Page 19 of The Soldier

I can’t keep my eyes off Trina as I pound out one of the last lines. “Dear lady, can you...your stairway lies on the whispering wind?”

Those deep blue eyes glisten and when she smiles at me I almost reach across and kiss her. Right here. In front of everyone.

Then she swallows, her eyes darting drunkenly away, and we all sing the end of the song as one.

Two more songs, then Cassy and Josh climb out at their house. Then Ryder and Savannah. Finally, Alice.

“Want to stay with me?” Alice asks Trina as she climbs out.

“Um...” Trina glances at me.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” I tell Alice.

“Message me.” She nods to her friend.

Jesus. I’m a personal bodyguard. I’m hardly going to...well, I might eat her. If she asks nicely.

We pull away from Alice’s house and head to Trina’s. I nestle into the seat and enjoy the peace. I stifle a yawn, looking forward to my bed after a long week.

“Wait, you don’t live in this area, do you?” Trina asks.

I shake my head.

“Typical. I should’ve known. I’m not fucking you.” Her head almost rolls off her shoulders as she attempts to do a drunken eye roll.

I almost laugh but my patience is almost running out. I’ve spent hours diverting sleezy guys from groping her all night.

I climb off my seat and sit next to her, then tug the gold material of her dress to cover her thighs.

She slaps at my hands. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I’m dressing you, not undressing you.”

“You wish.”

“What?” God she’s drunk. “I’m making sure you get home, Trina. Enough. I’m tired.”

Josh gave me a heads up earlier today that I have my first black op coming up next week. I thought I was ready but I’m not.

“Aww, little toy soldier is tired,” Trina yawns, then her head falls onto my shoulder, and she tucks her legs under her.

I hear a little sleepy snort then silence.

Unbelievable.

She’s sassy right up to the second she crashes.

I grab her purse as we pull up to her house, take out her key, and lift her into my arms.

“Ten minutes.” I tell the driver.

“Yes sir.”

The door opens easily enough—she needs better security and I make a mental note to sort it out next week—and I carry her sleeping form upstairs.

I find her bedroom, which isn’t hard given how often I’ve watched her, like the obsessed stalker I am, then place her on the bed. Tugging off her shoes, I put her phone beside the bed so she doesn’t freak out in the morning and stare down at her beautiful drunken state.

Frowning, I eye her tight dress and decide she’ll either tangle herself up in it or be furious come the morning because it’s some vintage fucking thing.

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