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And then he sniffs, almost as if he has a cold, and I bet my face has just become as red as a tomato. My thong has a thin fabric and, judging by the way he’s carrying me right now, it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he could actually smell how wet I am. Because, yeah, there’s really no other way to put it - I’m a complete wet mess, my thong completely drenched in my fluids.
I know, I could just ask him to put me down… but I don’t want to. I feel so sa
fe in his arms, almost as if none of the bad things in the world can get to me if I have his body pressed against mine.
Ding!, the elevator doors open suddenly and, without a word, he strolls into the Saturday Night Laughs office almost too casually. Everyone turns their heads toward us, a few jaws hanging open, and that’s when I see Samantha, my executive producer, making her way toward us like a storm.
“What the…?” She starts, stopping a few feet away from him, her wide eyes roaming up and down the body of my savior. “Care to explain?” She asks me, arching one eyebrow at me and pushing her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“I got mugged on the way here…” I start, realizing that my cheeks are still flushed. “You can put me down now,” I whisper, and Sanders puts me down reluctantly. I grimace as my feet touch the floor, my swollen ankle immediately complaining. “This is --”
“Sanders,” he introduces himself, his tone of voice once again flat and emotionless.
“Sanders, yeah. He saved me.”
“Uh-huh, of course he did,” Samantha whispers, her eyes lustfully tracing the contour of Sander’s bulging biceps. I feel a thorn of jealousy inside my heart, but I just shrug it off. “Come into my office, I’ll get the doctor so that he can take a look at your ankle…” She finally says, her eyes focusing on the purple swell on my right foot.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Uh, Sanders… Thank you…” I say, feeling like a complete idiot as Samantha grabs my hands and drags me toward her office at the far end of the floor..
“No need,” he says, an hint of a smile on his hard mouth. “You go on, I’ll just wait here,” he then adds, and he just stands there. It’s no use arguing with him. I sigh and I let Samantha guide me into her office.
33
Sanders
I keep guard outside of the Saturday Night Laughs’ main office, standing by the door to the reception with my hands behind my back. The minutes go by painfully slow, and I use all that time to replay inside my head everything that happened up to this point. How it felt when I picked her up from the ground, her delicate body in my arms, the soft swell of her breasts against my shoulder and --
“What are you still doing here?” I hear Stacy’s voice, and I turn on my heel to face her. She’s still wearing that tight fitting red dress, the fabric of it clinging to the lovely curves of her body.
“I told you I’d wait,” I simply tell her, and she opens her mouth to say something but then quiets down, looking for the right words. “I’m going to wait until you’re done so that I can take you home,” I continue then, and I notice her cheeks reddening.
“I’m actually going home for the day, but you don’t need to --”
“I do,” I cut her short, bending over to pick her up from the floor once more. She takes one step back, though, a smile taking over her face.
“No need for that,” she chuckles, raising her right foot up from the floor and waving it in front of me. There are thick bandages around her ankle, the purple bruises hidden from sight. “The doctor patched me up. I can walk.”
“I’m still going to protect you,” I continue, and she looks at me in such a way that I can almost see the gears inside her head turning as she looks for a suitable answer.
“Okay,” she finally breathes out, and I try to force myself to smile. It probably comes out as a frown, judging by the way she looks at me, but no matter. Smiling isn’t really one of my strengths.
We make our way out of Rockefeller Center in a few minutes, stepping out into the sun, and that’s when she starts to talk.
“So, uh… You must be military, right? I mean… You look the part, I guess.” Here we go, the inevitable interrogation.
“Ex-SEAL,” I merely shrug. “I served in Afghanistan and Iraq, back when the war was still at its high-point.”
“And, uh, have you adapted to being a civilian again?” She asks, and I know she’s struggling to keep the conversation going.
“It’s okay,” I shrug again, having no idea what I should tell her. I might know how to do a lot of things, but verbally spar with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen isn’t one of these things.
“Well, I’m a singer,” she continues as we turn a corner, passing a few feet away from the alleyway where I rescued her from being stabbed.
“Okay.”
“Uh… I’m the Saturday Night Laughs singer. You know, the studio you were in just now… You’ve probably seen me on TV.”
“No,” I say.
