Page 8 of Rent an Enforcer

He’s already pulling cash from inside his jacket. A fold of bills, much too many for enchiladas and rice. He sets it all on the table without counting it before his hand finds the small of my back. “We’re leaving.”

“What? Right now?”

“Right now.”

There’s no choice but to get up once he starts pushing his way out of the booth. He walks me to the door with his body between me and those two men the entire way. The fish-eyed man’s gaze slides over me like something slimy sliding over my body. My alarm system stirs, like an animal lifting its head at the scent of danger.

But then we’re outside, where the air is warm and the light is much brighter than anything inside the restaurant. Tristan’s hand doesn’t leave my back, and there is a definite feeling of safety and security in his touch. When I look at him, I find him surveying the street, the sidewalk, his eyes constantly moving. I don’t think he even exhales until I’m in the passenger seat with the door shut.

For the first block or two, I can’t bring myself to speak. We were having such a nice time, too. Now the energy in the car is thick enough to cut with a knife. His jaw is dangerously tight, which goes well with the way he’s gripping the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

“Who were those guys?” I have to ask.

“Nobody.”

“They didn’t look like nobody.”

“They’re not your problem.”

I’m sure that’s supposed to reassure me. Let’s just say it doesn’t.

The city rolls by outside the tinted glass. I watch it without seeing it, thinking about those last few minutes in the restaurant. Those men were scary. Something was wrong. I don’t know what, but I’ve been clocking fearful situations all my life. My internal sensor never misses.

Then again, the man next to me doesn’t scare me even though he scared the daylights out of that waiter. Maybe my sensor is broken?

All I know for sure is if those men were a threat, Tristan would not let anything touch me. I know it in the deepest part of my soul, without needing it explained to me. He would protect me, and that’s enough.

I also know once he pulls into what I’ve already started thinking of as his spot across the street from my apartment that I don’t want to go up alone. I’ve spent too much time alone as it is, and I won’t do anything but sit and replay the end of our lunch over and over.

“Do you want to come up?” I blurt out. “We can watch a movie. I have a couch and one of the cushions kind of smells no matter how much I Febreze it, but it’s comfortable.”

I watch a war taking place behind his stony expression. He wants to, I can tell. But his brows are drawn together, and his lips are pulled into a thin line like he’s fighting with himself over whether he should do this. “I really wish you would,” I add, in case it sways him.

I think it does. “Yeah. Okay,” he replies in a soft voice.

My smile is wide and real, and it feels a little reckless, but I’m too busy feeling happy to care very much whether or not this is a good idea. It feels right, and that’s all that matters.

4

TRISTAN

Her couch is terrible.

One cushion sinks like a trapdoor, and it happens to be the cushion I’m currently sitting on. The whole thing smells like the previous tenant had strong feelings toward Marlboro Reds. I’ve sat on worse. Interrogation chairs, holding cells. I was once in the back of a van with no shocks down the Jersey Turnpike.

Yet somehow, none of it compares to the spring currently sticking me in the ass through a practically nonexistent cushion.

And none of those seats came with a blanket that has cats all over it. Stella handed it to me like it was a gift. “You look cold,” she explained before helping me arrange it over my legs.

I wasn’t cold. I was, and still am, fighting with an entire laundry list of thoughts and impressions. Cold was nowhere near that list. However, I’ll take anything she gives me, including this ridiculous blanket, because it gives her an excuse to cuddle up closer to me and to pull the blanket over herself as well.

“Have you seen this?” she asks after picking a movie. Something French with subtitles. “It’s about a woman who works in a café and secretly fixes people’s lives. It’s really beautiful.”

“That sounds good.” I have no intention of paying attention to it. Not while she’s pressed against my arm and strands of hair have come loose from her bun.

Not to mention a certain rabbit sitting on his cushion four feet away, staring at me like I’m a suspect he hasn’t cleared yet. When I stare back, the rabbit doesn’t blink. I’m not proud of the fact that I look away first.

Twenty minutes into the movie, Stella shifts. Her head ends up on my shoulder and her hand lands on my thigh. It’s a casual touch, like she doesn’t notice she’s done it.