“It’s a wedding,” I say into a shrug. “Sometimes being single at these events royally sucks. I wouldn’t blame you, if you needed a minute or two alone.”
His eyes hold mine again. He’s got this way of staring at you like he knows you. Understands you. And I’m not a fucking idiot. A part of that is just his charm, embedded into his DNA. It’s what makes him so good at his job. As an executive producer of We Are Calloway, he’s able to pull out real emotion from the famous ones.
Still looking at me, he wraps the strap of his Canon around his neck and shuts the trunk with a hand. “It’s not so bad,” he tells me. His smile grows. “You’re keeping me company, right?”
He’s flirting.
He’s definitely flirting.
Someone should just pop out behind the bushes with a huge ass sign that says yes.
“Is that what I’m doing?” I say, playing this cool. I pop another cracker in my mouth.
He leans a hip against the hatchback. “You’re single, too, right?”
The food goes down rough. “Yeah…single.” I glance down at the belt on his waist. My belt. When I raise my gaze to his, his eyes flit to the belt he’s wearing, and then back to me, down my toned build.
The air feels warmer.
Skin hotter.
He has a couple inches on my six-two height, but as he leans on the hatchback, we’re about eye-level. Jack nods slowly to me, and our gazes catch again.
I think he’s going to mention the belt.
“It must be hard to date and be a bodyguard,” Jack says, treading a flirty line and surprising me a little. It’s not often that happens. I always feel ten steps ahead of most people.
I nod just as slowly. “Impossible is more like it.”
“What is it all of you guys say…bodyguards are like spouses to their clients.”
You guys.
It dawns on me that he’s talking about all the bodyguards. I’m lumped in with the lot, even if my style of guarding doesn’t match most. I don’t really love that phrase. I’m around Charlie more than a spouse would be. I’m not just his husband. I’m his brother. I’m his father. I’m his cousin. I’m every relationship he has all rolled into one.
But I don’t tell that to Jack. The easiest way to send someone running would be to announce that I have someone else attached to me 24/7. I mean, technically he knows, but I don’t need to spell it out like that.
“Yeah, it’s not easy, but I don’t want to be single forever,” I tell him. “Even if Charlie is my job, and my job is all-consuming.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I know the feeling.”
Production and security are fire and water. Bodyguards want to extinguish one-half of every smoldering ember the docuseries stokes among the public. We have polarizing goals, but we have to coexist.
As hot as Jack is, I know that crossing any line with him is like stepping into a rigged heavyweight match. But it’s nice to hear that he at least relates on this level.
My eyes flit to the camera around his neck. “You have to get back?”
He’s here to work. Unlike me. He filmed the wedding and is supposed to be taking more videos of this reception.
I’m distracting him.
“Not yet.” He leans his ass more against the closed trunk. “I have a couple more minutes to kill.” His eyes flit up and down me again, and he tinkers with his camera as he says, “You know being single at weddings has its benefits.”
“Yeah?”
“All the single people start wishing they were in a relationship—or at the very least in someone else’s bed.”
Can relate.
But I don’t get the words out before he says, “Some of my best lays have been at weddings.”
“At weddings.” I grin. “You hooking up in the broom closet, Long Beach?”
He matches my grin. “What are you, a stickler for specifics?”
“Maybe.” I toss the last of my food in my mouth.
His smile hits his eyes. “Not at the wedding. After the ceremony,” he clarifies. “One time I didn’t make it that far.”
Fuck. I’m intrigued. Full-blown, I want to dive into this conversation and never leave. But my muscles have also tensed considerably. Talking about sex and work and weddings without anyone else around feels like stepping out onto a tightrope. One false move and I’m plunging fifty-feet.
“Now you have to tell me,” I say.
He shrugs with just one shoulder. “I’ve probably already carved out a spot in hell.”
I put two-and-two together, and my grin overtakes my face. “Did you…” I laugh. “Did you fuck in a church?”
“Catholic church. Back pew. The bride was a family friend from California.”
I cock my head. “You fucked the bride?”
He laughs. “No. Definitely did not do that, Oscar.”
We share a softer smile.
He lets go of his camera, letting it hang. “I’m confirmed Catholic, but I don’t go to church as often as I did as a kid.” He pauses like he’s gauging my reaction. Maybe he cares what I think.
“Same here,” I tell him.
We both nod, recognizing in a quiet moment that we have shit in common. More than I think we’ve both ever even explored or given breath to.
Jack runs his fingers across his strong jaw, slight stubble coming in. Making him look a little older than twenty-seven.
I usually go for people my age or older. I also would usually never even draw towards a straight guy like I am him. Look at me, making exceptions left and right for Jack Highland.
“It fit well,” I tell him, motioning to the belt threaded through his white slacks. “What would you have done if our measurements were off? Belt was too big for your scrawny waist?”
He smiles. “First off, I’d never be scrawny. Have you seen me swim?”
“I’m suddenly having a hard time remembering. You’ll have to show me again.”
“Make the date, I’ll be there.”
Date.
Jack doesn’t give the offer time to breathe. “And I knew your belt would fit me. Your other clothes have.” He means my bandana and sweatshirt.
I could joke about how the bandana would fit anyone, but he’s not Donnelly or Farrow. I don’t want to rib him like I would a friend. “If you ever need or want more, I have a whole closet full of pants and tees.”
“Just pants and tees?” he jokes with a smile that captivates, that could make the saddest motherfucker on this planet feel some kind of happiness.
“I’ve already given you more than that, Highland. You think I’d stop there?”
He laughs into a bigger smile. “Maybe I’ll just quit packing for these trips. Your clothes always smell good, and you probably have better underwear than me, anyway.”
My blood pumps. “Always trying to pad egos,” I grin.
He looks me up and down, the suggestion clear to me. “Is it working?”
Yeah. My defenses fluctuate between high and low. “You’re doing your LA networking best, bro, but I’m not someone who has anything to offer you professionally.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. He’s rethinking something. And Jack isn’t a guy that overthinks what he’s about to say. He has the charisma of the fucking sun. That big blazing ball that is hoisted in the sky and everyone leaves their house to bask in its rays.