Page 120 of Bishop's Queen

“Vegan for life, Muscles. That I can’t change for you.”

He tossed the orange in the air and caught it. “I didn’t change for you. I stomped on some Bud heavies. Brick ate my last trash can, and I thought of you and everything you spout when I went to buy another and was walking up and down the aisle. There’s a shit ton of options, and one looked better than the rest. I don’t want you to change, El. I love all that crazy shit you do. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Really?”

He tore the skin, peeling the orange. “Mostly.”

“Yeah?”

He popped an orange slice in his mouth. “Yup.”

“Have a favorite?”

“When you kissed me at the bar, and I made every excuse in the world just to kiss you back.”

Swoon. Thud.She was so done.

***

Overhead in the dark bedroom, the fan quietly spun. This wasn’t how Bishop had pictured their first time in his bed, but as he gathered Ella under his arm and pressed her to his bare chest, he wouldn’t change that she was here now. Her soft hair tickled his skin, and her quiet breaths fell in time with his fan. They’d been lying in the dark for what seemed like forever. He was just letting her process the day, and there had been little left to say.

More than just a physical attack, there had to be pain associated with that type of disloyalty. No matter that Jay was clearly fucking nuts, psychological excuses or not, it still had to hurt.

Another good-bye.

Not that he compared himself to Jay, and the similarities ended quickly, but he had left Ella, and now Jay had hurt her too. She didn’t deserve this crap.

“We’ve both been awfully quiet,” she whispered.

Guess she wasn’t asleep.“I’m letting you process.”

He had a lot to think about too, like how possessive he was when it came to her. While Titan was a new job, acting as a protector was an old routine. The military had taught him that. Actually, he was born with it, and they’d honed it. His sister’s death had been a catalyst for change in his life, setting the course for him to be a better man, a tougher one.

But was he handling this situation well? He and Locke had both missed how the van was set in motion. That killed him.

Ella shifted to her hip. “Are you processing?”

She wore one of his oversized T-shirts. The cotton swallowed her, and even in the dark, he could make out an outline and see her shadowed face. “Yeah, babe, processing.”

“What’s in your head?” she asked.

“Don’t know. Not much.” Which was bullshit.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He squeezed her. “I go first, huh?”

“Since you just volunteered, that sounds great.”

He chuckled quietly. “All right. Let’s see how this goes.” He rolled his shoulders, shifting as he felt her waiting. “Sucks not to have seen that coming—”

“Angie explained that the park had too many blind ways for someone to come to that lot on foot—”

“Appreciate it, babe.” And noteworthy that Special Agent Angie Byrd was now just Angie. Even if Ella hadn’t wanted to talk about it, it was obvious that her comfort level with her FBI POC had increased. “And logically, I know that. Doesn’t mean I can’t feel like shit for not seeing it.”

“Short of putting me on lockdown, which I won’t agree to, you guys couldn’t have stopped what happened.”

“Better location.” They could’ve been closer. He could’ve insisted on no headphones, that she and Manny face him at all times. He could’ve been a complete dictator in how the production had gone, in how she’d done everything, hovering over every facet of her life, always expecting an incoming assault. But hell, what kind of life was that?

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