Page 30 of A Little Bit More

Flynn was so damn tempted to let his brother off the hook and tell Matt he had to babysit. But he couldn’t. “Too late. Harry’s doing it.”

Matt stared at him for a moment before bursting into hysterics. “I’m going home,” he said when he’d calmed down enough. “I need to sit on an ice pack.”

As Matt hobbled away, Flynn looked down at the goat. “I’m never going to get rid of you, am I?”

She just licked his hand.

* * *

“I want him arrested,”Jasper shouted at his manager while pointing a finger at Grunt.

They were in his suite at the hotel, with its panoramic view over Glasgow—a sight he now hated because he couldn’t look at the city without remembering his time in the alley. It had taken three showers to get the smell of pizza and piss off him. He felt violated.

“Calm down,” Stephen said. “I know this is serious, but he saved your life.”

For a second, Jasper could have sworn that Stephen was trying not to laugh. “It was assault. He threw me out of the second-floor window. Into garbage.” He shook his head as his stomach lurched. What little sleep he’d had the night before had been filled with pizza-eating rats and bugs the size of cars. He wasn’t sure he’d ever sleep again. “I could have broken my neck.”

Grunt lifted an eyebrow. “I aimed for the mattress.”

“Do you hear him?” Jasper shouted. “He doesn’t give a crap about any of this.” He strode over to the mountain and glared up at him. “I bet you put all your clients in danger. I bet that’s why you don’t have a steady gig as a bodyguard. You’re a maniac. A massive bloody psychopath.”

Grunt calmly twisted his hands into Jasper’s shirt and lifted him off his feet. Once they were eye to eye, he said, “Be careful what you say.” He glanced at the window. “Maybe you can survive a fifteen-floor drop. Maybe not.”

Oh crap. He might have just wet himself a little. Waiting until Grunt had put him back on the ground, Jasper said, “See? He’s threatening me again.” But he made sure there was a roomful of furniture between him and the Hulk.

“Everybody, calm down,” Stephen said, holding out his hands as though to appease them.

Jasper glared at Grunt.Heseemed calm enough. But thenhehadn’t been thrown out of a Glasgow tenement window.

“I want him fired. And arrested,” Jasper said again.

“Are you sure you want to do that? The guy was only doing his job. And look,”—Stephen lifted his iPad and tapped at the screen before turning it to Jasper—“you’re all over the news.”

The headline read: Bodyguard Saves The Fox From Angry Mob.

There was a photo of him being hurried up the stairs before Grunt picked him up and carried him. Okay, this was okay. If this was all there was, he could live with it.

Before Stephen could take the iPad away, Jasper grabbed it and scrolled through the feed. He had to sit down. There were photos of him being carried like a rugby ball. Photos of him lying on his face in the alley. And photos of an unconscious, drooling him, covered in piss and pizza, being hauled away by the Hulk.

“You can’t have him arrested,” Stephen said. “It would make everything worse. Sure, the visuals aren’t great. But right now, it looks like he’s saving you—which he did. But if he’s arrested, it will look like you’re the victim here. Do you want that?”

What he wanted was his usual bodyguard back and to forget a guy called Grunt ever existed.

Before he could answer, there was a buzz at the suite door. Stephen opened it, and the concierge strode in—carrying a box.

“Mr. Fox,” the man said, “you have a delivery from Harry Styles.”

And then he placed the pepperoni pizza on the table in front of him.

As Jasper ran for the bathroom, he could have sworn he saw Grunt grin.

* * *

Charges weren’t filed.And Grunt doubted Lake would ever ask him to fill in as a bodyguard again. As far as Grunt was concerned, all was right with the world. Jasper Fox had disappeared from social media, his manager saying he was taking some time off to get over the mobbing ordeal in Glasgow. Harry Styles tweeted photos of pizza at Jasper and wished him well.

Grunt didn’t give a crap about the spoiled singer, but Claire liked to follow the news. She’d also printed off a photo of him running down Sauchiehall Lane, Jasper tucked under his arm. It was framed and hanging in the hallway. She’d written ‘My Husband, the Hero’ on the mount under the image.

Damn, but he loved his wife.