Page 6
Story: Road Trip with Her Bodyguard
“Okay…”
After he leaves, the doorknob rattles when he double checks that it’s locked. I keep forgetting that I’m in danger.
As instructed, I’m ready to go when he returns. Dane empties a large plastic bag across my bed: four t-shirts, in blue, green, a pink floral pattern, and a marigold and black swirly sunshine-y print. There’s also three pairs of soft yoga pants, one each in black, gray, and blue, some cute teal sneakers, and a pair of socks covered in cartoon pizza slices.
“I couldn’t resist,” he chuckles.
It feels so easy to laugh with him. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
Dane turns his back, and I replace my silky designer top with the bright sunshine t-shirt. Then I roughly fold the new clothes and stuff them haphazardly in my suitcase. He surveys the room to be sure we haven’t forgotten anything, then scoops up my bag like it weighs nothing.
Shortly after we’re back on the highway, I see a sign for Route 14. “We were in one place for a while, so we’ll drive for about half an hour, then stop for breakfast,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. Where are we staying tonight?”
“Heartstone, Missouri.”
Obviously, I’ve never heard of it, but it sounds rather romantic – just as it feels romantic that Dane is caring for me so sweetly. Although I guess that’s his job.
“What do you do for a living, anyway?” I ask. “When you’re not bodyguarding, I mean.”
He flashes a cheeky grin that speeds up my pulse. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” When I raise an eyebrow, he chuckles deeply, then shrugs. “Sorry. Just wanted to sound mysteriousthere for a sec. I work for several different contractors in the area.”
“Like, building houses and stuff?”
“The opposite, actually. I tear out old kitchens, bathrooms, patios, whatever. Then I haul out the rubble to make the space clear for the renovation team. I’ve been a club bouncer and had more than my share of unofficial bodyguard jobs, but demolition is my main gig.”
Well, that certainly explains the shoulders. The thought of Dane’s huge hard body all sweaty and dusty sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Is that like…your dream job?”
He turns off the highway and drives toward an old fifties-style diner just up the road. “Hmm. I like working for myself. The freedom to take a few weeks off in the height of summer, or a break whenever I need it. Take a road trip with my dad, or some old friends now and then.”
“Must be nice.” My low grumble slips out, surprising me.
“Really? You wanna swing a sledgehammer?”
“No.” I shake my head sadly. “The freedom to do whatever you want, though…”
Dane parks the car, then comes around to open my door, keeping hold of my hand as we walk inside. “Yeah, I get the impression that your folks are kind of…”
“Helicopter parents, even at my age? Yeah. Dad wants me to relocate – well, you saw what he did. Mom wants me to wear something? She just puts it in my room and harps at me until I do.” I slip into a vinyl booth with a sigh. “I guess I really don’t have a backbone.”
The conversation switches to movies that have scenes set in diners. I love how we talk about everything under the sun while devouring incredible breakfast sandwiches on the thickest seven-grain toast I’ve ever seen.
We’re skimming the menu again after polishing off our sandwiches, wondering if we have enough room to split a piece of pie, when I point to the list of side dishes. “Whataregrits, anyway? I’ve never been in this part of the country before.”
“You’ve never had grits?!” We turn to see our perky blonde waitress gaping at us. Her name tag reads ‘Patty’, and I get the impression she’s worked here for decades.
“Oh honey, you haven’t tried ’em until you’ve had ’em here. Hold on.” She dashes back to the kitchen, returning with a small side dish. “It’s just corn. I’ve already seasoned ’em with butter and pepper. Trust me.”
It frankly looks like mush, but she seems so excited that I dig in, taking a big spoonful. Then I nod slowly. “Hmm…okay…it’s kind of like…porridge. But brighter.” I smile up at Patty. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Thank you. We’ll also split a piece of the apple caramel pie,” Dane adds.
Once she’s gone he leans forward, a wide grin on his handsome face. “It’s not just that you dug into those with gusto. You were fully prepared to enjoy them. Your default state is happy and agreeable.” He grins. “Both of which are excellent qualities in a road tripper. Good job.”
I feel strangely proud of myself. Like I’ve scored a point with him.
In a place like this, it’s no surprise that the pie is stellar. We eat in appreciative silence for a few minutes, smiling and enjoying the moment. Then Dane reaches out a hand to me. A quick glance around confirms that he’s not doing this for any cameras, because there aren’t any. Oh boy. My fingers feel so good in his huge, warm hand.
