Chapter 3
Carter
I never thought I’d see her again.
When she walked away from me at the market, I didn’t try to change her mind because she was right to leave. But damn. Here she is. Again. It’s like kismet. Third time’s a charm and all that. And she’s so damn pretty it makes me almost nervous. I don’t get nervous. Ever. This is all new territory for me, and I hate that she’s got the upper hand, so it’s time to change that. “Thought I told you it was smart to walk away from me, not to me.”
She whips her head up, and her beautiful eyes widen like an anime character. “Oh my God. You.”
“Yeah, me. And you. What’re you doin’ here?”
She stands, wiping her hands on another one of her sundresses, this time teal. “I, uh…”
“Are you lost?”
“I… no. I’m not lost.”
I study her, the straight spine, the tight fist, little nuances I didn’t notice the first time I saw her because it was too dark. And then the second time I was too damn mesmerized to make the connection. “You sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not lost.” She shifts on her feet and looks back and forth between me and the street.
“You don’t have to be directionally challenged to be lost, honey.”
Her eyes settle on mine, and she puts her hands on her hips. “I’m not lost.”
“Waiting on someone?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Why are you sitting on the step outside my apartment building then?”
“Your apartment?”
I shuffle the bags in my hands. “I’ve only lived here for two years, babe. My apartment.”
I swear I hear her talking under her breath, saying, “This can’t be happening.” She crosses her arms. “Well, I’ve lived here for almost as long. And I’m only out here because I locked myself out.”
“How’d you do that?”
“If you must know… the reception in this place stinks. At least, for my phone it does, so I had to come out here for a call, and I forgot to grab my key.”
I jingle mine in my hand. “Want me to let you in?”
“No. I’d prefer it if I watched you walk in and had to wait out here for someone else to come for me.”
I take a step closer to her, loving the attitude. She swallows, and I stare into her eyes. The depth of pain in them, the guilt in them is all too familiar. And I want to make that go away. I reach around her and stick my key in the lock, then push the door open for her.
“Thank you.” So sweet with her manners.
“You’re welcome.” She walks right past me and up the stairs. I follow behind her until she stops outside number 2D. “Is this you?”
“Why else would I stop?”
“Because you’re trying to throw me off and not show me where you really live. Which is smart because I could be a creep. I’m glad you’re looking out for yourself.” She’s definitely got street smarts, but an uneasiness in her demeanor causes my protective instincts to stand on edge. I realize now I had it wrong. I’m not the one who needs a distraction or a friend or whatever the fuck I was trying to tell myself she’d be… she’s the one who needs me.
“I’m glad you’re glad.” She puts a hand on her hip, and I smirk at her adorable attitude. Her lips part, and just as she appears to start talking, the door to ‘her’ apartment opens. “Hey there, little miss, can I help you?”
Billie freezes, and by the way her fists tighten, I know it’s because of more than just being caught lying. It’s fear. And something inside me shifts. I go into a different mode—more than a bodyguard but less than a boyfriend, somewhere in between. I nod at the older man as I put my hand on her shoulder and gently scoot her away. “I was just walking my girl here back to her place.”
Somehow with her eyes wide in shock, she still manages to narrow them as she backs away from me. I smile at her. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”
She puts her hand in mine, heat immediately warming my cold heart, and her lips part as I rub my thumb against her soft skin. “Okay,” she breathes. I follow her as she walks right up to apartment 3C, the apartment directly across from mine, and opens the door.
“Thank you.” She drops my hand like she just realized it was on fire and rushes inside.
Shit, shit, fuck. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t not.
“Billie.” I stick my foot in the door.
Her spine straightens, and she slowly turns around but inches over to the counter by the knife block. “You need to leave.”
I hold my hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Anything but that. “I promise.”
“You need to leave.”
“I’m a bodyguard, Billie. Kind of my thing to protect people, not harm them.” Especially pretty ones who are trying really, really hard to be strong when it’s clear as day all they want is someone to lean on, I want to say. Her fists unclench as her guard goes down just a tad, but I jump on it. “I live here. You live here. I just wanna give you my number in case you ever need anything. If you ever lock yourself out again, I want you to have at least one person to call. Unless I’m totally wrong and there’s already someone…” And damn if a jealous streak doesn’t punch me in the gut thinking she already has a man.
