Whistleblower ✓

26 | take me home (part two)

For a moment, I held onto the hope that Bodie St. James was on his way home, and that he'd somehow march straight past us and out the sliding glass doors. Worst case scenario, he'd stop just long enough to wish me good luck.

But when his eyes landed on me, I knew at once that he'd come down expecting to find us here, like this.

Me, helpless.

My best friend, in the fetal position.

I folded my arms over my chest and chewed on one of my cheeks, hoping I looked more like I was done with Hanna's shit than two seconds from tears.

"Hey," Bodie said.

"Hey," I croaked. "She's just—just taking a little break."

Bodie nodded, and I had the sense that he could see right through me.

I stepped back and watched as he crouched beside Hanna.

"Hey, champ," he whispered. "You ready to go home?"

Oh, don't do that, I felt like saying. I'm trying to hate you.

Hanna grunted out what sounded like a reluctant concession. As Bodie stood again, he scooped her up, one hand tucked behind her knees and the other braced on her back. Hanna's arms went immediately around his neck, like a weary princess holding tight to her savior.

I wondered if Bodie was strong enough to carry me like that. It was a stupid thought. I don't know why it came to me.

"Lead the way," Bodie told me.

"I don't have my car," I said. "I could call an Uber, though."

"How far do you live?"

"Four blocks."

"We can walk."

"Are you sure?"

The corners of Bodie's lips twitched like he was charmed that I'd even ask if he, a Division I athlete with biceps wider than my neck, could handle my very small, very floppy-limbed friend.

"I'm sure," he said with a gentle nod of his head.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment.

"Okay," I finally said. "Um. Let's go."

The four blocks between Andre's place and ours had never felt so long. It didn't help that it was one o'clock in the morning, so there was nobody else walking around and no traffic to speak of. We were submerged in eerie silence, save for our footsteps, our breathing, and Hanna's gentle snores.

Every thirty seconds, I looked over my shoulder to check on Bodie.

He was fine, of course. He didn't even break a sweat.

I don't know why I kept checking.

It wasn't until I tugged my keys out of my pocket and jammed them in the door of our building that the embarrassment hit. Our apartment building was the antithesis of The Palazzo. I wondered if Bodie noticed it all—the wrought iron bars on the first-floor windows, the stained carpets, the creaky doors and lingering stench of rubber that billowed over from the gas station next door. I'd never been ashamed of where Hanna and I lived, but as I led Bodie up the stairs to the second floor, a pernicious little voice in my head whispered that I should be.

"We're on the second floor," I said, wiping my palms on the front of my leggings. "First door on the left."

"Right behind you," he said.

I marched up the stairs, telling myself that Bodie would be too focused on his own feet—and too much a gentleman—to stare at my ass, even if it was in his face.