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I go to the bathroom and take a quick shower. In my room, I get dressed in a clean shirt of my usual style and cargo shorts. If I look different today, it’ll be a giant signal that I planned something different.
I’d rather wear what I have at home, but that won’t hide the holster of the black gun I strap around my shoulders. I don’t like carrying a weapon. I did my time with them. I wasn’t supposed to come home and do the same thing. But Roman’s doing more than scaring her, and he’s willing to pay at least four million dollars to get the job done.
I check my messages. There are none. Jacobi and Kase don’t know what I’m doing. They would be pissed if they knew. My plan is too close to Kase’s normal line of work. I’m not risking his exposure, and Jacobi can stay the hell out of trouble.
The shower kicks on. Good. She’s cleaning up. The last thing I need is for either one of us to smell like sex through what comes next.
I wait for her to get out of the bathroom before I take my bag and go into the hallway. I use the hallway to get to her room as if I didn’t spend the entire night in her bed and as if I haven’t been in her bed for the last week.
I knock. She cracks the door open and peers out. Her brows lift when she sees it’s me.
A pink blush dusts her face. She’s either embarrassed to face me, or she’s pissed I’m pretending like it didn’t happen. She can’t know that I’ll never forget last night. She’s like a drug. I’ve been rigid with my diet and what I put into my body, but last night proved that I can’t control myself around her. As if our first interlude in the bathroom last week didn’t say it loudly enough.
“I’ll take your bags to the car.”
She nods and chews the inside of her cheek. “Thank you. I’m ready to go.”
“No, I’ll load up. You say goodbye to your mom.” As fascinated as I am with how close Penelope and her mom have gotten, I don’t care to witness the teary parting. My mom didn’t cry. She thought tears were useless.
I load up the bags, taking my time. I check the tires and the oil. If anyone’s spying on the place, they’ll know we’re going on a trip. I don’t want anyone to follow us, but I also need to make a show that we’re leaving. If Roman has spies out there, they’ll report to him, and he’ll likely think I’m hitting his deadline.
Finally, I go back inside. Penelope’s dabbing her eyes. My arms twitch to reach for her, but a bodyguard doesn’t hug and console his client in front of her mother. We need to keep up the act. I can’t have Roman wondering if I’m getting attached.
Brittany makes a strangled sound and rushes toward me with her arms out. “Oh, Cannon. I’m going to miss you too.”
I can’t move away without the situation getting weird. I force myself to stay in place and get crushed in a hug. An oomph leaves me. This is slightly better than anyone seeing me embrace Penelope. Brittany’s surprisingly strong. After years of nothing but sexual embraces from women of all ages who were interested in only one thing, Brittany’s hug stands out like she’s from a different planet. Is this what a maternal touch feels like?
She’s not arranging my hair just so. Or straightening my clothes. Telling me to stand straight with my chin up. To walk like I’m broadcasting the talent she used and abused. If my mom ever hugged me like a mother hugs her kid, I don’t recall it.
With one last squeeze, Brittany lets me go. I didn’t hug her back, but she smiles at me. “Sorry. You’re probably not used to that.”
An understatement. “I appreciate the gesture.”
Surprise trickles through me. I do appreciate the gesture. I liked it. Having someone care about me and genuinely appreciate my company when I’m not carrying out a duty specifically for them is nice. Jacobi and Kase are my friends, but it’s not like we’re huggers. It’s not like we talk about how our parents fucked us up. It’s not like when this is over I’ll tell them how being around Penelope and her studio and seeing her passion made me remember things that are best forgotten. I won’t be talking to them about how she makes me want to unearth the person I was so long ago.
They get that we all have our shit. But my shit would shock them. My shit would be hard to explain. My shit is unique, and I’m not sure whether it was my childhood or my rebound that drew me like a fucking moth to Penelope’s innocent little flame.
