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We.
I know he didn’t mean it that way.
And I wasn’t even taking itthatway.
But, God, it was nice not to have to make all the decisions myself, to have someone—anyone—to bounce ideas off of.
I prided myself on my independence, and the fact that I’d gotten where I was now—even if I was still struggling—from an often homeless child and adolescent. I’d done well for myself.
But, fuck, was it exhausting to have no one to turn to for advice or opinions. Especially when I hadn’t ever had a strong parental figure to teach me about… anything. I’d been winging it since I was a teen.
I was burnt out on learning shit the hard way.
It was nice to have someone that not only gave a shit, but seemed happy to help.
“Yeah,” I agreed, giving him a smile. “Do you want to head out now?” I asked.
“Figure you’re just gonna be anxious about it until we get it done,” he said. “Go throw your clothes back on, and we’ll get going.”
With that, we did.
“What?” Junior asked on the ride toward my apartment as my leg tapped restlessly against the floorboard.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he said, but he didn’t press it.
Not that it would have mattered. I’d never admit that I was a little anxious about having him in my space.
I mean, I wasn’t ashamed of my apartment. It was what I could afford. And it… was mostly decent. Sure, the water never really got hot and the heat was either set to glacial or straight up hell. But there were no bugs or black mold hiding anywhere.
There was just… something intimate about having him there.
And I didn’t want my mind to start getting ideas about things that were never going to happen.
“Wait,” he demanded as we parked, and I immediately went to grab my door handle.
He reached past me, going into the glovebox, and producing a gun.
My eyes widened as I watched him load it, then tuck it into his waistband before climbing out, and coming around to my side, then opening the door for me.
“Here,” he demanded, placing me so that I was in front of him, but turned slightly to the side, his body acting as a shield as we walked toward the apartment building.
It didn’t escape me that his other hand hovered over his gun the whole way. Even in the elevator and down the hall to my apartment.
“Behind my back,” he demanded after I unlocked the door. “Hands on my shirt,” he added, prompting me to grab it as a weird little thrill moved through me.
Desire.
I was turned on by how prepared he was to protect me. And, yeah, a little bit about how bossy he was.
We walked through my white-walled apartment, and Junior ripped open the closet and bathroom doors, moved the shower curtain, checked any spot that someone could be located.
“Alright,” he said, turning toward me, but he didn’t put his gun away. “Start packing your shit,” he said, then walked over toward the window in my bedroom, and yanked the blinds closed. “Let’s be quick about it, though.”
“Okay,” I agreed, rushing into motion.
I had one piece of luggage, and I blindly grabbed items from my closet and dresser, shoving them in.
