“It’s okay, Saint. I still trust you to teach me self-defense. You probably have to use these moves sometimes too.”
I felt my lips open. “Mr. Stiel, sir,” I said with a tight jaw, “I’ll have you know in addition to being what you call a ‘real’ bodyguard, I was a navy fucking SEAL. I’m taller than most humans, and I’m trained to kill. There’s not a single moment of my life when someone is stupid enough to think they can take me in a fight.”
The little man fucking shrugged. “Okay. Whatever you say. What’s next?”
I wanted to punch the guy. Just goddamned deck him and walk away. Well, maybe after kicking him too. But there was something in his eyes for just a brief second that exposed the truth. He was terrified. Not of me, clearly, but of something. And he was trying every coping technique in the book not to show it.
I let out a breath and smiled. “Okay, tough guy. I guess this is your way of asking me to stop going easy on you, huh?”
He set his jaw at me, but his eyes skittered away. “Bring it on.”
An hour later, we were both pouring sweat from practicing basic defense moves over and over until they were second nature for him. I’d grabbed his wrist, engulfed him from behind in a bear hug, and locked him in a choke hold. At every turn, I couldn’t help but feel his sleek, lean body beneath my fingers and the smell of his clean sweat as my nose pressed against the back of his head. Had Fate planned to fuck with me that evening, she could not have sent a more perfect temptation. He was beautiful but prickly. And I wanted nothing more than to run my fucking hands all over him. Preferably naked and in bed. Or, hell, against a wall would be fine too.
“Now I know why there’s such a thing as Gronk Flakes,” my client muttered under his breath as he threw himself down onto the mat on his back. I’d announced our session complete after the fourth time he’d taken me down to the mat. “I used to think it was awfully egotistical to have a cereal named after you, but if his workouts are anything like this, I get it.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “What are you talking about?”
“Gronk Flakes. Well, and Flutie Flakes too. Then you’ve got the ice hockey ones like Hull-O’s. But who in Texas is really going to get their hands on those?”
“Are you talking about Wheaties?”
He looked at me like I was dim.
“No. These are specially branded… you know what? Never mind. It’s not like I’d ever eat them. I only eat cereal out of mini boxes.”
I stared at him until his nostrils flared in defiance. “What? It’s not weird. Cereal tastes different in mini boxes. It’s the opposite of mini champagne bottles. With champagne, the smaller the vessel, the poorer the quality. It has to do with surface area in the storage and fermentation stages. But with cereal—” He stopped himself and looked up at me in horror. “Sorry, stupid. Never mind.”
“Cereal in small boxes is less likely to crush. Less weight on the bottom pieces,” I explained. “Less crumbly mess.”
“Yeah, but how do you know that?”
“I only eat cereal out of mini boxes,” I admitted. “My siblings think I’m crazy.”
August Stiel studied me from his position on the mat. “Liar.”
“Did you know that there are two types of cereal box flaps, and they’re gendered?”
He sat up. “Slotted and slotless.”
I nodded and grinned at him. “Female and male.”
“That sucks. Why the hell do cereal boxes need to be gendered?”
“But mini boxes…”
“Don’t have tabs!” His face lit up with a giant smile. “Enby flakes. Who knew?”
I wanted to keep that sunshine smile on his face. It was the most relaxed I’d seen him all evening.
“My brother once talked my mother into buying a box of Hannah Montana cereal. Since we normally ate generic bran flakes or plain oatmeal, it was a big deal.”
August’s eyes sparkled. “You’re kidding. How did it taste?”
“A thousand times better than bran flakes but not nearly as good as the Snoop Loops a buddy in the navy picked up on shore leave somewhere in the South Pacific. Came with a free rap music CD inside and everything.”
It took him a minute to realize I was pulling his leg, but when he did the giggle that came out of him was enough to make the entire Gemma punishment worth it. What I would give to hear it again and again.
“You’re such a bullshitter,” he said. “But I know Hannah Montana cereal actually existed because my sister had some. She also convinced our housekeeper to get Bart Simpson Peanut Butter Crunch cereal.”
“Gross.”
“No kidding. Then my cousin thought it would be a funny joke if he brought me Sprinkle Spangles. I guess at that time he already…” He paused and took a deep breath before looking at me with a fake smile. “You know what? Never mind. Mini cereals for the win, right?” He held out a hand to high-five but then quickly turned it into a fist to bump.