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“The very one.” Seer laughs, conspiratorially. “You know how he is, he said he’s worried about her for professional reasons, but I saw through that immediately. He’s someone else you’re not going to see around often now because he’s become her full-time bodyguard.”
My mind reels from this news. Of every disaster I thought we’d face, every government agency I thought I’d have to hack, I was sure the apocalypse would happen before Bones developed any real feelings for someone. I also know he’ll kill both of us just for having this conversation, so I steer us back to business.
“So, track down Bones’s girlfriend,” I say in a serious tone, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. “Got it. What else do you need me to work on while I’m at it? I know you have a list.”
He smiles sheepishly and nods, standing up and opening the door.
“I actually do have a list on my desk,” he says. “But you just got back. It can wait a little while. You should get settled in.”
“Give me the list,” I deadpan. “You know I won’t feel settled until I’ve checked everything off your list. This is my happy place,” I say, gesturing to my setup. “I won’t truly feel like I’m home unless I have a million things on my plate.”
He chuckles at this. “Fair enough,” he says, leaving and heading back toward his office.
While I wait, I immediately start searching for information on the dance teacher. I can’t even really think of her as Bones’s girlfriend, since the thought is still too ridiculous for me to grasp. I’m curious about her, though, and I want to know everything I can about the girl who’s stolen the notorious bachelor’s heart.
Seer returns a few minutes later, and he wasn’t kidding. There are hundreds of tasks on his list for me. The main one, though, the one that’s underlined several times, is to find out who’s trying to hurt Melissa.
CHAPTERTWENTY
“Do you want cheese on your spaghetti?” Melissa calls from the kitchen.
The smell of garlic and tomato fills the apartment, causing my stomach to growl. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.
“Just keep putting it on until you can’t see the pasta anymore,” I joke. She comes back into the living room with two plates of pasta, one with a mountain of parmesan cheese on top.
It’s the third time this week she’s made me dinner and I’m starting to feel bad about it. If I could boil water without burning it, I would cook for her. I’m not staying here to be waited on hand and foot, I’m doing it to keep her safe. I’d be just as happy to order takeout and not drain her resources like this.
Besides, it all feels a little too domestic for my taste. Even though we haven’t had sex in weeks, spending this much time with Melissa feels too much like being her boyfriend. And I’m definitely not her boyfriend. No matter what Pocus and Seer are snickering about back at the clubhouse, I’m just doing a completely platonic friend a favor. I would do this for any of my friends. And if those friends happened to look really good in yoga pants and made me think about them naked, I wouldn’t let that interfere with my job protecting them. I’m a professional, after all.
“Are you okay?” Melissa asks with a laugh. “You look like you’re trying to work out complex calculus in your head.”
“Fine,” I say, turning to focus on her.
She’s nothing like the girls I meet in the clubs. Here, in the privacy of her home, she doesn’t have any makeup on. Her hair is thrown up in some messy knot on top of her head, and she wears a ratty sweatshirt that drowns her, concealing any hint of the gorgeous body I know is underneath.
And she’s kind. I never asked her to make dinner for me or to make a bed for me on the couch. I would’ve been just as fine without anything at all, but she put sheets on the couch and all these comfortable as hell pillows that don’t make any sense to me. I always thought pillows were just pillows, but these feel like falling asleep on a cloud.
Her blankets are also really fuzzy and warm. They’re a little too cutesy for my taste, covered in flowers and puppy dogs, but she has no shame in her tastes. Besides, I’m not going to refuse the offer of comfort. It’s not something I’m offered regularly, and it’s nice to feel taken care of, even if I’m the one here to take care of her.
When we aren’t at her apartment, I’m driving her into the center. So far, she hasn’t had much desire to go out after work. She’s there for long hours and says she just wants to come home and relax in peace. I don’t see how making dinner is very relaxing for anyone, but, again, I burn boiled water. Kitchens are one of the only places in the world that I actually do experience stress.
She seems to love it, though, and I’ve learned that there are two Melissas. There’s the badass dance teacher who’s compassionate but strict. She keeps her kids in line and makes them really focus on what they’re doing. She doesn’t suffer foolishness. At home, though, she’s quiet and introspective. Everything about her screams relaxed and unbothered. After dinner, we just sit in front of the TV watching old chick flicks and avoiding our problems from the day.
If it were anybody else, I’d be going stir-crazy by now. I would be desperate to finish this assignment and get back to my free nights, trolling the clubs for my next conquest and drinking myself into oblivion. I don’t miss it, though. When I’m around her, I feel completely content in whatever we’re doing. I’m just not sure how normal it is to stay home every single night.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out?” I ask when the spaghetti’s been devoured and I’m helping her wash the dishes. “I feel bad that you’re stuck inside all the time. This isn’t a bad fairytale, you aren’t a prisoner or anything.”
She throws her head back and laughs a happy, relaxed laugh. She doesn’t look remotely bothered by my question, nor does she look like she’s chomping at the bit to do anything else.
“I’m easy,” she says with a shrug. I shoot her a questioning glance and she laughs again. “I mean, I’m uncomplicated, you perv.”
She swats me with a dish towel and now I’m laughing, too.
“Work takes a lot out of me,” she says as we both catch our breath. “I’m happy to come home and relax afterward, knowing I don’t have any other responsibilities or people to entertain. I just get to be myself here and I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“It sounds like you had a fun time with Juliana the other night,” I say nonchalantly. Truthfully, I’m fishing for information. I’ve noticed that there’s been tension between the two women. At least, I think it’s tension. It’s so hard for me to understand the way women interact with each other. One second, they’re best friends, the next they hate each other. And sometimes they say nice things to each other, but then those things make them cry. It’s completely baffling. Men always say what they mean. There’s no subtext or dual meaning.
In any case, Juliana and Melissa hardly spoke to each other when Juliana dropped Charlie off this week. The one time Hex came by, it was a totally different situation. Melissa seemed almost relieved that it was him and not Juliana. I tried to bring it up with Hex, but he didn’t know any more than I did. It doesn’t make any sense. Women.
