Page 114 of The Bodyguard

Twenty-Two

OF COURSE, Ifell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, I was in Jack Stapleton’s bed, under that maelstrom of whatever it was he did to his sheets every night, and I was pinned to the mattress by one of Jack’s enormous arms, slung across my shoulders, and also one of his legs—tangled around one of my own.

All of which felt pretty nice, actually.

I gave myself a moment to savor it.

I mean… right? That kind of thing doesn’t happen every day. I was tempted to snap a selfie so I’d believe it later.

But then my phone—which was set to never ding before 8:00 A.M.—started dinging at 8:01.

A lot.

And by the time I’d wriggled out from under Jack to check it, I found a thousand texts from every single person I worked with, and plenty of people I didn’t.

Apparently, I’d accidentally gotten famous overnight.

Because while we’d been sleeping in here—out there on the internet, things were wide awake.

In less than twenty-four hours, three major Jack-related things occurred.

One: The Corgi Lady decided to update her Jack Stapleton fan page with photos and videos of all her stalking shenanigans—spreading the word far and wide that Jack was in Houston and that she’d managed to find his house. Countless posts showed up with captions like, “Love is in the air at my one and only’s luxury rental estate in Houston! He can run, but he cannot hide! #JackStapleton #JackAttack #JackHammer #TrueLove #CorgiAddict #CheckOutMyNudes #LetsMakeABaby.”

Two: A photo of Jack and me from the hospital—that night, when I told him to hide by leaning into me—showed up and then exploded online. We definitely looked like we were embracing, possibly even making out like crazy, even to me. And this photo was everywhere under headlines like “Who’s Jack Stapleton’s New Girlfriend?” and, “Mystery Woman Sucks Face with Jack Stapleton,” and just plain old, “Get It, Jack!”

And three: The Corgi Lady apparently saw the photo, lost what was left of her mind, and delivered a basket of stuffed-animal corgi puppies to the doorstep of Jack’s rental house in Houston… with a note tucked inside letting Jack know that she was definitely, without question, going to murder me. In graphic detail.

Glenn, needless to say, was not pleased.

Take a jog to HQ! ASAP!his final text said. Let’s figure this the hell out.

This definitely bumped Jack up to threat level tangerine. Or maybe even persimmon.

It wasn’t a death threat against the principal, but it was a threat against his “girlfriend,” which was close enough. Also, the photos she’d posted included all sorts of revealing clues about Jack’s house that enterprising fans could study. Also, the world now knew that he was back in civilization—which made him fair game.

Before I left Jack’s room, I gave myself a minute to pause at the door and look at him—still fast asleep in the bed where I had also been just minutes before. The guy in that bed was so different from the person all over the internet. From his crooked glasses, to his death-defying tricks on circus horses, to the way he could not land a piece of trash in the can to save his life.

It’s so funny to look back at that moment now: Jack sleeping so peacefully, and me, watching him, still blissed-out from a night in his arms and feeling—without even realizing it—closer to him than I’d maybe ever felt to anyone at all.

I was so confident that we’d handle this new complication like we’d handled everything else.

But sometimes confidence just isn’t quite enough.

Because my fake-yet-somehow-impossibly-true relationship with Jack Stapleton?

It was pretty much already over.

BACK AT HQ,everything was moving double-time.

Glenn was howling orders, Kelly was collating printouts, Amadi was correcting somebody on the phone. Taylor had called in sick, but Robby was there—and the idea of a death threat against his former woman had thrown him into macho mode.

“You have to take her off the assignment,” he badgered Glenn, as I walked in. “It’s not safe now. She’s a target.”

“Simmer down, Romeo,” Glenn said. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Damn straight,” I said, closing the door behind me.