Even though she’d be better off with someone else.
It’s barely there, but she shakes her head, and I know I’m spot-on. “Everyone needs someone they can call if they need help. Or maybe I like knowing I can borrow a cup of honey if I need to.” I try to lighten the mood just a bit.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip to fight off a smile. A timer buzzes, and she reaches over to shut it off.
I take the opportunity to glance around her apartment, which is laid out identical to mine. Kitchen that’s only big enough for a small table that leads directly into the living room on the right. Down the hall is one bathroom on the left and a bedroom across.
What strikes me is how homey it is. She has curtains on the wall even though I know there aren’t any windows behind the TV. It makes the space look bigger somehow. Decorative pillows litter the brown couch, and instead of the ugly linoleum like in my kitchen, hers is covered by a really big colorful rug that looks like rope. Just like my mom had in our kitchen when I was little.
“You’re a bodyguard?”
Her quiet voice pulls my attention back to her. “I am.” Reaching in my pocket, I pull out my wallet and take out my ID for Royal. Slowly walking toward her, I hold my arm out, and she takes the plastic rectangle that gets me access around the building.
“I’ve seen some other guys walking around here with that ace logo, but I’ve never seen you.”
None of those assholes better have said shit to her. “Yeah, about eight of us live here. And I work a shit ton of hours, so it’s not surprising. But you did see me working a few weeks ago outside of Savoring.”
I’ve thought about her more than I care to admit since then, but what I will admit is that it was fucking awesome to feel something other than guilt and regret.
“I know. I remembered you.”
“I remembered you, too.”
“Carter Cane.” She looks up at me. “That’s the most superhero name I’ve ever heard.”
“I am not a superhero.”
She puts the card on the counter and slides it toward me. “What are you, Carter Cane?”
“Just a man.”
Her head falls to the side, and she studies me. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Who are you, Billie…?”
“Bishop. Billie Bishop.”
I snicker, and she straightens her spine, the backbone in full effect. “Why’re you laughing?”
“If I have a superhero name, then you have the best goddamned damsel in distress name I’ve ever heard.”
“I am not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “I can.”
Holding mine up in defeat, I answer her, “I never said you couldn’t. In fact, I think you’ve been doing it for far too long.”
“Why would you say that?”
“It’s my job to read people. I read you the moment I saw you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. I just hope to Christ she can’t read me.
She licks her lips. “What did you see?”
“Everything. Too much… not enough.” So much it gutted me. And just enough to know that I’m going to lose the fight and end up getting it all from her. I shouldn’t. It almost feels like a betrayal to Zoe, but she’s not here anymore, so fuck if I know the right thing to do. Instead of listening to my head, I’m gonna go with what my gut tells me.
Reaching into a drawer, she grabs a pot holder and opens the stove and then pulls out a pie-shaped dish and sets it on the counter. After taking a breath so big her shoulders rise and lower, she turns and asks, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Billie
I ask him to stay because my mom always said if someone’s in your home when your oven timer goes off, you offer them a serving. Whether you’re making a casserole or cake, it’s the polite thing to do.
“Do you want me to stay?”
I toss the oven mitts on the counter. Carter stands a few feet away, his stance non-threatening and seemingly harmless. His cocky approach from the market is gone, and in its place is a man who is confident yet cautious. Calm, but also on guard. And somehow has managed to make me feel… safe around him.
Like the way he saw that I was uncomfortable with the man who came out of the apartment I pretended was mine and took me away from that situation. Carter was right, though. I was trying to throw him off because I don’t know him, and I didn’t want him to know where I lived in case he was a psycho. I’m a single girl who’d get crushed like a bug by someone as big as him.
But at that moment, he saw me. He saw how I tensed up when the door whipped open and that burly man had his eyes on me. Not only did Carter see it, but he protected me from it. I’ve never had that before. And when I put my hand in his, it was like… it was indescribable. My entire body tingled in a way it never has before from just a touch.
“Yes. I’d like you to stay.”
He smiles. “Let me run to my place real quick.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I nibble on the inside of my cheek to try to hide the ridiculous grin I can feel stretching across my lips. When he just continues to stare at me with his piercing green eyes, I finally break eye contact and turn to shut the oven off.
