Page 75 of Forced Proximity

When we step back into Justin’s place a few hours later, I toss my items onto the side table. ‘You’re gonna miss her, huh?’

‘Yeah.’ Justin unbuttons his shirt and tosses it on the side chair.

A white tank. Great.

‘Every time I see her like this, happy, healthy, it’s just … I don’t know. It’s like the old Mia’s back, but even better.’ He steps down into the sitting area. ‘Movie?’

I nod. We’ve so easily slipped back into our nightly routine – movie until Jack relieves me at midnight.

‘You better not give me shit for this one,’ he says. ‘But I know what we’re gonna watch.’

I arch an eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued. Let me guess. Princess Bride? The Notebook? Rudy?’

‘Rudy? Are you serious?’ He slinks into the couch and grabs the remote off the side table. ‘No chance in hell I’m watching that in front of you.’

‘Really? Why not?’

He huffs. ‘I already had to swallow my … machismo … by having a female bodyguard.’

I glare.

‘What? It’s true. But no chance I’m crying in front of said bodyguard.’ His lips quirk into a playful grin. ‘My cold, dead heart chokes up every time at the ending.’

I squish into my spot on the couch. It’s our usual spot, but we’ve inched closer from when we first started watching movies. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was doing it, or him, or we both subconsciously started closing the gap. But now we’re only a few feet away. And I love it as much as I know I shouldn’t do it. ‘You cry during that movie?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I don’t cry.’ I’m serious but crack a smile. The last time I cried was when I told Katey it was over, after what happened with the environmental CEO. ‘My heart is made of steel. No incredible sweeping story of grit and determination will shake me.’

I try to smile, to pass it off as a joke, but a flashback of the gunshot ringing out and learning the CEO was hit fills my mind. I’m lucky – I was never diagnosed with PTSD like others who are in my situation. I’m a disassociation master, the therapist had claimed, and was mentally cleared for duty in a relatively short amount of time. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t think about it every day.

A warm hand touches my knee.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Justin asks.

Those eyes can read through me. Maybe someday I’ll tell him about what happened. I force a smile. ‘So, what’s the movie?’

A few moments stretch and I’m pretty sure he wants to ask more questions. But thankfully he just says, ‘Your night is about to be made.’

‘Oh yeah? Is Taylor Swift going back on tour?’

He chuckles. ‘No, next best thing. Tonight we’re going to watch … drum roll please …’ He slaps his palms on his knees. ‘Dirty Dancing.’

Why does his love of ’80s movies crack me up so much? ‘Good choice. I love that movie.’

He points the remote at the TV. ‘Let me know if you want to practice the end dance sequence.’

‘You’ve seen me dance,’ I say, readjusting the pillow behind my back. ‘We don’t need to see it again.’

He searches for the movie and shoots a side-eye glance at me. ‘You know, you were pretty okay on that dance floor.’

His tone shifts to warm, almost velvety, and the spark inside me ignites. How can he say certain words, with that tone, and it get me right here? This is the worst. I try, most days, to push aside his charm, the way he makes me laugh, the way he makes me melt. I try not to look at those dimples, or those eyes, or those godforsaken forearms that I imagine holding me down while he does naughty, naughty things to me. But stuff like this is my kryptonite.

‘I really wanted you to stay longer that night,’ he says.

I hate his sudden change of tone, the way it makes goosebumps skitter across my arms. Love and hate. It’s dangerous, and anytime the air in the room shifts like this, I internalize it, and my body and brain fight. One begs for more, the other begs to stop. I know he has feelings for me, and I’m sure he knows I have feelings for him. These brushes of fingers, joking, the pheromones ricocheting … But the line is already too blurry. When the job is over, we can talk. But not until then. And with the stalker being extra quiet these last few weeks, it feels like the calm before the storm.

‘Justin …’ I don’t even finish what I’m saying. He knows, and I know, and his name lingers in the air.