The Bodyguard

Ch 3: Give me my panties back, Reaper.

I'm positive Reaper will quit on the spot and refuse any and all association with me. As far as patience goes, the man has none. He never was good at schooling his expression and doesn't take too kindly to insult.

"Where to, Eva?" asks Richie, chewing on some gum.

He's only young. Perhaps a year or two older than me.

"Home, Richie. I'm ready for my bed."

Before he can start the engine, the passenger door opens and Reaper steps in, smelling like whiskey and cigarettes.

"What're you doing?" I ask, furious that he thinks he can just slide in beside my driver like that isn't the most absurd thing in the world.

He turns to me and—with an evil glint in his eyes—says one word. "Woof!"

I huff my response, biting down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from doing or saying something stupid. Reaper and I have gone from not uttering a single word to each other in almost a year to having two conversations in one night. Granted, those two conversations have involved some kind of altercation, but the fact still remains. I have no idea what to make of it. My heart races whenever I'm near him and—having not experienced that in so long—I'm struggling to make sense of my thoughts. I don't like Reaper. We've grown apart.

So why the fuck does my body still want him?

"I don't need a bodyguard," I tell him, absentmindedly chewing on my fingernails.

It's a bad habit but being told your ex-boyfriend is now your babysitter is as good a reason as any to warrant ruining your nail beds. That, and my body's total lack of regard for the fact I've spent the last twelve months trying to get over this man.

"I beg to differ," he returns, eyes on the road ahead.

Poor Richie shifts in his seat, awkward as balls.

"Well, I don't care what you think," I say, looking out the window.

The rest of the ride home is made in silence. Reaper refuses to utter a single word and I'm too childish to make polite conversation for the sake of keeping the peace. Why should I always be the one to make things better? To make people better.

"Eva?" Richie's soft tone pulls me from my thoughts. "We're here."

I go to pull on the car door but Reaper beats me to it, already stood outside, waiting.

"I'm quite capable of opening doors," I tell him, stretching to his full height.

Almost. The man is 6 foot a million, I swear.

"Good," he retaliates, voice rough. "You'll have no trouble closing it then."

With that, he walks ahead, leaving me alone with my suffocating thoughts. He tells Richie to keep me waiting in the foyer while he secures my apartment, which takes him an obnoxiously long twenty minutes. When he does finally emerge, I storm past him and head straight towards my bedroom. The fact he's even been inside my home ruffles my feathers. I swear, once my life is no longer in immediate danger, I'm going to kill my brother.

"Eva?"

His voice is a cold dagger to the heart.

"What?"

I'm pretty sure mine is no different.

"Where are your bedsheets?"

I practically throw open my bedroom door, finding him stood on the threshold.

"Why do you need to know where my bed sheets are?"

His eyes narrow. "Because I'm sleeping here."

"No, you're not!" I argue. "You checked my apartment. It's safe. You can go now."