Page 52 of The Bodyguard Affair
“I dunno. I think the hair,” I say, imagining running my hand through it, tugging it a little. God, I need to rein myself in.
He smirks, pushing it back from his face. “My mom keeps telling me to cut it. She says it makes me look like alout.”
I snort. Before I can tell him not to cut it, someone wraps their arms around my shoulders. “Hi, stranger.” It’s Laine. Voice aside, I know it without even seeing her based on the cinnamon-and-apple scent of her perfume.
I whip around to her sitting in the seat directly behind me, barely concealing my shock. “Laine, hi! I didn’t expect to see you—here—”
She explains how sometimes Hunter’s boss gives them her box seats, though I barely listen through the shock. We haven’t seen each other since a coffee and donut date back in early January, a few days after New Year’s. Admittedly, the whole thing was rushed. We’d barely gotten past the “What’s new with you?” small talk when Laine received an email about an urgent briefing and took off immediately, full latte and donut in hand.
She flicks her curls over her shoulder, revealing new highlights that make her hair appear almost copper. “Since when are you a fan of football?” The moment she asks, her eyes dart to Nolan, and her brow quirks in recognition.
“Oh, um, this is my friend. Boy. Boyfriend. Nolan.” God. Lying is hard. Especially to Laine. We may not be close anymore, but she’s still the closest thing I have to a best friend. “He’s Eric’s new CPO,” I add.
She recognizes him from that night at the bar, based on her knowing expression. Her mouth quite literally forms an O as she leans forward to shake his hand over the back of the seat. “Nolan. We’ve…met before.”
Apparently he recognizes her, too. “We have. Nice to see you again.”
Her eyes flick back to me. “Clearly, we have a lot to catch up on. Hunter was telling me things are a little wild at work, after those headlines. I totally meant to reach out and see how you were doing.”
“Oh, no worries. I’m great. I mean, obviously there’s no truth to the rumors, so…”
She waves away my words like she already came to that conclusion on her own. “Obviously. Everyone knows the opposition is feeding the media all these BS stories. I’m honestly offendedthat people think you’d write filth like that.” Grateful as I am for her defense, the word “filth” sticks. Nolan gives my hand a firm squeeze, stopping the pit in my stomach from expanding.
There’s an awkward pause as Hunter inches into the seat beside her, two frothy beers in each hand. Of course, he’s wearing a sweater-vest.
“Andi?” Like Laine, he looks shocked by my presence, and even more shocked by Nolan’s.
“Hunter, remember all the slogans Andi used to come up with for the campaign?” she asks pointedly, forcing a weak nod out of him. “Wild that they think it’s the same person who wrote that porny book.”
“Uh, yeah,” he says passively, handing her a beer.
“Anyway, I was just being reintroduced to Andi’s new boyfriend, Nolan. Eric’s CPO. Remember him from that night at the pub all those years ago? The guy she went home with?” she adds in a not-so-discreet whisper.
Hunter’s eyes go wide in faux recognition, grateful for the topic switch. “Right! I’ve seen you with Eric but I thought you looked familiar. Nice to meet you, man. I’m Hunter.”
Nolan tightens his lips, his gaze flicking to me for a millisecond before he extends his other hand in a greeting.
A beat goes by where we all just sit there, nodding, waiting for someone to break the painful silence.
Laine is the one who breaks it. “By the way, did you get our invitation?”
Shit. I consider lying and feigning surprise, but it seems like a fruitless endeavor. “I did. The cardstock was so…thick,” I say, immediately regretting it. Who cares about the damn cardstock?
“That was Hunter’s mom’s choice. Like most things,” sheinforms with a knowing brow raise, like I, too, know the struggle. I met Hunter’s entire family once at a holiday party. They were nice and welcoming (aside from his bigoted uncle Frank), a family I could picture myself getting to know over time.
“Hey, it’s taken all the work off your plate,” Hunter reminds her.
“True. You know me. If I had it my way, we wouldn’t even be having a wedding. I’ve been making sure it stays really low-key. I don’t want any of it to feel like a traditional wedding, you know?”
“Right.” A destination wedding in Mexico? Real low-key.
She goes on and on for at least fifteen minutes, listing all the ways their wedding is “not like a normal wedding,” despite going on a long-winded rant about napkin colors. She’s wearing a black dress, for one thing. The ceremony will only be two minutes, max. And there will be a buffet, no multicourse dinner. “Basically, I want it to be like a big party.”
“Totally,” I say, flashing a syrupy-sweet smile over my shoulder, desperate for the game to start so I can turn back around.
“Anyway, the deadline to RSVP is this week. I’ll make sure to add a plus-one for you,” she says with a wink. “We need to coordinate with the resort to make sure we have enough rooms blocked off—” A woman I recognize from Privy Council sinks into the seat next to Laine, capturing her attention, leaving Nolan and me with Hunter.
I’m about to come up with a bogus excuse to leave the conversation, but Hunter keeps talking. “Honestly, we won’t be offended if you aren’t able to make it,” he says out of nowhere, which I interpret as, “Please don’t come.”
