the frilly pink bed, eyeing it critically. I had always thought a queen-sized bed was perfectly adequate. But now, standing next to Tate’s tall, muscular body, I found myself having doubts.

“Dibs on that side,” he said, pointing.

“What? No way. That’s the side I always sleep on.”

“It’s closest to the door.”

That made me hesitate until I remembered the window. “But the other side is closer to the window.”

“He’s not getting in here, but if he did, it’s eighty percent more likely that he’d come through the door. The window’s too noisy.”

I peered over at him. “Did you just make that up to get your way?”

The slightest impish grin peeped out across his lips. “No.”

I relented, because whether he made up the facts or not, steering clear of the door was enough for me.

And then we climbed into bed. On our respective sides. Not a big deal. Just like any other married couple. There was actually very little fanfare about the whole thing, which was good. I sighed before I rolled over on my back. I could already tell that the mattress had seen a few years, dipping violently toward the middle. Tate weighed more than me, which did not work well with gravity.

To be clear, it was gravity that had my body wanting to roll toward the middle.

I scooted as far over as I could to keep a respectable distance but grew more worried with each passing second I fairly clung to my side.

This bed would not embarrass me tonight.

Finally, when I had scooted over far enough, feeling certain my perch was safe, I relaxed onto my back, a small sigh leaving my body. My thoughts were a jumble of Tate, truck rides, kisses, fake wedding rings, the way he could tease me with nothing to show for it except the twinkle in his eyes, and now sharing a bed. How does a person process everything that happened on a day like today? Maybe they don’t. Maybe it just becomes part of your story, imprinting itself on your DNA.

There was a dichotomy about it all. Darkness and fear had been the reason for our marriage.

But I hadn’t felt any of that today.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tate on his back too, his hands resting behind his head as he peered up at the ceiling. He had to be tired, but he hadn’t moved to turn off his lamp yet.

“Do you honestly think we’ll find Leroy?” I asked him, my gaze trained on the fan spinning lightly over our heads.

“Yeah,” Tate said.

“How do you know?”

He sucked in a breath. “I don’t know. But he left you a pretty brash message. He’s completely delusional and obsessed, and guys like that are usually one-track-minded.”

“I’m scared of what he might do to you when he finds out I’m married.”

He turned his face toward me. “I hope he does come after me. I chose this, ok? I know the risk, and whatever happens is on Leroy. Not you. And not me. Got it?”