Page 16 of The Bodyguard Affair

I don’t run into her again until the next day in the staff kitchen. She’s bent over the sink, scrubbing her forehead. I spend far too much time debating whether to keep walking or say something, finally landing on a weak “Hi, again” over the running water.

I think my surprise appearance startles her, because she pops up from the sink, her eyes wide in a mild state of panic. When she turns to me, I see it instantly. There’s half aDeadpooltattoo directly in the middle of her forehead. “Hi.”

I bite back a laugh, failing to keep a straight face. “I didn’t peg you for a tattoo kind of girl.”

“Josie and Jason decided I should have one. For the sake of my street cred,” she informs, referring to the Nichols children.

“Ah, right, your street cred.”

“Any chance you know how to remove a semipermanent tattoo?” she asks.

“Dish soap and a lot of scrubbing would probably do it.” I step forward and grab a square of paper towel from the counter, pouring some soap and warm water over it. “May I?”

She nods, and I gently lift her chin, careful not to make weird, prolonged eye contact as I move the paper towel in small circles over the tattoo, removing it little by little. She tenses a bit where my skin brushes against hers. It’s not my imagination that her breathing quickens as I work.

When her gaze flickers to mine and darts away, everything goes quiet. Her skin is as smooth as I remember beneath my fingertips. Thankfully, most of the tattoo comes off quickly, aside from some stubborn red and blue residue…which I suspect will stick around for longer than she wants it to.

“How do I look now?” she asks hopefully when I step back to assess the damage.

“Less prison pod boss. Now you look like someone who would politely ask for my commissary,” I tease.

She emits a sigh of relief, running her index finger over the red area where the tattoo was. “Exactly the vibe I was going for. Thanks for helping, Nolan.”

“Ah, you remember my name?” I ask, shamefully fishing.

“You told me yesterday. Besides, Nolan’s not a very common name. But Nolans strike me as kind,” she says, finally meeting my eyes for longer than a millisecond.

“Kind?”

“Kind enough to carry a woman’s groceries for many blocks in the dead of winter and eat cheesecake with her until she falls asleep.” She flashes me a brief, crooked smile and my entire body instantly relaxes. Well, shit. She does remember me. And she doesn’t hate me.

“So you do remember me.”

“I’m surprisedyourememberme,” she counters, eyeing me as I lean my weight against the counter.

“You’re hard to forget, Andi.” And I mean that.

She runs a hand over her smooth bun contemplatively. “So you’re the new bodyguard?”

“I prefer close protection officer,” I inform, tamping the corners of my lips down in an effort not to grin like a maniac.

“Same difference, no?”

“Absolutely not.” I clutch my chest, feigning offense. “Bodyguards are massive, beefy dudes in dark sunglasses whose job is to look lethal and intimidating. A CPO’s job is to blend into the background and prevent issues before they arise,” I explain, repositioning my lean as her curious gaze trails back over me. I don’t think it’s my imagination that it lingers a little.

“Fair. But for the record, you don’t look discreet. I think you could kill someone with your bare hands.”

So I’ve been told. “Noted. I’ll work on looking less murderous going forward.”

She cracks a slight smile, and I take it as a victory. “You know, I always thought you were a hockey player, or some sort of pro athlete.”

“Really? Sorry to disappoint.”

She shakes her head. “No—I just never would have guessed…even though you did tell me to get a new lock on mypatio door. I always regretted not asking you more about yourself that night. But I was trying to keep things—”

“Casual,” I finish. “And to be fair, I wasn’t a CPO back then.”

“No?” She eyes me curiously.