So maybe I went too far.
Maybe I should’ve just let the man sing his spiel without going out of my way to grill his ass until I was convinced he was worth trusting.
I think it was that broken look on her face while we waited, the panic I could feel in her pulse.
No, I shouldn’t have grabbed her hand either. Absolutely shouldn’t have tried to rub some strength into her, fighting my inner caveman urge to whisk this fragile, worried girl away that second.
It wasn’t supposed to be so hard to trust her and her decisions, when that’s what I swore to do.
This is far from my normal.
When you work a life in security, you get good at balance. The right attitude at the right time while everybody else is flipping their shit.
Doing their dirty laundry without complaint.
Pulling your boss out of the way, protecting them from potential harm and themselves.
Doing it discreetly so no one knows.
Only, Nile still brings out the worst in me. Every bad instinct to protect her like she’s still a little girl and do it like a fucking overbearing moose.
Yes, she’s mad.
I feel the arctic chill when we’re in the same room.
That’s one thing that’s changed. When she was a kid, it was easier.
I always had more to do, other places to be, and it didn’t matter if a teenager sulked. The house was big enough for both of us and we’d go back to our neat, separate worlds after butting heads.
But here, there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do except pace this damn bedroom instead of working on my laptop.
My job begins and ends with securing Cleo and the egg.
If it didn’t, I’d be outside right now, stalking the streets. It’s still chilly this time of year, that crisp bite in the air after dark.
A walk would calm my head, far more than the breeze wafting through this window.
New York City is an endless maze and a man can walk to his heart’s content. Only, I’m trapped with my frustrations. My duty to guard what’s in this condo with life and limb.
I stop pacing long enough to listen, pressing my ear against the door.
For the past few hours since I retreated in here, I’ve heard her scribbling furiously on her sketch pad. There it is again, loudenough to picture her nimble fingers working. Probably drawing some masterpiece where I have horns and a tail.
I snort and rip myself away.
Back to pacing.
Despite being roomy, the master bedroom isn’t big enough to do this comfortably, but I still continue, wondering if I’ll wear a hole in the fancy carpet.
Shit, now I know how a bear feels caged up in a zoo.
I want to burn this off. Pump some iron. Go for a run, ignoring the hellfire in my knees. Anything to work this off and clear my mind.
I pivot too quickly when I turn and my knee stings.
Yeah, so much for that run.
I’m too young for my own body to sabotage me like this.
