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It’s been well over two months since I’ve stepped foot in my quaint apartment in Queens. The company I dance for is in Manhattan, but Lord knows no one can afford rent there. It’s a forty-five-minute train ride into the city every day. I cherish that quiet time, though. It’s peaceful. I can read or catch up on the million text threads I missed from my family because of my grueling work schedule.
Guilt sets in like it normally does when I think about the limited life I have outside of dance. How much I miss my parents and friends back home. I’ve sacrificed almost everything to be where I am now, and it’s finally paying off.
I get giddy again when I think about the bomb that Alex dropped earlier. I silently squeal and do a little dance right there in my hotel room, with only a towel wrapped around me. My hair is soaking wet, and I have the most freeing sensation in my chest.
I finally did it. My dreams are coming true, and I’ve worked my ass off for it.
“What are you up to, baby girl?” SJ’s deep voice penetrates my little bubble as I suddenly stop and look around the room.
I didn’t see him when I came out of the bathroom. How could he have snuck up on me without me noticing?
I grab my towel and pull it tighter to my body as my eyes frantically search the room for him. I’m standing here practically naked, and my bodyguard is calling me baby girl.
What wet dream am I in right now?
My heart pounds in excitement, which takes me by surprise. My shoulders suddenly drop when I realize the adjoining door is slightly cracked open.
He wasn’t talking to me.
He wasn’t calling me baby girl.
The disappointment that courses through my body at that thought is the second emotion to take me by surprise in a matter of seconds.
Geez, Nora. What did you think? Your bodyguard was just waiting for you to come out of the shower and devour you like you’ve fantasized about the past three nights?
Yeah, right.
His deep, comforting tone continues to filter in through the crack in the door. I’m now more curious than ever to find out who he called baby girl. My stomach suddenly pitches with unwarranted jealousy.
My face scrunches as I quietly tiptoe to the door, pressing my ear close to the opening.
“That’s so great, Soph! I’m so proud of you!” The joy in his voice has a smile forming on my lips.
I shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s wrong to invade his privacy like this, but that doesn’t stop me from pressing my ear even closer, straining to pick up the voice on the other line.
“When will you be able to visit, SJ? I miss you!”
My heart thumps at the little girl’s words, but my confusion continues to grow. At first, I thought maybe he was talking to his girlfriend.
He hasn’t mentioned having one, but he also hasn’t said he doesn’t. I’m completely in the dark about SJ’s life, even though my desire to know more and more about the man sleeping in the next room grows exponentially every day.
SJ sighs. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. I’m on assignment, and I don’t know how long she’ll need me.” This isn’t a girlfriend.
A girlfriend would already know he’s on assignment, and I assume his child or his girlfriend’s child would know that already as well. She sounds no older than ten, plenty old enough to understand travel and work.
That realization only brings more questions. Does SJ have a kid? That thought surprisingly blows my mind. I don’t know why. He’s a grown ass man. He could totally have a kid.
However, it’s not my business, anyway. Before I step back from the door, it suddenly opens, and I fall.
Oh, shit.
I try to save myself by changing my footing, but it’s too late. As I yelp and accept my fate, I find myself wrapped in strong arms.
SJ’s strong arms.
While wearing nothing more than a thin, scratchy, barely secured fucking hotel towel. My wet hair slaps against his t-shirt as my entire front—including my not-remotely-secured breasts—press tightly against his firm torso.
There’s no doubt in my mind as heat spreads across my skin that my entire body turns an unattractive tomato-red color as it fully sinks in that he caught me listening to a private conversation of his.
