“Oh come on! Your ankle’s all better. No permanent damage.”
“Yes, thank goodness I didn’t permanently damage my ankle when I was running away from you. Not only did I manage to avoid any lasting damage that might’ve jeopardized everything I’ve worked so hard for my entire life, I also managed to avoid a venereal disease!”
Simon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m clean, and you didn’t need to run.”
“Really? No didn’t seem to be working. Or is that word just not in your vocabulary?” I turn my back on him, continuing my trek through the snow. The ground is slick and wet, my UGGs have zero traction, and I can barely see.
“Look, Jennie, I’m sorry. I thought you were into it. You’re always flirting with me. Maybe stop sending me mixed signals.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, locking me in spot.
“Pardon me?” I ask lowly, taking one step toward him, then another. Another, as he backs up, and on my fourth supposed-to-be-threatening step in his direction, my boot goes sliding through gray slush, legs splitting. I start falling backward after a shitty attempt at regaining my balance by grabbing onto air, which, by the way, doesn’t work. I’m less pissed about the slush I’m about to wear and more pissed I’ve lost the fear dancing in Simon’s eyes.
A thick arm wraps around my waist, quickly righting me on my feet, and Garrett’s blue-green eyes peer down at me. The confusion and anger marring his forehead is an expression I haven’t seen before, one that stops my breath. With a hand on my lower back, he guides me forcefully to his car, all but stuffing me into the passenger seat.
“The fuck’s he talking about?” Garrett demands, gaze raking over me. “He hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I grumble.
“Did. He. Hurt. You?” His gravelly, harsh tone has my mouth gaping and butterflies erupting. Bossy looks so, so good on this man.
I gesture haphazardly toward my previously injured ankle. Garrett’s gaze hardens before he stalks off.
Garrett’s not a fighter. He’s a carefree, laid-back guy, that east coast twang making his words languid and happy. It takes a lot to rattle his cage. Judging by the way he looms over Simon, forcing him backward, I’d wager this is one of those times.
I watch as Simon nods repeatedly at whatever Garrett’s saying, hands coming up between them like a shield before he finally scrambles back inside the building.
When the normally shy, awkward man slides into the driver’s seat without a word, I’m equally turned on and annoyed.
“What did you do, Garrett?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Why did you get involved? I can handle Simon.”
Garrett glances over his shoulder before pulling into traffic. “Carter would kill me if he found out you hurt your ankle after that douchebag tried to kiss you, and I didn’t do anything about it.”
“Right. Carter.” Because it always goes back to him, every fucking time.
Silence and anger drench the air between us like a heavy fog. My skin crawls.
“I don’t need a boyfriend,” I snap, shoving a finger into his shoulder. “And I certainly don’t need a chaperone who thinks I can’t take care of myself and only looks out for me because of some ridiculously misplaced sense of duty to my brother.”
Garrett nabs my finger, wrapping his hand tightly around mine in an effort to control my violence. For the most part, I strive to be controlled by no man. But I kinda like the way he controls me, you know, physically, and while naked. Slightly messed up.
“I didn’t ask to be your boyfriend. I asked to—respectfully, I might add—wreck your body in a way that both of us enjoy immensely, based on the way I can’t keep my tongue out of there and you keep trying to detach my hair from my scalp. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit by and let someone disrespect you or your boundaries just because we aren’t dating. I’m still gonna have your back.”
Okay, not exactly the response I was expecting. Still, I yank my hand back and cross my arms over my chest, grumbling quietly, “I don’t need protecting.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But if, in the future, I happen to accidentally punch Simon Syphilis in his smart-ass mouth, don’t think of it as protection. Think of it as karma.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “I call him Simon Syphilis.”
Garrett graces me with a lopsided smile. “For the record, I didn’t do that just because of your brother. I’m sorry it came out that way. This thing between you and me has nothing to do with him. And I know you can take care of yourself, Jennie, trust me. I’ve been on the receiving end of your wrath many times. But from what I gather—since you won’t come out right and tell me—you told him no. And nobody fucking touches you. Except me,” he adds with a wink. “With your permission, of course, because I don’t have a death wish.”
I giggle quietly as my anger dials down to a simmer.
Garrett clears his throat, gesturing at the Starbucks cup in the middle console. “I, uh, got you a drink. Figured ’cause it was cold and snowy, plus you’re probably tired.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I bring the warm drink to my nose, inhaling the scent. It smells delicious, like Christmas, robust and heavenly, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg.
“I didn’t, uh…” He shoves his fingers beneath his toque and scratches his head. “I didn’t know what you like, but you always smell like cinnamon and coffee, so…yeah.”
I smile against the lid. “It’s perfect, Garrett. Thank you.”
The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and Garrett’s eyes flit between me and the road, fingers drumming the steering wheel. On the fourth look, I face him, prepared to tell him to spit whatever the fuck it is out already.
But he leans over the console, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.
“Uh, hi,” he says, as if we haven’t been together for the last several minutes.
“Hi,” I laugh. “You don’t have to kiss me when we say hello or good-bye. We aren’t dating.”
“I guess, but I like kissing you, so it’s not a big deal as long as you’re cool with it. Unless you’re not cool with it. If you’re uncomfortable, then I will…stop.” He stares straight ahead, eyes wide like he has no clue what he’s doing.
I don’t know, either, to be honest. I haven’t been in a relationship since my senior year in high school, and it wasn’t particularly healthy. So friends with benefits? Not only do I have no idea where the lines are drawn, I have no clue how normal people in consenting relationships act ever. I guess I can think of this thing between us as my test run.
“I don’t mind,” I finally say as Garrett pulls into his parking spot. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do boyfriend crap because we’re getting naked together.”
“I don’t mind doing boyfriend crap, like picking you up and getting you coffee. If it makes you feel better, we can call it committed friends crap.” Garrett takes my bag and my hand, helping me out of the car. “Besides, if you were my girlfriend, I’d tell you to carry your own shit.”