After he leaves, the doorknob rattles when he double checks that it’s locked. I keep forgetting that I’m in danger.
As instructed, I’m ready to go when he returns. Dane empties a large plastic bag across my bed: four t-shirts, in blue, green, a pink floral pattern, and a marigold and black swirly sunshine-y print. There’s also three pairs of soft yoga pants, one each in black, gray, and blue, some cute teal sneakers, and a pair of socks covered in cartoon pizza slices.
“I couldn’t resist,” he chuckles.
It feels so easy to laugh with him. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
Dane turns his back, and I replace my silky designer top with the bright sunshine t-shirt. Then I roughly fold the new clothes and stuff them haphazardly in my suitcase. He surveys the room to be sure we haven’t forgotten anything, then scoops up my bag like it weighs nothing.
Shortly after we’re back on the highway, I see a sign for Route 14. “We were in one place for a while, so we’ll drive for about half an hour, then stop for breakfast,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. Where are we staying tonight?”
“Heartstone, Missouri.”
Obviously, I’ve never heard of it, but it sounds rather romantic – just as it feels romantic that Dane is caring for me so sweetly. Although I guess that’s his job.
“What do you do for a living, anyway?” I ask. “When you’re not bodyguarding, I mean.”
He flashes a cheeky grin that speeds up my pulse. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” When I raise an eyebrow, he chuckles deeply, then shrugs. “Sorry. Just wanted to sound mysteriousthere for a sec. I work for several different contractors in the area.”
“Like, building houses and stuff?”
“The opposite, actually. I tear out old kitchens, bathrooms, patios, whatever. Then I haul out the rubble to make the space clear for the renovation team. I’ve been a club bouncer and had more than my share of unofficial bodyguard jobs, but demolition is my main gig.”
Well, that certainly explains the shoulders. The thought of Dane’s huge hard body all sweaty and dusty sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Is that like…your dream job?”
He turns off the highway and drives toward an old fifties-style diner just up the road. “Hmm. I like working for myself. The freedom to take a few weeks off in the height of summer, or a break whenever I need it. Take a road trip with my dad, or some old friends now and then.”
“Must be nice.” My low grumble slips out, surprising me.
“Really? You wanna swing a sledgehammer?”
“No.” I shake my head sadly. “The freedom to do whatever you want, though…”
Dane parks the car, then comes around to open my door, keeping hold of my hand as we walk inside. “Yeah, I get the impression that your folks are kind of…”
“Helicopter parents, even at my age? Yeah. Dad wants me to relocate – well, you saw what he did. Mom wants me to wear something? She just puts it in my room and harps at me until I do.” I slip into a vinyl booth with a sigh. “I guess I really don’t have a backbone.”
The conversation switches to movies that have scenes set in diners. I love how we talk about everything under the sun while devouring incredible breakfast sandwiches on the thickest seven-grain toast I’ve ever seen.
We’re skimming the menu again after polishing off our sandwiches, wondering if we have enough room to split a piece of pie, when I point to the list of side dishes. “Whataregrits, anyway? I’ve never been in this part of the country before.”
“You’ve never had grits?!” We turn to see our perky blonde waitress gaping at us. Her name tag reads ‘Patty’, and I get the impression she’s worked here for decades.
“Oh honey, you haven’t tried ’em until you’ve had ’em here. Hold on.” She dashes back to the kitchen, returning with a small side dish. “It’s just corn. I’ve already seasoned ’em with butter and pepper. Trust me.”
It frankly looks like mush, but she seems so excited that I dig in, taking a big spoonful. Then I nod slowly. “Hmm…okay…it’s kind of like…porridge. But brighter.” I smile up at Patty. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Thank you. We’ll also split a piece of the apple caramel pie,” Dane adds.
Once she’s gone he leans forward, a wide grin on his handsome face. “It’s not just that you dug into those with gusto. You were fully prepared to enjoy them. Your default state is happy and agreeable.” He grins. “Both of which are excellent qualities in a road tripper. Good job.”
I feel strangely proud of myself. Like I’ve scored a point with him.
In a place like this, it’s no surprise that the pie is stellar. We eat in appreciative silence for a few minutes, smiling and enjoying the moment. Then Dane reaches out a hand to me. A quick glance around confirms that he’s not doing this for any cameras, because there aren’t any. Oh boy. My fingers feel so good in his huge, warm hand.