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I change my pants for leggings, but keep my turtleneck sweater on. I grab more water from the kitchen before making my way down the hall to the little navy-blue den with the oversized leather sectional and big screen TV. Dad always worried about the design aesthetic not being quite right to match the rest of the house’s old money, mid-century modern decor, but Mom said her love language was large, overstuffed leather couches and recliners to curl up in with a good book, so of course Dad acquiesced.
The remote is right where it should be on the TV stand, and I’m surprised the batteries still work. I haven’t had time to sit down and watch a movie in forever. Everett’s heavy footsteps come down the hall towards the den and I’m equal parts curious and nervous. What am I about to lay eyes on?
Everett enters wearing dark gray joggers and a short-sleeved black t-shirt, barefoot with a gun in his hand, screwing on a silencer. My jaw drops. He sets the gun down and reaches to scratch his left shoulder, pushing his sleeve up, showing me a stalking, snarling tiger tattooed in bold blacks and grays covering his entire left bicep and shoulder.
I didn’t know I had a type, but this is now officially my type. Tall, handsome, fills out a t-shirt way too well, knows how to handle himself in dangerous situations, and a striking tattoo I didn’t know he had under all those suits and ties. No, forget that, it’s not a type, it’s just Everett. This guy, this is the one who has my heart.
“Laina,” says Everett. I finally meet his eyes to find him grinning at me with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” I try, but I can’t look away from his biceps.
“Are you drooling over me?”
“Ev! Stop making it weird,” I say, trying to navigate the smart TV to search for the movie before I combust.
“I’ll stop when you stop looking at my arms like you want to lick them.”
“I am not,” I protest, still sneaking glances at his sexy body.
“You know what, I’ll save you the effort of fighting off your temptation and grab a sweatshirt. It’s cold in here.”
Well, there goes the greatest view in the history of my life.
Everett comes back pulling a tan hoodie over his head and now his hair is thoroughly messed up. As he sits down next to me, I can’t help smiling and boldly reaching over to run my fingers through his hair, trailing my nails against his scalp. He hums in approval.
“Your perfect hair is no longer perfect,” I tease. His hair is like thick threads of black silk slightly matted together with gel or pomade. I’ve always wanted to see him like this, lounging in casual clothes with unruly hair, and I love it more than I care to admit. It’s a version of Everett only I get to witness.
“You should probably stop doing that,” he says in a low, deep voice as my fingers stay in his hair.
“Why?”
His eyes flutter closed and he smiles, whispering to me. “You’re driving me crazy, Laina.”
I short-circuit. My breath hitches in my throat and my hand freezes in place.
Everett grabs my wrist, lowering my hand back to my side. “And I can’t afford to lose concentration any more than I already have.” He opens his eyes, his dark and heavy gaze meeting mine, then looking to my mouth. “I can’t mess this up,” he says, articulating each word with conviction.
I don’t know if he means his assignment as my bodyguard or something about us. The way his eyes are fixated on my lips makes my head swirl with anticipation, but his body is tense. Are we ready for the guardrails to come off? Now that he won’t be my bodyguard, does this mean we should risk it all? But the timing feels way off and it won’t be right until the waiting and this task is all over. We have time.
“I don’t want to mess this up either,” I say quietly. “What we have, our friendship, is so special to me.”
Everett looks away, his face clouding over, and runs his hand through his hair. Shoot, I should not have said ‘friendship’. Why did I do that?
As his hand drops back to his side, I notice he’s not wearing his ring. Of course. He said he wouldn’t. It’s best to keep things professional for the time being. Casual, but professional. I quickly move away, mentally and physically.
“Let’s watch a movie,” I say, clearing my throat and trying for a more normal tone. “Let’s watch a movie, eat some food, wait for further instructions like the super-secret spies we are.”
I press play and the mood settles back towards our normal levels of friendship. The movie is a classic ’90s action movie, but at one point Tom Cruise delivers a very emphatic line about everyone being dead and it’s so overdone, I can’t help but giggle.
“Laina Cordelia Diana Lasagna Grenada,” Everett murmurs, playfully shoving my shoulder. “You did not just laugh at that.”
“I did and there’s nothing you can do about it,” I say, pushing back on him with full confidence.
Everett suddenly wraps his arms around my torso and squeezes. It’s like being tangled up with two giant boa constrictors, and I realize that he might be thinking about trying to tickle me. I grab his hands and try to fight him off, but he’s so strong, he holds on to me with an ease that is almost primally attractive.
Are we like teenagers, using a fight as an excuse to touch? Absolutely.