“I’ll be right back.”
His lean and fit body moves gracefully, and when the door clicks shut behind him, I sag against the counter, my stomach a jumbled mess of fireflies. I never thought I’d feel like this again. When Tommy Smith Jr. shared his lunch with me in third grade, I was instantly in love. And instantly infatuated. I started following him around, and every time he smiled at me, I felt like something was in my belly, fluttering around. But then I noticed he started to walk away when I’d wave at him.
He broke my heart when he told me he was dumping me for Mindy Beckett. I was already embarrassed enough going to school with bruises, too small clothes, and trouble learning like everyone else did, but that just made it worse. My poor little heart shattered, but it wasn’t really anything new. Every time I’d think my daddy would be getting better and the pieces of my world were gluing themselves back together, he’d smack me across the face, and just like that, it would crumble again.
None of the men in my life were like the men on the television. When my mom and I’d sneak in a show, the men didn’t do the things to the women on the screen that were being done to me and my mom.
So as I was growing up, any time I’d start to get that feeling in my chest, the soft and fuzzies, I’d force it to go away and put my armor back on. It became so natural to me that I trained my body not to even allow it in the first place.
Which is why I’m confused as to why I’m remembering what went through my mind when Tommy gave me half of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich over ten years ago. This is not third grade, and I’m not that girl. I’m smarter now.
Doing what I do best, I force all the things that I’m feeling into the back of my mind where they belong and grab a couple of bowls. My entire collection of glassware is mismatched. I find plates, bowls, and glasses that I like and buy them from thrift shops. I scoop a very large portion of my macaroni and cheese for Carter because I assume with a body as big as his, he needs a lot of sustenance. My bowl only has about a quarter of what’s in his.
I already have placemats on the round wooden table, so I set the dishes and silverware on top and then pour a couple of glasses of milk. He knocks and opens the door at the same time.
“Hi.” I set the glasses on the table and hold out my arms, like I’m presenting a masterpiece. “Dinner’s ready.”
“It smells awesome. What’d you make?”
He flips the deadbolt and walks over to the table, then pulls out a chair. I stand here, waiting for him to sit, when he motions for me to do just that. Oops. I’ve never had anyone pull out my chair. “Thank you.” I scoot in, and when he’s across from me, I answer his question. “Mac and cheese. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
He takes a bite and moans as his eyes widen.
“Good?”
Nodding, he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Honey, it’s phenomenal.”
Nothing warms my heart like hearing that. “Good.” I haven’t cooked for many people—Reginald, the old lady who lived next door before she passed, the mailman—but they all liked my cooking, so it makes me happy Carter feels the same way. I got that from my mom. Even if the men she was serving were trashy and disgusting, she liked cooking for whoever would eat it.
“Do you always cook like this?” He takes another bite, and it’s not even weird that he’s here. It’s almost as if we’re old friends catching up on life. Natural, I suppose, is what it feels like.
“Always? No. Often? Yes.” Even if it’s just me, I still enjoy good food. But I really enjoy it with another person.
“I’m impressed.”
I smile between bites. “Good. I’m glad.”
“So tell me about yourself, Billie.”
I raise my shoulders. “Not much to tell.”
“That’s just not true.”
“The reason I was locked out was because I got a phone call from the producer of a soap opera reality show.”
He lifts his head, raising a thick eyebrow. “You’re gonna be on a reality show?”
“I want to, but only because my dream is to be an actress on a soap opera. I know it sounds silly, and soap operas aren’t that popular anymore. I mean, most wannabe actresses salivate over the movie screen and have those big aspirations. It’s just that soap operas mean something to me and… sorry, I’m rambling.”
He sets his fork down and angles his head, contemplating me.
“What?” I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Nothing but pretty, honey.”
I tuck some hair behind my ears and look at my lap.
“Well, if you need help with anything, like practicing lines or interviews or whatever, I volunteer.”
“Really?”
“Fuck, yeah. You’ve just gotta feed me as payment.”
I giggle. “I can totally do that, thank you.”
He takes another bite and holds his finger up as he chews. “Trust me, I’m the one who should be thanking you. If you let me, I’ll thank you more than once.”