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“Jack, always a pleasure,” I chuckle.
I hear him yawn and the shuffle of covers being moved around.
“Work?” he grumbles in his deep baritone.
“Yes. Can you spare a guy for a day or two? I have a client that needs protection but I have a few things I need to get done. I need someone with him at all times.”
“Starting when?” Jack inquires.
“As soon as possible. In the morning?” I wander into the kitchen and flip on the light.
“Sure. I have someone. You remember Marcus?” Another yawn.
I snort. “Who could forget Marcus?”
Marcus Jacoby is one of Jack’s best bodyguards. Big, intimidating, and one of the most vigilant men I’ve ever met. He’s perfect for the job.
“Not many people do,” Jack agrees.
“Can I email you the information?” I wander around the rest of the first floor, making sure all of the doors are locked.
“Sure. Can I go back to bed?”
One-track mind. “Yes, go back to bed. Thanks, Jack.”
A grunt is the only response I get before the line goes dead.
“Where are you going?”
“Jesus, Gavin!” I fumble the phone and nearly drop it. When I turn around, I expect Gavin to be gloating at how he was able to sneak up on me. Instead, I’m face to face with a scowl. A beautiful scowl, but still a scowl.
When I realize he’s seriously angry, I become irrationally defensive.
“I have shit to do, that’s all,” I grumble.
“Fuck you, Mitch,” he spits. “I deserve to know what the hell is going on! He’s after me!”
“No he isn’t!” I shout. “He’s after me!”
Gavin’s expression waffles between furious and confused.
“What are you talking about? He doesn’t even know who you are.”
“Think about it, Gavin. I just stepped out as your ‘boyfriend’.” I make sure to emphasize the word boyfriend. “This guy writes you letters. They start out sweet in the beginning. Then they get more and more hostile, the focus turning to your sexuality.”
“So?” Gavin crosses his arms across his broad chest. The muscles in his biceps bulge, not that I’m looking. “What does that have to do with anything?”
I’m totally looking.
I huff in exasperation. “So…he’s a self-loathing, in-denial, psychopathic, closeted gay man with a serious fixation on you. He thinks he’s in love with you, Gavin, but he hates you for it. Seeing you with me set him off in a bad way. Just as I suspected.”
“Is that your official profile of the guy?” he asks. Entranced, I watch the corded muscles in his forearm flex.
“Yes. It is. It fits nearly all of the evidence I have.” My eyes wander up Gavin’s smooth, tan throat until they lock on his mouth. That sweet, full mouth that frustrates the hell out of me whenever he opens it.
“Nearly? You’re not sure?” Gavin’s eyes narrow, becoming gleaming blue slits set into an angular face that should grace the covers of magazines around the world.
“I don’t think I like your tone of voice,” I challenge.
