𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ~ | 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

Blurred Lines

~'~

Max Verstappen. The Dutch Lion. The Flying Dutchman.

He had many names, but none of them depicted him as the night in shining armor. 

Nothing pointed towards it. There were no warnings when I met him, that from then on, in any unpleasant situation, he would magically show up to rescue me.

This would have been quite handy to me, seeing as I do have a habit of getting myself into these kind of situations. I blame my pride, my recklessness, and problems with any kind of authority for this. But no, this was not a good thing. Unfortunately, he was a jerk. A scallywag, if I do say so myself. And quite an unpleasant one.

I didn't like him. He didn't like me. It was mutual. It was simple.

So why the hell did he keep showing up when I needed it?

The nerve.

He wasn't one of the drunk idiots, that much was obvious. His cologne, a clean, woodsy scent, clashed with the stench of the alley, and the polished confidence in his posture immediately turned the tide. But his hand on my waist sent my nerves spiraling in a whole new direction.

"Don't." I hissed a warning to his through gritted teeth. My hand found his on my wait, taking his wrist and holding it tightly, trying to subtly move him away, but he refused to budge.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked smoothly, his eyes locking on the three men. His tone was casual, almost conversational, but there was an edge underneath, cold steel beneath velvet.

The men hesitated, taking a half-step back.

"Nah, man. We were just-" one muttered, but was cut off.

"Leaving." Max finished for him. His fingers tightened slightly against my side, the weight of his presence grounding and aggravating me all at once.

How the hell did I end up here?

Oh, right. My excellent decision making. Truly inspirational logic right there.

"Yeah, all good. No problem." The guy nudged his friends, and they slunk back into the shadows like cornered rats.

"Thought so." Max's voice dropped lower, rougher, as if daring them to try otherwise.

When they'd gone, he didn't move, keeping his arm around me as he steered me out of the alley and onto the main street.

"You can let me go now," I muttered, still hyper aware of the solid warmth of his body pressed against mine.

"Not yet." His grip didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened, the possessive edge unmistakable.

My heart was racing. His thumb moved a little, stroking my hip through the silky fabric as an effort to calm me but this just made my heart pound faster. It was quite distracting. I was trying to be mad at him for butting in, but he was making it difficult.

"I don't need you to act like my bodyguard." I told him.

"Trust me," he said dryly, "I'd rather not spend my night playing hero. But I'm not letting you walk alone after that."

"I'm not helpless, you know."

"I know." He glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. "I figured that out when I saw the death grip you had on your keys."

Heat flushed my cheeks. "I was prepared, that's all."

"That's one way to put it." He exhaled a sharp breath, almost like a laugh, but it sounded bitter. "Doesn't mean I'm going to walk away while you're surrounded by those assholes."