as if torturing me. My hair is plastered to my face and I’m furiously blinking back the droplets that insist on invading my eye space. My clothes are soaked and I can feel the chill right down to my bones. My shoes squish every time my feet hit the pavement, which is a lot.
Considering I’m running.
It’s barely past five a.m. and yet here I am, pounding the pavement. Most people think I’m crazy—the truth is I probably am. I’m twenty-eight years old and instead of acting like most normal girls, I’m out training for my job. A job I’ve studied for and fought for since the day I left high school—it’s been nothing but a constant battle, especially considering it wasn’t always what I planned on doing.
I’m a bodyguard.
Well, I’m trying to be. I have a job, I have a boss, I have a team, and it took a good long time for them to accept that I could do the job as well as them. I was constantly battling against the other members, proving my worth, and it seemed no matter what I did, they just didn’t think I had what it takes. It took me a solid two and a half years to earn even a snippet of respect.
Lucky me.
The man running beside me both loves and hates me. I’ve come to this conclusion on my own because he can’t seem to decide which one it is. One moment he’s barking orders at me, and then he’s staring at my breasts longingly. It’s alarming and kind of flattering all at once. Still, he trains with me every single day and I’m grateful for that.
I hate running alone.
When I got out of school, I was going to join the armed forces, it was something I’d always wanted to do. I can’t say there was an exact reason for it, but sometimes you feel you are just born to do something. Then came the test that changed my life. Turns out you have to have exceptional eyesight to join the forces. Mine was shit, and eye surgery improved it a bit, but not enough to make the cut.
Originally, I was crushed, and for months I couldn’t figure out what to do. It was something I’d planned from day one, and to have it taken from me seemed almost cruel. Then there was a day when I was out with my uncle, and we saw a drive-by shooting. A man, dressed all in black, single-handedly saved a person’s life. Turns out that person had hired him to do just that. My passion was reborn. I could do it. I could still protect and serve.
So last year I officially became qualified to protect someone’s life. And a second experimental eye surgery worked better than I’d ever hoped.
“Where’s your head at this morning, Delaney?”
Kyle yells this through the pouring rain, snapping me from my thoughts. I turn and glare at him, trying hard not to notice how good-looking he is all wet and panting. Kyle might drive me bonkers, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s considered a fairly good-looking man—well, to most. He’s not really my type, and I think he hates that.
His usually brown hair seems darker in the rain and it’s pressed to his forehead. His strong jaw is covered in a few days’ growth and his blue eyes seem gray beneath the mist. He’s over six feet tall and built like a stone, which I’m grateful for, considering I stand at five ten. Yes, five foot ten. I’m as tall as a man. This makes dating particularly difficult since I’m bigger than most of the guys who take me out.
“Jesus, Delaney, wake up!”
I blink and realize I zoned out again.
“I didn’t realize our running was a chance for us to happy chat and tell life stories,” I reply bitterly.
Kyle snorts. “It’s not, I have no interest in your life stories.”
I flash him a grin. “Sure you do.”
“No, I don’t. I’m just making sure you’re with me.”
“Well, Kyle, last time I checked I was right beside you. I think you need to get your eyes checked.”
“Shut it, Delaney. Just run.”
I grin and run. I love taunting Kyle, more than I love my job some days. Okay, maybe not more than my job, but it is entertaining. I don’t think Kyle will ever come out and admit he likes me, but I know he does. How can he not? I mean, come on, I’m pretty badass.
And I can