15
Bea
“Hello, Bea,” Damon said, his tone polite yet distant. Then he turned back around to face the wheel.
I almost had to see his face again to believe it.
“Damon…?”
“Small world, huh?” he said, turning round again briefly, but I still found my eyes staring at the back of his head as if not quite believing what I was seeing.
I might have been pursuing a difficult qualification, but disbelief had a universal effect on the human race, and being a college girl did nothing to remove the open-mouthed bewilderment that held me transfixed as Damon’s foot went to the accelerator and got our journey underway.
We proceeded in silence as he negotiated the initial junctions, which I used as a handy excuse for collecting my thoughts. Once we hit the main road, though, I simply had to say something, if only the unstable sensations in my stomach would let me get it out.
“Um…I’m sorry about the text,” I said, somewhat meekly even though the car’s engine wasn’t particularly loud.
“What’s that?” Damon called back, as casually as if he was out on a joy ride and had been away with the fairies.
“I said “I’m sorry”,” I repeated. “For the way I ended it.”
“Ah, that’s okay,” said Damon, with a wave of a hand as if brushing off a fly that was buzzing by his ear. “If anyone was going to tear out my heart and stamp on it a bit, then I’m glad it was you. I’ll get by; maybe I’ll become a poet or something.”
Well, at least he had a sense of humor about it.
“I mean it,” I said. “I really am sorry. Everything was just so screwed up by that night in the club. After I got home after our date, my parents told me that everything I do from now on could—or would—be monitored at any time; anyone I see or talk to. And they’re just…I knew they wouldn’t approve of me seeing anyone. I didn’t want to turn you down, I really didn’t, but I just couldn’t think of a way around all the complications, and I didn’t have the guts to actually tell you to your face.”
“I figured as much,” Damon replied. “Fancy me falling for the future President’s daughter. It’s easy to get carried away, isn’t it? There I was looking forward to my White House dinner invitation, but…”
“Damon, I’m going to convince you of my sincerity if it kills me. I mean it! I can’t seem to figure out what’s right or wrong anymore, and I just couldn’t figure out a way to see you without…”
“I know, I know,” Damon said with a chuckle, giving me a break at last. “I’ll stop giving you a hard time; I was only kidding. It’d be unreasonable of me to think that being a Governor’s daughter isn’t complicated. I haven’t taken it personally, I promise.”
My shoulders slumped in relief. “Are you sure you were just kidding?” I asked, wanting to make sure he really wasn’t mad at me for being such a bitch.
“Maybe I wasn’t…Secret Service agents are strictly forbidden to have a sense of humor, you know.”
I smiled. “Is that right?”
In response to my question, Damon reached up and flicked the rear-view mirror his way so that I could look him in the eye.
“How am I doing so far?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to respond but then laughed instead. When the most delightful of creases appeared either side of those two eyes, I realized that Damon was smiling back at me, and I couldn’t help but blush. It was difficult to maintain my composure knowing he could see me, and a little tingle shot up my spine.
“Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for anyone tailing us?” I asked, though I didn’t really want him to readjust the mirror.
“Not at all. I’m supposed to keep my eye on you—you’re the troublemaker.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, I think the sweet Governor’s daughter thing is just a cover. Really, you’ve got us all wrapped around your little fingers.”
“Damon, you know that’s a completely insensitive joke,” I said, shaking my head as a grin quirked my lips up.
“So why are you smiling? Anyway, it’s Max as long as I’m working here.”
“Max? Why do Secret Service agents need false names?
“That’s classified.”
“Hilarious.”
The kiss on the lake suddenly felt closer again, rather than like a fading dream, and I was uncertain as to how I’d maintain my ‘good girl’ demeanor if Damon was to be in close proximity for some time. Temptations of a ‘naughty girl’ kind had now entered my life, and warmth gathered in my core as I wondered what the near future held.
At least if Damon was a Secret Service agent, then he was tied to the utmost professionalism.
“It’s good to see you again, Bea,” he said as we were nearing our destination, dropping the playfulness this time.
“You too…Max,” I replied.
“Just to give you a heads up,” he went on, “tomorrow I have the night shift, in terms of looking after you.”
He left me to digest this information for a weighty moment before carrying on.
“So, you need to be aware of that if you wanted to do anything particular with your time. I don’t know…like visiting a lake in the moonlight, perhaps. My job requirements demand that I go with you.”
This time I held the gaze of those playful eyes, fixing them with that showing of blank authority that every man who has loved a woman knows, even if they were unable to define where it came from. It was Damon’s turn to waver then; his hand was played and it was my turn to deal. Fortunately he had the road to focus on anyway, as I deliberately made him wait longer than was necessary for my response.
“Most of the agents aren’t as talkative as you—they’re a bit more professional,” I replied at last. “Then again, I have been told to take your instructions very seriously.”
“Having protection doesn’t have to mean being cooped up,” Damon added.
“True,” I said, giving him a furtive smile. “I’ll give the matter some thought, I guess.”
Of course, I already knew what my answer would be…