Then add…
Guess I owe you now.
That feels like a push. Small. But intentional.
I hit send before I can stop myself. My chest tightens immediately after. I don’t look up. I don’t need to. I feel it. The shift. The way his attention sharpens even more. The way the room seems to narrow just slightly around that one interaction. I tuck the phone into my lap like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t just test something. But I did. And I felt it land.
That’s enough for now.
I scroll again, this time pulling up Tessa’s name. My fingers slow. This part is harder. Real life. Real consequences. I type.
Hey. I’m okay. Had a bug hit me hard. I’ll call later.
I stare at it. It looks wrong. Too simple. Too empty. I delete it. Rewrite.
Hey. I’m okay. Got sick out of nowhere. I’ll call you later.
Still wrong. I close my eyes for a second, inhale slowly, then open them again. Send. My chest tightens immediately after. Then my mom. Shorter. Safer.
I’m okay. Got sick. I’ll call later.
It feels like lying. Even if it isn’t fully. Even if it’s necessary.I don’t like it. But I don’t stop. Because I understand normal isn’t an option right now. I look up again.
He’s still watching me. That hasn’t changed. What has changed is how I feel about it. Yesterday, it felt overwhelming. Now, it feels intentional. Measured. Like he’s letting me move where I want, but he’s tracking every step. That should bother me more than it does. It doesn’t. Which is something I’m not ready to unpack yet.
I stand up walking over to him, needing to talk to him. “I work tomorrow.”
The room quiets slightly. Not completely. But enough. Because everyone hears it.
Cobra doesn’t move. Doesn’t hesitate. “No.”
I blink. “I wasn’t asking.”
“You’re not going.”
My jaw tightens. “That’s not your call.”
His eyes meet mine. Cold. Steady. “It is right now.”
Frustration sparks immediately. Sharp. Immediate. “I can’t just disappear from my life.”
“You already did.” That hits harder than anything else he’s said. Because he’s not wrong. And I hate that.
I step closer to him slowly. Testing. “If I want to go, I’ll go.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t step back. “Then I’m there.”
I exhale, shaking my head slightly. “You’re not my bodyguard.”
“Right now I am.” The words land differently this time.Not controlling. Not possessive in the way I expected. Protective. Structured.
I study him for a second. Then I smile. Slow. Deliberate. Playful. “I guess you could use a trim.” And I wink. It’s subtle. But intentional.
His entire body stills. Not tense. Not aggressive.
Just… still.
Like something in him locked into place for a second. There. That’s the reaction. I see it. Store it. Understand it. That’s a boundary. Or at least, something close to one.
