Page 45 of Rival for Rent
“Or however long it takes until you’re safe.” He gave me a look. “Please don’t start with the ‘it’s not that serious’ thing again. It’s getting a little old.”
He swept his gaze around the living room, scanning it like he expected intruders to leap out from behind my throw pillows. Then he added, “Last night was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
His words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t supposed to care what he thought. But maybe ithadbeen a mistake for him. Maybe he’d needed to blow off steam, and then come to his senses. I didn’t know. I couldn’t read him.
My voice came out smaller than I intended. “And when you kissed me at the center?”
“That was a mistake too,” he said flatly. “But I’m not going to let my personal feelings get in the way of your safety.”
It felt like a slap. The only reason his feelings would be a problem was if they were negative. Not that I should be surprised—he’d never gone out of his way to be nice. Everything was about doing the right thing. Duty. Responsibility. If he liked me, I doubted he’d phrase it that way.
I opened my mouth to tell him I’d call the other security service back, but I was too tired. And hurt. So I stayed quiet, watching him bend down to pet Bella. He looked up at me, saw I wasn’t arguing, and took that as agreement.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what time do you usually get to the office?”
“Around eight,” I said, still wondering if this was actually happening.
He checked the clock. “That gives me some time to make breakfast. Go take a shower or whatever you do in the mornings. I’ll have something ready when you come down.”
“I don’t usually eat breakfast at home,” I said. “I just grab something at the office.”
“Today you’ll eat here. How do you like your eggs?”
“Um. Scrambled? I guess?”
“I can do that,” he said briskly. “Now, go.”
He was giving me orders in my own home. I wanted to protest—but I did need to shower, and standing there glaring at him wasn’t going to change anything. Besides, there was a nonzero chance he’d physically carry me upstairs if I argued. So Iwent through my usual routine, and when I came back down, adjusting my tie, Mason pointed me to the island and served up scrambled eggs with cheese and herbs, plus toast and a glass of orange juice.
I didn’t even like orange juice that much, but I drank it. I didn’t have the energy to argue, and he was right—arguing was getting exhausting.
The rest of the day was equally as weird. Mason told me to act like everything was normal, but it was hard to do that when a tall, scowling shadow hovered five feet behind me. He made me keep the blinds closed in my office, dragged a chair over to sit by the door again, and refused to let me go out for lunch. I had to order in, and he insisted on picking it up from the front desk himself.
I waited until he left the office to finally go to the bathroom—mostly because I wouldn’t put it past him to follow me in there. I wasn’t about to risk exposing my dick to the man I’d hooked up with twelve hours earlier. Who knew how he’d react?
I was only gone a couple of minutes, but when I got back, he asked where I’d been, then scolded me like I was a reckless teenager.
“Since when is emptying my bladder an unnecessary risk?” I snapped. “Would you prefer I piss myself at my desk?”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said with an eye roll. “Next time, tell me first. I’ll clear the bathroom, then stand outside while you go.”
I stared at him, stunned. It was like being seven again and getting scolded by my mother—except my mother had never threatened to personally sweep the bathroom for assassinsbefore letting me pee, so congratulations to Mason for unlocking a new level of insanity.
I did my best to give Mason the cold shoulder for the rest of the afternoon, but I wasn’t sure he even noticed. He acted exactly the same as he had that night in the Safeway parking lot, or at the theater. His whole body was tense, like he was stuck in high-alert mode, but in this weird, detached way. It was like he didn’t evenseeme.
Or if he did, he didn’t see me as a person—just some fragile package he had to guard and deliver. He scanned every hallway, watched every doorway, barked orders instead of talking like a normal human being.
Like a drill sergeant, I thought—and then realized that made sense. He’d been in the military. The Marines, not the Army, as he’d made sure to correct me.
I didn’t know much about military life, but weren’t the Marines supposed to be the hardcore ones? The boot-camp-from-hell types? It figured Mason would go for that.
Still, I didn’t understand why he clammed up whenever it came up. Don’t people join because they were proud to serve? Mason had said he’d done it for the money, but it was more than that. He didn’t seem reluctant—he seemed ashamed. And I couldn’t figure out why.
The rigid, rule-following vibe carried straight into the evening. He wouldn’t let me take Bella for her afternoon walk—he insisted on doing it himself. He said no to another trip to the store. And when I told him I needed to pick up my PrEP prescription, he offered to go get it for me.
“I’ll pick it up,” he said. “Just give me your ID.”
I stared at him. “You want to pick up my PrEP?”
