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“You’re here. It would be weird not to talk.”
The awful truth is that I’m desperate to talk to him and I have no idea why. I don’t know if it’s his hair—how does a man have such perfect hair, anyway?—or his mouth, or the sound of his voice, or that I really have isolated myself too much over the past few years. I woke up three times last night wanting to go and find him.
For what?
Exactly. Fornothing. He is my bodyguard, and that’s it.
I didn’t think about him when he was in the shower yesterday, and I’m not thinking about how his hair is still damp, which means he was in the shower this morning.
“You’re making eggs again.”
I hold up the carton. “You guessed it.”
“I’m not eating unless you eat.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” I expect more of an argument, but he’s gone back to his tablet. I scramble eggs in silence. “Are you…not going to say anything?”
“You’re the client. I’m here to talk ifyouwant to talk, except if it interferes with protecting you.”
“First of all—” I brandish the spatula at him. “I’m not the client. Zeus is. Or my dad. Poseidon probably wanted in on it, too, but it’s not me.”
“Fine, but—”
“And second of all, since I’m not the client, don’t talk to me like one.”
Hercules raises his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t I talk to you like theprotectee?”
“Because we both know this is weird. Acting all haughty and professional isn’t going to make it better.”
“Haughty?”
“All—this way, ma’am, step back behind me, there’s a shooter out there and we have to secure the perimeter.”
He bursts out laughing. I’ve never heard him laugh that hard, ever, and it completely transforms his face. Hercules looks younger when he laughs. More open. Not like the intimidating ex-soldier who showed up on my porch yesterday.
“Is that what you think I sound like?” He swipes tears from the corners of his eyes.
“That’s what Iknowyou sound like.” I turn away in time to rescue the eggs.
“I haven’t said anything about securing the perimeter.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Okay. Jesus. Howdoyou want me to talk to you? Like we’refriends?”
“Ha!” The toast pops up, startling the hell out of me, and I accidentally stick my fingers too far into the toaster to get it out. “Shit.”
Hercules’s stool falls over. I drop the toast on the plate and find him halfway around the island, expression set like he’s going into battle.
“It’s fine.” His face doesn’t change. He’sbreathingfaster. Is this how he was in battle? Way too intense for the situation? That would explain his bazillion medals. “Hercules. It’s fine. I, like,slightlyoverheated my fingers on the toaster.” I hold my hand out to him, feeling ridiculous. “See?”
He takes my hand. His is alotbigger than mine, and he has fine scars all over the back of his hand. They’re hard to see unless you look closely. Hercules examines my fingers for several beats more than necessary—it’s really not even a burn—before he drops my hand.
“Be careful.”
“Message received, captain.”
He rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t a captain.”
