Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(9)
But if the military had taught him anything, it was that the lines between friend and foe were blurry, and there were some attacks you could never prepare for.
He asked me out.
Jas ramped up the speed of the treadmill, his feet pounding on the track. His breath was coming fast and hard. It had been far too long since he’d properly pushed himself.
He asked me out.
He tapped the incline button, forcing himself up to a steep elevation. He welcomed every second of the pain in his calves.
He asked me out.
The doorbell interrupted his savage thoughts, and he hit the pause button on the treadmill, jumping off before it came to a complete stop. He winced as his knee protested. When Hardeep had been alive, Jas had woken up every morning at four and worked out for at least a couple of hours.
Then again, his job had been much more physical then. Hardeep had been a massively wealthy jet-setter who was also highly visible, with an equally visible wife. Every day had brought another event and security challenge.
When Hardeep had died six years ago, Katrina had disbanded the rest of the security team with hefty pensions. Jas had assumed she’d give him notice as well.
Instead she’d summoned him to her office and quietly told him she wanted him to find her a nice house with an ocean view in California, and would he like to remain her bodyguard?
His yes had come very fast.
Jas picked up the phone from the weight bench and checked the display for the fifteenth time since he’d woken up an hour ago. He accompanied Katrina on all outings and was otherwise available to meet her needs, but he’d shifted into handling cyber security for her, her investment fund, and a number of the businesses she had shares in. His phone was always on him, and he was attuned to every noise it made.
For the past few days, though, he’d been on hyper alert for a 202 area code. No good news came out of Washington, not for him.
Nothing right now, though. The doorbell chimed again and he tucked the phone into the pocket of his shorts. He walked to the door, peered out, and silently groaned at the sight of the man standing on his doorstep.
Jas contemplated slinking away, but it was impossible to pretend he wasn’t home when his car was in the same large garage this man parked in. He unlocked the door and opened it, leaning against the doorjamb. Wait, did that look like he was trying to bar the guy from his home? He straightened.
Jas had never been a man who made friends easily, even before his life had turned upside down and he’d left the military. He was too slow to open up to people, or at least, that’s what more than one exasperated family member had told him.
Katrina’s part-time roommate, Rhiannon, had started dating Samson Lima about six months ago. Jas didn’t know exactly how Samson had slipped in under his guard. Possibly because Jas had been slightly starstruck: Samson had played pro, but he also came from a pro-football dynasty. Jas had grown up watching Samson’s uncle and father play ball. He’d owned a Lima jersey. A few of them, in fact.
The guy didn’t spend that much time at Katrina’s house—he and Rhiannon were usually together at Samson’s apartment in L.A. But when he was in Santa Barbara, he and Jas had settled into a habit of getting together for a workout or coffee.
Samson surveyed his sweat-soaked shirt and raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, there. You training for something?”
Jas swiped his hand down his chest. “Nah. Pushing myself a little, is all. Need to get my stamina up. I’ve been slacking.”
“You could have texted. I would have come and spotted you.”
Jas scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks, but I’m done now.”
“I actually came over to see if you wanted to go for a run or play some basketball. It’s been a while.” Samson was dressed in an old T-shirt and gym shorts. “Since you’ve already got your workout in, why don’t we have some coffee?”
Jas would rather they work out. Working out meant they didn’t have to talk. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want you to miss getting your—”
“I insist.” Samson took a step forward. A former linebacker, he was big enough to crowd Jas, and Jas took an automatic step back, enough to let the younger man slip through. “I’ll make the coffee.”
Jas’s smile probably looked more like a grimace. Short of tossing Samson bodily out of his house, he didn’t know what he could do to get the man out. And he couldn’t bounce him. Samson was much heftier, and also there was the whole thing about him dating Katrina’s best friend.
People and all their connections. So complicated.
He trailed after Samson as the other man went to the kitchen, a short walk in the cozy two-bedroom cottage. Katrina had partially bought this property because of the in-law quarters in the back. Jas had been happy to take her up on her offer to live in the small home. Situated a few hundred feet away from Katrina’s bigger house, its location struck a good balance between the protection he wanted to offer her and the distance he struggled to maintain between them.
Samson made a beeline to the coffee maker, familiar with the place in a way that made Jas nervous. It hadn’t made him nervous a month ago, or even a week ago, but then Jas had gone and opened his usually tight-lipped mouth. “Isn’t the French press making better coffee than that terrible machine you had?” Samson remarked. He pulled a coffee can from the cupboard.
“Yes, it is.” Coffee was always coffee, in his opinion: hot bean soup he occasionally drank when other people around him were drinking it. He preferred not to depend on any chemical on a day-to-day basis.