Love Is Dangerous... Even for A Field Agent

"About that..."

--Brody's POV-- 

"Oh shit, I am dead. Shit. Shit. SHIT!" I say after releasing Destanee

"Why?" Destanee says

"You are an agents Daughter! I just kissed an agents daughter!"

"Brody, who really cares that I am an agents daughter?" 

"As an agent, I do!" 

"BRODY!" My voice raises an octave, startling him 

"Seriously, I don't care that I am an agents daughter, and I don't care that you are an agent. I love you and that's all I freaking care about!"

He looks at me as if I just spoke a foreign language. I mean I can speak French but I am not about to reveal that just yet. 

"Did I say too much?" I say

"No, you said just what I needed to hear." Brody says, before walking out.

I chase after him calling his name. I eventually tumble over someone laying on the ground. 

"I knew you'd follow me." He chuckles

"I was worried about you." I say

"Why?" 

I stare at him in disbelief as I right myself to where I am straddling his waist before I say "Did you not hear me in there?"

He just smiles at me.

I glare at him and he says "Calm yourself Dawson, I heard you."

I turn away from him, feeling stubborn. 

"Dawson." he says

I stay silent.

"Destanee." he says

Still don't speak.

"Destanee Dawson" he says

No response.

"Destanee Marie Dawson." He says, obviously annoyed

"So you do know it." I say, finally

"Know what?"

"My full name."

"Of course I do, I am the agent that was assigned to look over you--" I get up, hearing enough

"Is that all this is then?" I say, annoyance ringing clear in my voice

"What do you mean?"

"You kiss me and then turn around and say "I am the agent that was assigned to you." THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE FROM THAT?!" 

"About that, Destanee..." 

"This is just work for you, isn't it?! Keeping me confused and wondering if you actually like me or not as a way of keeping me out of the field well guess what? As soon as tomorrow I am in the field!" 

"Destanee--"

"Enough. I've heard enough."

I turn on the heel of my foot and run off the way I had come. But I don't go home. I go for the bike my dad bought me before he went out last. I kick it to life and put my helmet over my  head and take off. Once I feel I am far enough away I kick off my bike and put it on its kickstand throwing my helmet to the side in distress, letting the tears stream down my face. 

After about 10 to 15 minutes I call up an old "Friend" of mine, hoping they answer. His name is Matthew and we used to date in like Middle School, but were friends after the "break up". Luckily he answers.