Page 12 of Chalk Outline

I’m not sure he would either.

“Wake up, I’m right here. You don’t need any of them.” He mouths, and I read every single word. They ignite my body all over again. I have no idea what angels look like, but it feels like he is one. Maybe he is a guardian angel, and I’m a burning flame sparked to life at his command.

There’s just something about him.

He slithers his way into my heart when he’s being real like that. But then he always pulls back because he works for my grandma and has to abide by the rules.

Our eye contact breaks when someone joins the couch. I’m smashed against the armrest, Larson’s body pressing into my side even more now. A grin decorates his face as he slowly stretches his arm, letting it drop onto the headrest behind me.

“I got this, Winnie,” Larson offers.

I lower my gaze to see a tiny bag filled with a white substance resting in the palm of his hand.

I side-eye him, impatiently holding this useless death stare. Before I even have the chance to decline, my Catwoman costume gets soaked with a large amount of liquid. It feels like someone spilled a bucket of water all over me.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I get up, not bothering to see who spilled it, and make a beeline for the bathroom across the hallway.

My bodyguard is already on my heels.

“Don’t say I don’t get you wet.” The hint of amusement colors his husky voice, making me feel both pissed and turned on at the same time. “You’re welcome.”

“There’s a buzz in my ear that won’t go away.”

“Haha. Maybe liars attract insects like me.”

My jaw tightens as irritation climbs up my body. I shake my head to stop myself from saying something stupid.

“Rule number one.”

“Always stay alert, yeah, yeah.” I finish the rule he’s been reciting for months.

“Do you want me to watch your purse?” Larson runs toward me as I reach the door, but my bodyguard blocks him, directing a malicious glare his way, probably wanting to strangle him.

“Actually, that’s my boyfriend. He’s super protective.” The words slip out, and I grin. His eyes darken, and a dangerous flash crosses them as he cracks his neck from side to side. “Please behave,” I whisper.

“No guarantees,” he responds nonchalantly, wearing that prominent scowl he tends to make before I enter the bathroom.

As I’m about to exit the door, I stop my shoe just in time over Larson’s unconscious body. My bodyguard stands there unfazed and unbothered, legs slightly apart, boots firmly planted against the floor, arms resting at his sides.

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head to the side. “Did you kill him?” My brow instinctively rises.

“Maybe.” He doesn’t bother to look at me.

“Be serious for once.”

“Who says I’m not?”

I sigh. “Was it really necessary?”

“He talked too much, so I had to shut him up. He will get up in a few minutes.” He finally meets my gaze. “Or not.”

I step over Larson, giving him a stern sideways glance, and sashay through the hallway into the living room. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him smiling briefly before that annoying scowl returns.

I want to understand why he always uses that disguise to conceal his emotions, as if it’s a reflex.

“You’re impossible.”