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She shakes her head. “Anyway, you know what I mean. It’s not like you’re a friend like that—”
I narrow my eyes.
“You know what I mean,” she says again, fumbling. I don’t help her. I genuinely want to know what she thinks this is, this relationship we have. It’s more than professional, I’m reluctant to admit, but I still haven’t been able to define it for myself. “We’re friends, yeah, but it’s different, isn’t it?”
I hold her eyes. “How is it different?”
“Well, um, you’re my bodyguard, aren’t you?” She pauses, searching my face. There’s a thread of sadness in her next words and crooked smile. “You’re paid to hang out with me.”
I can’t argue with that, but I also can’t let those words hang as though that’s the sole truth. “And I care about you. That has nothing to do with my age.”
She stares at the ground but I can’t miss the flush in her cheeks. I feel instantly warm again, at once hating and relishing this hot, cold, up, down tempo of emotions that seem to pass between us.
“Come on, let’s head back.” I climb back into the golf buggy. “I thought you wanted to spend your rare night off watching scary movies and stuffing your face with popcorn.”
“Oh yeah,” she grins, climbing in beside me. I allow myself a smug smile at the knowledge I have another surprise lined up for her tomorrow and I can’t wait to see her face. Seeing Aurelia happy is one of my new favorite things.
