I keep guard outside of the Saturday Night Laughs’ main office, standing by the door to the reception with my hands behind my back. The minutes go by painfully slow, and I use all that time to replay inside my head everything that happened up to this point. How it felt when I picked her up from the ground, her delicate body in my arms, the soft swell of her breasts against my shoulder and --

“What are you still doing here?” I hear Stacy’s voice, and I turn on my heel to face her. She’s still wearing that tight fitting red dress, the fabric of it clinging to the lovely curves of her body.

“I told you I’d wait,” I simply tell her, and she opens her mouth to say something but then quiets down, looking for the right words. “I’m going to wait until you’re done so that I can take you home,” I continue then, and I notice her cheeks reddening.

“I’m actually going home for the day, but you don’t need to --”

“I do,” I cut her short, bending over to pick her up from the floor once more. She takes one step back, though, a smile taking over her face.

“No need for that,” she chuckles, raising her right foot up from the floor and waving it in front of me. There are thick bandages around her ankle, the purple bruises hidden from sight. “The doctor patched me up. I can walk.”

“I’m still going to protect you,” I continue, and she looks at me in such a way that I can almost see the gears inside her head turning as she looks for a suitable answer.

“Okay,” she finally breathes out, and I try to force myself to smile. It probably comes out as a frown, judging by the way she looks at me, but no matter. Smiling isn’t really one of my strengths.

We make our way out of Rockefeller Center in a few minutes, stepping out into the sun, and that’s when she starts to talk.

“So, uh… You must be military, right? I mean… You look the part, I guess.” Here we go, the inevitable interrogation.

“Ex-SEAL,” I merely shrug. “I served in Afghanistan and Iraq, back when the war was still at its high-point.”

“And, uh, have you adapted to being a civilian again?” She asks, and I know she’s struggling to keep the conversation going.

“It’s okay,” I shrug again, having no idea what I should tell her. I might know how to do a lot of things, but verbally spar with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen isn’t one of these things.

“Well, I’m a singer,” she continues as we turn a corner, passing a few feet away from the alleyway where I rescued her from being stabbed.

“Okay.”

“Uh… I’m the Saturday Night Laughs singer. You know, the studio you were in just now… You’ve probably seen me on TV.”

“No,” I say.

“Do you not watch Saturday Night Laughs?” she asks, her voice curious.

“No,” I say to her question.

“Well what kind of TV do you watch?” she asks, pressing on.

“Usually, I read,” I respond tersely.

“Christ, you really aren’t one for words, are you?” She sighs, and I notice a note of frustration in her voice. I stop walking then and turn to her, once again forcing my lips to curl into a smile.

“I don’t like to talk, I prefer to do,” I say, and she flushes again, her slightly parted lips almost like an invitation. I fight against the urge to just take her into my arms and crush my mouth against hers, and so I just start walking down the street again, the steady click of her high-heels following after me.

I notice a few people turning their heads toward us - or, if I’m to be more precise, toward Stacy - and I scan the street sharply, assessing everyone and everything. This is what I do: I protect. It’s carved deep in my body and mind, etched in my DNA. Ever since these long days and nights on arid and foreign wastelands, a potential threat lurking behind every corner, I’ve learned to never let my guard down. A one second distraction and that could be the end of you. You just never know, so that’s why I’m always ready.

Always.

“Are you sure you can walk?” I ask Stacy, noticing that she’s walking more slowly now, a barely noticeable limp taking over her movements.

“Yes, I can walk,” she breathes out, but she laces her arm on mine all the same, supporting herself. I purse my lips as I feel the touch of her warm skin on my forearm, her closeness poking at the dormant beast inside of me. “We’re close now, anyway,” she continues, huddling close to me, almost as if she needs to feel my body pressed against hers.

“So, since you don’t like to talk that much, what do you like to do then?” She asks me, and I know that, somewhere in her question, there’s a trap set up for me.

“Rescue defenseless singers?” I say, turning to her with another forced smile.

“Is that your line? It’s a rather weak one,” she replies, smiling back at me. I let my eyes wander to her full lips, their crimson color almost too hypnotizing.

“I don’t have any lines. I don’t need any lines,” I whisper, this time a shadow of a smile on my lips. I just stare into her eyes, feeling my heart turn into a high powered machine gun inside my chest.

She stops right in front of the door to her apartment building, looking back at me in complete silence, and I feel the atmosphere around us crackle with electricity. There’s something about her that shuts down my brain… I feel my cock starting to twitch inside my jeans, and that’s when I decide it’s time for me to leave.

I slide my arm out from hers, and I’m about to turn on my heels to leave when her voice reaches me, her words like the perfect trap.

“Wanna come upstairs?”

She’s dangerous, no doubt about it.

And I love dangerous.