Page 8 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
“I don’t frequent bars,” he replies. “And I assure you, Miss Hollister, I’ve never ‘picked up’ anyone.”
I can’t help my laugh, though it comes out more like a tired sigh. “Of course you haven’t. Let me guess, you’ve memorized an entire manual on housekeeping injuries instead?”
The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but perhaps its distant cousin. “Just observation. You should ice it.”
An awkward silence falls between us, neither of us quite sure how to proceed. He’s done his duty—I’m home safe. Logic says he should leave, and I should go inside. Yet neither of us moves.
“Would you...” I hesitate, then push forward. “Would you like to come in for a drink? As a thank-you for keeping me safe from all those dangerous... pillowcases and toilet brushes.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that wise?”
“Probably not,” I admit with a small smile. “But I have excellent scotch, and you look like you could use one as much as I could.”
For a moment, I think he might accept. Something flickers in his eyes—interest, perhaps, or curiosity. Then his professional mask slides firmly back into place as he straightens his shoulders.
“I should maintain appropriate boundaries, Miss Hollister,” he says, his tone formal again. “But thank you for the offer.”
I try not to let my disappointment show. “Right. Professional boundaries. Very important when protecting someone from the dangers of cleaning supplies.”
A hint of amusement crosses his face. “Even cleaning supplies can be hazardous in the wrong hands.”
“Is that SEAL training talking?” I tease, grateful for the slight warming in his demeanor.
“Common sense,” he counters, but there’s less edge to his voice than usual. His eyes drop briefly to my posture. “Ice that back when you get inside. Twenty minutes on, twenty off.”
I’m touched by his concern despite myself. “Yes, sir, Commander Conrad.”
He shakes his head at my mock salute, but I catch the ghost of a smile. “Get some rest, Miss Hollister. Six AM comes early.”
“Don’t I know it,” I sigh. “Goodnight, Javi.”
“Goodnight, Teddy,” he replies, the use of my nickname catching me by surprise. It sounds different when he says it—less like a childhood diminutive and more like something personal, something real.
As he turns to go, I find myself speaking again. “My father was a marine biologist.”
He pauses, looking back at me with curiosity. “Was he?”
I nod, not sure why I’m sharing this with him. “He died when I was twelve. Diving accident.” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly chilled in the night air. “I wanted to follow in his footsteps once. Before I became a proper Hollister.”
Javi studies me for a long moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “What did you love about it? The marine biology?”
The question catches me off guard—not dismissal or polite sympathy, but genuine interest. “The discovery,” I answer honestly. “Finding entire worlds most people never see. Dad said the ocean was the last true wilderness, full of mysteries greater than ourselves.”
Something shifts in Javi’s eyes—recognition, perhaps, or understanding. “That’s a good reason to love something.”
“What about you?” I ask, suddenly emboldened. “Did little Javier Conrad always dream of being a bodyguard?”
He shakes his head, a rueful expression crossing his face. “Architect.”
“Architect?” I repeat, genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“Buildings last,” he says simply. “Or they can, if they’re built right.”
There’s something in the way he says it—a philosophy more than a career aspiration—that makes me wonder about the man beneath the security professional facade. Before I can pursue it further, he checks his watch.
“Early shift tomorrow,” he reminds me, stepping back toward his car. “You should get that ice on your back.”
I nod, reluctantly accepting the end of this unexpected moment of connection. “Goodnight, Javi.”
