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I’ll be fine. There’s nothing much to worry about.
Skylar stands over me for a moment, his presence almost suffocating, his gaze penetrating, and I shift in my seat a little. Fuck, but my body wants to go to him, just lean into him a little, but I clench the sofa cushions and refuse. I’ll stay where I am and keep my dignity intact.
“Good.”
I listen to the sound of his feet moving back to the bedroom, and when I can’t hear him rustling around anymore, I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling.
Having another bodyguard here is going to be good for the both of us. I’ll be able to focus my attention on someone else…and Skylar will too.
But as soon as Casey walks into the house the next morning and I take in his lean muscular form, his wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, I suddenly feel like Skylar and I would be better off without him. He’s much better looking than I remember, and honestly, he’s a distraction. Skylar barely even looks at me when Casey’s around. I could slip out right now and no one would even notice—they’re too enamored with each other.
I rub at my tired eyes and frown. I can hear Skylar and Casey chatting animatedly on the couch. I had no idea they were friends, although Skylar did recommend him to my father. And obviously my father trusts Casey just as much as he trusts Skylar because they’re both here to watch over me. I know that only the best of the best would be asked to do that.
The Noise Marine that I’m trying to paint falls from my hand to the floor and rolls under the table. I debate just leaving it there, but end up crouching down and searching for it instead, my ears bleeding with each laugh that leaves Skylar’s mouth.
What the fuck is so funny? Me?
Are they laughing at me?
The urge to set something on fire overwhelms my mind, the same feeling I had all those years ago when I lit the curtains on fire and nearly burned my father’s house down.
I crawl out from under the table, clutching the figurine so hard that it nearly breaks. You know what I need? Angel. I need my brother to talk some sense into me. To just hear his soft, kind voice and be reminded that someone still cares about me.
Stalking over to where Casey and Skylar are chatting, I hold out my hand and tap my foot. I know what I must look like, an entitled brat demanding something from the bodyguard, but I can’t bring myself to ask nicely. I can’t bring myself to even look at him.
They aren’t being nice to me. So why should I be nice to them?
“Phone,” I say, wiggling my fingers.
Skylar’s bright green eyes clash with mine, and I glance away. Fuck, but it hurts to look at him. “Do your fucking job and give it to me.”
“Who are you going to call?” he asks slowly, and I roll my eyes.
“Who do you think? My brother. He’s worried about me.”
“Oh yeah,” Casey begins, and I swear his voice is like honey, a low southern drawl and sickly sweet. I hate it. “He was asking for updates constantly. You should probably call to reassure him.”
“See,” I say, waving my hand in Skylar’s direction. “Casey gets me. Maybe you should go, Skylar, and let Casey take care of me instead.”
Casey’s eyebrows meet and he glances over at Skylar, probably wondering what the deal is, but neither of us will explain. Hell no. What would I say? That I let my bodyguard spank me, that I let him reduce me to tears at one point, that I let him see me…to know parts of me that I like to keep hidden?
Fuck, I’d rather let Elio have me.
Skylar glances at Casey who just shrugs, and then Skylar leans to the side and pulls the phone out of his back pocket, bumping into Casey a little as he does it. It was probably on purpose, trying to cop a feel of those nice-looking arms. I refuse to look at him to see if my thoughts ring true. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Skylar works for me, and I’m just a job for him.
As soon as the phone slides into my palm, the tickle of his fingers brushing against my skin setting goosebumps off across my arms, I move into my bedroom and slam the door shut.
“Diablo?” Angel’s voice says after I dial his number. The relief of hearing him makes my entire body deflate.
“Hi. I’m alive.”
“Oh hell. I am frantic. You need to call me more often. I’ve been driving Dad crazy with all the questions I’ve been asking.”
“I’m sure you have. I’m fine…I just needed to talk to you. I need a distraction. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“You want to hear about my boring life?” he asks with a tinkling laugh. “Well, you asked for it.” And then I lose myself in several minutes of listening to him talk about his online classes, about a guy that he secretly has a crush on, about how he went to the grocery store the other day flanked by two bodyguards and how embarrassed he was.
“I can’t believe Dad let you out of the house,” I say, shifting onto my stomach and picking at the pillowcase, drawing a feather from one and blowing it onto the ground.
