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Mentally, I prepared myself to become CEO one day, obviously not in this time frame, but I knew it would happen in the next ten years. My dad loves to travel and do all the ribbon cutting events at the newest trendy restaurants and clubs that feature Barron’s, so I knew this day would come, but I never anticipated he would be kidnapped.
I take a hefty drink of my chardonnay and reread the letter. The more I drink, the more confused I become—and not just about Dad, but about Beau, too. Why did he take this job as my bodyguard?
God, he’s such a man now. When we were twelve, I thought he was the cutest boy in the world. Beau Landry wasn’t just slim—he had muscles. Where most boys’ arms were still soft, Beau’s were defined.
He was playing football for the middle school, and I was cheering. He ran to the sideline, tore off his helmet, and shook out his sweaty hair. His blonde locks clung to his forehead, and our eyes locked. A smile tugged at his lips before the coach gave him new instructions.
I screamed inside and at halftime, I told Wynter who cheered with me and Jessie who was on the pom squad. We were bouncing on our toes when my best friends practically cheered, “He likes you.” My twelve-year-old self thought it was the best day of my life.
It was the beginning of the best days of my life. Since we broke up years ago, I haven’t had abestday. I’ve had fun times but none that come close to equaling the first day Beau Landry truly smiled at me.
I take the stairs two at a time and grab my Kissing Springs Middle School yearbook off the shelf. I throw it on my bed and search for Beau’s T-shirt. The black one with our school mascot on the front and his last name and number on the back. My closet is a mess, but I finally find it in a pile on the top shelf. I pull it over my head. It’s a little snug across my chest and doesn’t hang off me like it used to. The mirror looks back at me as I twist to seeLandrywritten across my shoulder blades.
When he threw it to me and said, “You’re mine and I don’t care if we’ve been together for five years and everyone already knows it. I want the guys and girls to know that we’ll always be together.”
It was a good memory. If only it were still true. My shoulders sag for a quick minute.
Swiping the yearbook from my bed, I traipse back downstairs. Anxious to relive those precious days, I refill my chardonnay, command Alexa to play my favorite country station, and flip through my sixth grade memories. For an hour, I sing while dancing around the house, strung out on loving middle school Beau. There are photos of us after winning one of my soccer games. And several candid shots at pep rallies, even the one where he handed me a note that said,Will you be my girl?
Throughout the pep rally, I listened as the girls screamed his name, especially when he was introduced as team captain for the basketball team. Beau and his twin brother, Beckett, had girls two years older flirting and falling all over them. They were a little more filled out than most guys at that age. But when he walked by me and winked, I nearly melted in a puddle before the whole class. I handed him back the note and could barely look into his blue eyes.
He chose me. Curly headed me.
ChapterSix
BEAU
Of course, Vanessa isn’t taking this threat seriously—that’s how she is—always living for the thrill.
I called her three times with no answer. I’ve resulted to standing outside her house and peering in through the French doors. There’s a gauzy fabric hanging down on the sides. Still, it’s a perfect view. I remind myself to put this in my notes; this isn’t safe, and she needs blackout drapes or plantation shutters covering these back doors.
The music is blaring, and she has a book in her hand. It looks too big to really be reading. It looks more like the size of a coffee table book, but I can’t make out what it is.
Her hair flows down her back, and when she bends over, leaning on the kitchen counter, the shirt rides up her thighs exposing the crescents of her ass. I try to swallow, but my mouth is as dry as sand. Her bare legs and what rests just beyond the hem of that long shirt trigger my arousal.
She’s mine.
That ass is mine, and even though I won’t act on my feelings, I’m upset that I’m still arguing with myself over the girl that shattered my existence. The Navy didn’t put me back together, but it made me focus on life or death instead of Vanessa Barron every waking minute.
She pulls her hair over her shoulder and stands. Fuck, she’s wearing my shirt from high school, and it makes my dick twitch. I can’t believe she still has it, much less wears it.
Vanessa flips another page and waltzes into the living room. I can’t see her from this vantage point.
Here I am—acting more like a peeping tom than a bodyguard. Finding another view, she lies on the couch with the book above her head, and when she closes it, she rests the book on her chest. It’s a yearbook from middle school—a purple panther in shiny foil decorates the front. I’d know that mascot anywhere.
It’s obvious she’s thinking about us while wearing my shirt. A smile creeps across my face before I remember…
We. Are. Over.
I retreat to the car, dial her number, desperately needing to regain my composure. The phone rings repeatedly, and just when I fear it will reach voicemail, she answers with a soft, “Hello.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve called three times and you didn’t answer.” I clip my words, but not because I’m mad at her. I’m angry at myself for watching her like I’m still in love. Relishing the fact that she still wears my T-shirt. Scotty said she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and I shouldn’t care—key wordshouldn’t. “I don’t know if I can….”
I can almost feel the ear-splitting smile she was wearing just a moment ago disappearing.
That wasn’t my intention.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear it.”
