Page 71 of The Bodyguard Affair
“Yup. Totally!” she squeaks, already sliding into the back seat.
“Okay. Well, uh, enjoy the ride?” I call before closing the door.
“Enjoy the ride”? That’s all I have to say after what happened at the lake? After she came with me to help with Mom?
I am an absolute asshat.
An hour later, I’m lying in bed, trying to get any semblance of sleep, when she texts me.
Andi:How’s your mom doing?
Nolan:Good. Still sleeping!
Andi:So about tonight…
I nearly die in anticipation, watching the little dots appear and disappear for what feels like forever.
Nolan:Yeah?
Andi:I think it’s best we don’t do that again.
Well, fuck. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t that. Before I can respond, another message comes through.
Andi:With everything going on with the media and our situation, I just don’t think it would be a good idea. Besides, I don’t want anything to happen that could risk our friendship.
Reading those words feels like a gut punch. At the same time, she’s entirely right. Hooking up would complicate things, especially since I’m leaving, at some point, in the near future. And even though I’ve been second-guessing that lately, leaving Ottawa is the smart thing. Temporary. Just as I like it.
Nolan:You’re right. Just friends.
Andi:Perfect
Chapter 30
Andi
Friends.
That’s what Nolan and I are. The last thing I need is to get emotionally attached to someone who’s leaving?
Maybe because I have a deeper understanding of him now, knowing what I know about his mom. I never understood why he took the posting here in the first place if he intended to leave within a few months. It all makes sense, the mixture of sad puppy and frustration on his face whenever he brings up his mom, the guilt in his eyes when he talks about leaving.
It’s easy to see how much he loves and cares about her, despite the past. The look of utter terror on his face when he got the call from his neighbor was proof of that.
All I wanted to do last night was hug him. Absorb all of his sadness. If anything, it’s even more of a reason things need to stay simple between us. He’s here for his mom. Nothing more. End of story.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about what happened at the River House and how badly I want to do it again, particularly when I’m alone and in bed, just me and my fingers. And it’s more than just that. It’s his smile, his relaxed, self-assured laugh, all these little things about him that I shouldn’t care about. I’ve been strangely jittery and distracted all day at work. So much so, I even messed up Gretchen’s morning coffee order, which has been the same every day for the past three years.
I thought I’d be able to make out with Nolan in the lake and move on with my life as normal. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day, the way he felt against me, being on the verge of coming from the pressure alone.
It takes me a solid hour to pick out what to wear for his mom’s (sort of) birthday tonight. In my defense, dressing to have dinner with someone’s mom is not easy. Most of my work clothes give off a “devout Sunday school teacher” vibe.
I don’t know why it’s weighing so heavily on me, or why I’m so desperate to impress Nolan’s mom. Eventually, I settle on a thick-strapped, square-neck, fitted black midi dress I bought years ago for one of Gretchen’s galas. I pair it with black strappy heels I rarely get the chance to wear, because work demands more comfortable, supportive footwear.
Simple and platonic, I murmur to myself, my heart lurching into double time as I enter the restaurant.
Nolan stands immediately when he sees me, and my stomach does a barrel roll. I’ve seen him in slacks and a dress shirt countless times, but it hits different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes wander over me, electrifying my spine, or the way he wraps his arms around me in a greeting, pulling me snugly into hischest. There’s something softer, gentler about the way he presses us flush together, his palm steady on my back, our breathing syncing. “You look insane in that dress,” he whispers. His breath ghosts my neck, and I sigh into the warmth.
And then he does the unthinkable: He plants a soft kiss on my cheek. My knees nearly buckle. I know it’s bad, but I let myself sink into him. Because if I can’t actually do anything with him, I can at least take advantage of the times we’re pretending to be together.
