I asked him seriously. “You had a bad night. We both had a bad night. Let’s wallow together and eat cake.”
Light touched his eyes.
I slipped a strong arm around his waist.
He slouched back, his smile slowly ascending. After a minute or two, he asked, “You want to kiss it out?”
Yeah, we did a lot more than kiss. It was a freeing cap on an emotional night. And waking up to a new day is like waking with a massive hangover.
It’s already the afternoon, and mentally, I’m scrolling through the charity golf event with a nauseous cringe.
Kitsuwon Securities 1 – Triple Shield 1.
Alpha and Epsilon bodyguards have been boasting all day about our face-in-the-mud failure. How they cleaned up Omega’s mess. It’s a far fall from our high when SFO found the girl squad in Anacapri.
I’d put myself near the top of Omega, at the risk of being an arrogant ass. Mistakes and I aren’t friends. We’re not even acquaintances. I’m the bodyguard who has the brilliant ploys, who has the correct reads on threats, who sneaks around chaos before chaos catches my ass—and now I’m the bodyguard who cost Omega a win.
We’re not losers yet, but I didn’t think I’d be the first one to tarnish the firm’s reputation. Almost guiltily, I’m glad I screwed up because of my brother and not because of my relationship with Jack.
I don’t want anyone believing I’m unable to be a good bodyguard with a boyfriend. If I’m only successful at this job being single…
Yeah, I’m not going to sit on that tragic thought for long.
At the moment I’m preoccupied. And I’m on my knees in the loft—sadly, not to blow Jack Highland and see him come.
I’m unpacking my sister’s suitcase.
While I fold her jeans into a drawer, she’s on the edge of the bed next to Jack and showing off her music playlist. “You should add Emicida and Ludmilla to your joint playlist with Oscar. He probably just put a ton of pop and axé in there.”
My baby sis taking shots at my favorite music genres, and she’s been living with me for half-a-second. She just really loves funk.
Jack grins back at me. “What’s axé?”
He’s unaware he’s listened to it already on the playlist we made together. We keep adding songs for the two-hour rides between New York and Philly. “Axé sounds a little like reggae and calypso,” I explain. “It has African origins.” I look to Joana. “And I take offense to the attitude towards pop. Everyone loves Lady Gaga.”
“Hmm.” Joana squints with mock consideration. “Don’t think that’s true.”
I outstretch a hand towards Jack for back-up.
He smiles while he wets his lips, his sparkling eyes say he loves me more than Lady Gaga, which is why he tells Jo, “I like Lady Gaga. ‘Stupid Love’ is a cool track.” It’s the only song of hers he won’t skip halfway through.
When Jo focuses on her phone, Jack mouths to me knowing I can read lips, two peas in a pod. He motions to me and him. Not because we like the same music—we don’t always—but because he’ll join my lonely pea pod.
What the fuck, I sound like a twelve-year-old dork with a crush.
My mouth curves upward.
More and more every single day, I love the foundation of our relationship. Built on encouragement and love and support. Knowing that he’ll be my biggest fan and I’ll be his is a beautiful fucking thing.
Jack smiles a brighter smile.
Igniting my lungs.
If only Oslie stans could see this—maybe they’d get it. #FireJackHighland is still a hashtag they love to spread, but I’m hoping the longer I’m with Jack—the longer we’re seen out together in public—the more they’ll realize this isn’t short-term or a publicity stunt.
We’re here to stay.
I have to believe that too. Even when I’m screwing up left and fucking right.
“You’ll love this one,” Joana says, clicking into a new song. She plays “Levanta e Anda” by Emicida, a Brazilian rapper.
They bounce their head to the rhythm.
“You know who else would love this?” Jack says midway through. “Akara.”
I groan at the mention of the boss I fucked over.
Jack winces. “Still a sore subject?”
I push curls out of my lashes. “I still feel like the biggest jackass. Especially since Kitsuwon Securities is footing the therapy bill for me and Quinn.” Akara didn’t have to do that. “I need to send him about fifteen I’m so fucking sorry gift baskets. I won’t even eat the cookies out of them this time.”