Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I never thought I’d care about pretending to be someone’s boyfriend. Hell, I never thought I’d want to be anyone’s boyfriend. But being hers, even if it’s just for the sake of keeping her safe... well, it didn’t feel bad. It felt right. And as I stand here, watching her, a laugh escaping her lips, I realize I like it more than I should.
She twirls in place, her hair flowing around her face like something out of a movie. The movement catches me off guard, and for a second, I’m lost in the way she moves, the way she holds herself. There’s a grace to her, even in the small things. Her hands are quick and sure as she puts groceries away, but there’s an ease about it all, like she’s comfortable in her own skin.
Her eyes flicker toward me, and our gazes lock. She falters for just a moment, her smile fading as she realizes I’m watching. But then she recovers, offering me a sheepish grin.
“Caught me, huh?” she says, holding up a jar of pickles as if it’s a microphone.
I chuckle, pushing myself off the doorframe. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting a performance.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and I can’t help but smile at how carefree she looks, how unburdened, even with everything going on. It’s like watching someone forget their worries for just a moment, and I can’t help but wish I could do the same.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Bodyguard. I didn’t know you were such a fan,” she teases, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“I’m a fan of a lot of things,” I say, my voice low, trying to keep it casual, even though I’m not sure I’m succeeding. “You just haven’t seen the half of it yet.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You’ve got moves, huh?”
I laugh. “I’ve got a few. But you... you’ve definitely got something I didn’t expect.”
She gives me a quick wink before spinning around, moving like she owns the space. There’s a natural confidence to her that I didn’t expect. Aubree isn’t just tough, she’s got a warmth to her that I didn’t know I needed until I saw it. And now, it’s hard not to want more of it.
She pauses, looking back at me with a playful grin. “All right, all right. Enough dancing. I’m sure you’re tired of watching me make a fool of myself.”
“Not a chance,” I reply, moving toward her. “You keep going. I’m enjoying the show.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop moving. For the first time in a while, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Chapter 10
Aubree
The day has been quieter than I expected. After running errands and dealing with the tension I felt after seeing Hank, Boone and I settled into an unexpected rhythm. He’s been more laid-back than usual, the occasional joke escaping his lips when I least expect it. And for the first time in hours, I feel like I can breathe.
But there’s something I want to do. Something normal. I want to make him a pizza.
I glance over at Boone, who’s lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine—probably trying to figure out the best way to keep an eye on me without making it too obvious. I have a feeling he’s not the type to just kick back and relax. He’s the kind of guy who thrives on action, which makes me even more determined to do something fun, something that has nothing to do with threats or bodyguard duties.
“You know,” I say, looking over at him with a grin, “I think it’s time you learned how to make a pizza.”
Boone raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking up slightly as he sets the magazine down. “I’m sorry, what? You want me to make a pizza?”
I cross my arms and lean against the counter, trying to keep a straight face. “Yes. You’re going to learn the art of pizza-making. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
He stands up slowly, his hands on his hips as he gives me an incredulous look. “Are you telling me that I—the guy who can bench press a truck—am supposed to learn how to make pizza from you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, exactly. You’ve got muscles, but you’ve got to have pizza skills too. It’s a balanced diet.”
Boone looks at me for a long second before shrugging dramatically. “Well, if it means I get to eat it, I’m in.”
“Great!” I say, pulling out the ingredients from the fridge. “First things first. The dough. You have to get the right kind. You can’t just slap a frozen pizza crust on a pan and call it a day.”
He chuckles. “I’m pretty sure that’s what my mom did every Friday when I was a kid.”
“See? That’s where you went wrong,” I tease. “That’s why I’m here. We’re doing this the right way.”