Page 28 of Guarding the Star

“The awkward part?” she repeats, eyebrows up.

“Yeah… Like… how to wake up next to your bodyguard after a kiss the night before. A beginner's guide or something.”

“I think I'd better make coffee,” she says, rolling her eyes before she gets up.

I watch her walk out of my room in a T-shirt and underwear. She's got long legs, and I shouldn't be looking at them, but I can't help it.

I need to brush my teeth. And wash my face. And probably rethink my entire life. But teeth first.

***

When I come out of the bathroom, the kitchen smells like coffee. She's put on yesterday's pants, so I can stop staring at her legs.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” I ask, sitting on the stool.

“Do you want to?”

“I asked first. But yeah, I think we should have a conversation already.”

“Okay. It happened. I don't regret it. And I don't want you to regret it either. But I need some time to figure out what this means for my job, your safety, everything else,” she says with a sigh.

“How much time?”

“I don't know.”

“Come on, Paula… Days? Weeks? Months? Give me something!” I slam my palm on the kitchen counter and only manage to hurt myself.

“A day or two, probably.”

“Okay, that's something, I guess,” I say, taking a sip of coffee that's too hot. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, nothing changes in public. The cover stays the same. The protocol stays the same. Last night stays between us.”

“Last night was already between us. I'm not going to post it on Instagram, like 'kissed my bodyguard last night after a stalker sent me a psycho message, hashtag romance, hashtag get yourself a bodyguard.'”

Paula looks at me, raises her eyebrows, and smiles. For her, that's probably equal to a full laugh. Progress.

“No, don't post that on Instagram,” she says, shaking her head.

“See? We already agree on something.”

***

At the club, breakfast with the team is safe ground. People around. Conversation. Good noise.

When I reach back to fix my ponytail, Paula stands up and does it for me. A simple gesture. Nobody thinks twice about it.

I feel electricity shoot through my whole body.

Wesley arrives in Zoe's arms, cheeks flushed, a crushed cookie in his fist. He sees me and reaches out.

“Iwis!”

“Boss.” I take him. Smell his head. Close my eyes. “Oh my God, this kid smells like magic. What do you wash his hair with, Zoe? Unicorn tears?”

“It's three-dollar baby shampoo.”

“Pola!” the kid says, pointing at my bodyguard.