Page 61 of Ripped & Shipped
“I’m joking!” I tell him, letting him off the hook.
“I’m not,” he says. “I said I’d be willing to pose as your boyfriend online, and I meant it. I’m trained to watch for danger. And this situation has me concerned.”
“Obviously, if you’re willing to ask me out. Those are some pretty drastic measures, even for you.”
“It would be a farce. For your safety. I’m offering, and I think you should consider the offer. ”
“No need. Sheesh. I’m telling you. I think you might benefit from some lavender essential oil. I wish I had some in my purse. You could put it on your pulse points. It would relax you. Maybe you should also drink some passion flower chamomile tea. Yes! That’s definitely on tap for you.”
Chris scrunches up his face like a child being forced to eat brussels sprouts with a side of mushrooms.
“I don’t need any of that woo-woo stuff.”
Chris takes a sip of his coffee and sits quietly, studying me.
After a minute or so of not-so-comfortable silence, he says, “At least block him.”
He’s got this pleading look in his eyes, like he truly cares about what happens to me. I know better. Chris is a hero—the type of guy that runs into situations that don’t concern him just to save the day. He sees what he thinks is danger, and he wants to rescue me. I could be anyone in this scenario. It just happens to be me he’s targeted as the distressed damsel du jour.
“Fine. I’ll block beefitupfitnessdude. But only because I told Meg I would, not because you’re getting bossy.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
I pull out my phone and it buzzes with a notification.
“What’s that?” Chris asks.
It’s kind of adorable how much of a neanderthal he is when it comes to social media.
“It’s a notification. It means someone messaged me on Instagram.”
Chris nods, but I can tell he’s holding back from saying something.
“Got something you want to say?”
“Who messaged you?”
“Oh my gosh! You are so nosy.” I tease him.
I look down. Great. It’s from beefitupfitnessdude. I almost want to fake that it’s someone else and deal with this when Chris isn’t watching me like a hawk.
“It’s him,” I say, handing my phone over to Chris.
I may as well let him read what the guy wrote. He’ll ask to see it anyway.
Chris reads the message aloud. “Hey, Ella Mae. I’ve been waiting for the right time to reach out to you. I think I recognize that Big Boy where you ate with that guy, Chris. If I’m right, it’s near Columbus. I didn’t want to say anything on your posts since I know you’re private about your location. I appreciate you being that way. You don’t want guys inappropriately reaching out to you. I don’t either.
“I just want you to know I’m in that area. What’s the likelihood? I’ve been telling you how good we’d be together. I know you don’t answer me on the post threads because you don’t want to expose our connection to everyone. I respect that.
“Just answer me here and we can make plans privately. I want to treat you like the queen you are. You are so beautiful. I can’t stop thinking about you. When you answer, I’ll tell you my real name. Meanwhile, check out my latest post. I made it just for you.”
Chris looks up from my phone and his face looks—dangerous. Not that he’s a threat to me, but man, oh man. He’s got this whole protective vibe going that is hotter than hot.
I’m not one to let a man defend me. I’ve been taking care of myself on my own my whole life, thank you very much. And, as Mom says,If you never count on a man, then they won’t be able to let you down. I know that’s her baggage, but there’s some sage wisdom tucked in between her unfinished business.
If I were into that whole hot gladiator thing, Chris would be so doing it for me right now. An image of sweaty Chris, shirtless, wearing one of those Roman belt things with dangly scraps of leather and metal studs flashes in my mind. His face is fierce, and he’s roaring while he stands over beefitupfitnessdude with a sword outstretched toward his opponent’s neck. The sun gleams off Chris’ rippling muscles. He’s the epitome of masculinity, defending my honor and saving me from online trolls.
