“If I tell you, will you shut up?” he said crankily.
I responded with a beatific smile. “I might.”
Rhys hesitated for a long moment before saying, “I draw, sometimes.”
Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that wasn’t even in the top hundred.
“What do you draw?” My tone turned teasing. “I imagine it’s a lot of armored vehicles and security alarms. Maybe a German Shepherd when you’re feeling warm and fuzzy.”
He snorted. “Except for the Shep, you make me sound boring as shit.”
I opened my mouth, and he held up his hand. “Don’t think about it.”
I closed my mouth, but my smile remained. “How did you get into drawing?”
“My therapist suggested it. Said it would help with my condition. Turns out, I enjoy it.” He shrugged. “Therapist is gone, but the drawing stayed.”
Another bolt of surprise darted through me, both at the fact he’d had a therapist and that he spoke so freely about it. Most people wouldn’t admit to it so easily.
It made sense, though. He’d served in the military for a decade. I imagined he’d lived through his fair share of scarring experiences.
“PTSD?” I asked softly.
Rhys jerked his head in a quick nod. “Complex PTSD.” He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press him. It was too personal an issue for me to pry into.
“I’m disappointed,” I said, changing the subject since I could feel him closing off again. “I’d really hoped you were into cosplay. You would make a good Thor, only with dark hair.”
“Second time you’ve tried to get me to take my shirt off, princess. Careful, or I’ll think you’re trying to seduce me.”
Heat consumed my face. “I’m not trying to get your shirt off. Thor doesn’t even—” I stopped when Rhys let out a low chuckle. “You’re messing with me.”
“When you get riled up, your face looks like a strawberry.”
Between the indoor festival setup and the words your face looks like a strawberry leaving Rhys’s mouth, I was convinced I’d woken up in an alternate dimension.
“I do not look like a strawberry,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster. “At least I’m not the one who refuses to get surgery.”
Rhys’s thick, dark brows lowered.
“For your permanent scowl,” I clarified. “A good plastic surgeon can help you with that.”
My words hung in the air for a second before Rhys did something that shocked me to my core. He laughed.
A real laugh, not the half chuckle he’d let slip in Eldorra. His eyes crinkled, deepening the faint, oddly sexy lines around them, and his teeth flashed white against his tanned skin.
The sound slid over me, as rough and textured as I imagined his touch would be.
Not that I had ever imagined what his touch would feel like. It was hypothetical.
“Touché.” The remnants of amusement filled the corners of his mouth, transforming him from gorgeous to devastating.
And that was when another catastrophe happened, one far more disturbing than getting stuck in a too-tight dress in a public dressing room.
Something light and velvety brushed against my heart…and fluttered. Just once, but it was enough for me to identify it.
A butterfly.
No, no, no.
I loved animals, I truly did, but I could not have a butterfly living in my stomach. Not for Rhys Larsen. It needed to die immediately.
“Are you okay?” He gave me a strange look. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I refocused on the screen, trying my best not to look at him. “I ate too much, too fast. That’s all.”
But I was so flustered I couldn’t focus for the rest of the afternoon, and when it finally came time for bed, I couldn’t sleep a wink.
I could not be attracted to my bodyguard. Not in a way that gave me butterflies.
They’d only fluttered when we first met, but they’d died quickly after Rhys opened his mouth. Why were they returning now, when I had a full grasp of how insufferable he was?
Get yourself together, Bridget.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call, and I picked it up, grateful for the distraction.
“Bridge!” Jules bubbled, clearly tipsy. “How are you holding up, babe?”
“I’m in bed.” I laughed. “Having fun at the festival?”
“Yessss, but wish you were here. It’s not as fun without you.”
“Wish I was there, too.” I brushed a strand of hair out of my eye. “At least I had the indoor festival. That was a brilliant idea, by the way. Thank you.”
“Indoor festival?” Jules sounded confused. “What are you talking about?”
“The setup you planned with Rhys,” I prompted. “The tent, the cushions, the food?”
“Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, but you’re not making any sense. I didn’t plan anything with Rhys.”
She sounded sincere, and she had no reason to lie. But if Rhys hadn’t planned it with my friends, then…
My heart rate kicked up a notch.
Jules continued talking, but I’d already tuned her out.
The only thing I could focus on was not the one, but the thousand butterflies invading my stomach.
7
Bridget
Trial Month Four
By the time graduation rolled around a month later, I’d corralled the butterflies into a cage, but an errant one escaped twice. Once, when I saw Rhys petting Meadow, who’d worn him down with her utter cuteness. Another time when I saw the way his arm muscles flexed as he carried groceries into the house.
It didn’t take a lot to get my butterflies going. Hussies.
Still, despite the annoying critters living rent-free in my stomach, I tried to act normal around Rhys. I didn’t have another option.
“Do I get a medal or a certificate of recognition for my incredible restraint over the past four months?” It just so happened the last day of my trial period coincided with my graduation ceremony, and I couldn’t resist teasing Rhys while we waited for Ava to set up the shot on her tripod. She was our unofficial photographer for group photos today.
“No. You get a tracker-free phone.” Rhys scanned the quad, his suspicious gaze drilling into suburban dads with beer bellies and WASP-y moms dressed in head-to-toe Tory Burch alike.
“It’s been tracker-free this entire time.”
“Now it stays tracker-free.”
Apparently, Rhys had never heard of matching someone’s energy. I was trying to be lighthearted, and he was more serious than a heart attack.
Really, Bridget? This is the guy you want to flutter for?
Before I could come up with a witty response, Ava waved us over for photos, and Rhys lingered behind while I squeezed into the shot with Jules, Stella, Josh, and Ava, who was controlling the camera through an app on her phone.
I’d deal with my inappropriate flutters later. It was my last time on campus with my friends as a student, sort of, and I wanted to enjoy it.
“You stepped on my foot,” Jules snapped at Josh.
“Your foot got in my way,” Josh snapped back.
“Like I would intentionally put any part of my body in your way—”