Page 43 of Forced Proximity

I take a few moments to process. Zane’s right. ‘But how does this relate to Justin?’

‘Much like you have a silent, faceless part of you that can be debilitating, he does as well. But his is based on childhood trauma.’

The words sit heavy. I know at least a little of what they’re referring to. ‘Does Justin get help for this? We haven’t been to any therapy appointments, but maybe he should?’

Zane rolls the mascara bottle between their palms. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve told you too much. The only reason I’m even sharing this is because you’re assigned to protect him. So, if you happen to come across any sort of … self-destructive behavior, you’ll be prepared. It doesn’t happen often, and it’s not life-threatening or anything. But Justin will do just about anything to avoid pain.’

My throat feels tight. ‘Don’t we all.’

Zane clears their throat. ‘Enough about that. Your face is done! And it’s perfect if I do say so myself. Time to unwrap these curls and get you into the dress. You ready for this?’

Ready to walk into a club pretending that I’m not a bodyguard for the client I’m growing increasingly warm feelings for?

No, not really.

Chapter 20

Justin

‘Put Brett Favre 2009 against Tom Brady 2007 against Russell Wilson 2015, and we’d have—’

‘You’re not comparing Brady and Favre, right? I mean, come on. Let’s look at the stats—’

‘Yeah, but the legacy knowledge. They’re—’

‘But they’re only as good as their wide receiver—’

‘Nope. That’s not true,’ I say, crossing my arms. ‘I mean, sure, it’s a factor, but the wide receiver doesn’t control their arm.’

In the corner of the sitting room, I’m in a heated debate with Conner and Anthony who clearly know nothing. Brady versus Wilson is a no-brainer. But Conner’s opinions rival his intense college pre-game workout and his face is practically matching his hair.

I twist open a sparkling water when a flicker of movement by the stairs catches my eye. The room narrows, then blurs against my peripherals. The guys’ voices dull and mute. One second, then two, passes and my breath hitches.

Doc.

A full moment passes before I can process, like my brain submerged itself in chocolate. My mouth salivates. Jesus Christ.

Doc is gorgeous.

Besides our first meeting, I haven’t seen her outside of a ponytail, cargo pants and a T-shirt. Now, long black waves roll down her bare, beautiful shoulders. Her skin looks so soft, so creamy, that I’m biting back the urge to touch it, just once.

And Christ, that dress. Red, fitted, grazing above her knee showing a glimpse of spectacular, muscular, long legs I knew were hiding underneath the cargo pants. God, she’s stunning. She belongs in the movies with me, a starlet from a different era, not someone hired to protect me.

Doc’s smiling at Zane – a magnificent, radiant smile – and it hits me like a dagger to the chest, and if my feet weren’t planted against the hardwood floors, I would’ve stumbled back a few inches. All the sexual tension, our time together, our bonding … it hits me hard. I fought with it since the day she walked into my house, with those beautiful pouty lips and fierce gaze, but I’m done fighting.

She’s fucking perfect.

The overhead light illuminates her like a halo. She blinks up, meets my gaze and pink flushes her cheeks. I can’t breathe. Everything is still and quiet, muted voices, and I can’t fucking breathe.

‘Dude. You hearing this?’ Conner says. ‘He thinks Sherman could— Justin. What are you looking—’

Conner and Anthony break their conversation and look at Doc. The air in the room turns thick and everything goes silent.

Say something. But I can’t. Right now, my brain is mush. Besides, I can guarantee the words that would leave my mouth, Doc will not want to hear.

She scans us, drops her smile, straightens her back and zooms into the den.

‘Seriously guys?’ Zane twists their mouth, and I absolutely feel like they busted me. ‘Stop drooling and get back to your football talk.’