Her Mafia Bodyguard

“Come on. Knock off the bullshit. We both know what I’m talking about.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that since it would be better for both of us if we forgot that night by the pool. Not that I ever could in a million years, especially considering how many jerk-off sessions have been inspired by that night. If I started describing them now and didn’t stop until tomorrow morning, I doubt I would cover the full length and breadth of what I’ve imagined doing to her. How many positions. How many ways I’ve made her come in my imagination. “I might be your bodyguard, but I’m not a monk. I do think about fucking every once in a while, and…”

My head swings to the left, to the right. Sure, there are cute girls around. Hot, even. Every ethnicity, every size, and shape, every sense of style. I could take my pick of whatever I’m in the mood for. But I’m not in the mood for any of them. None of them compare to the pain in the ass still glaring up at me like she wouldn’t mind me getting struck by lightning.

“And there’s plenty of eye candy to get my imagination going,” I finish. It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know it. And she’s terrible at hiding what’s going on in her head, like the anger simmering under the surface.

“Oh, I see. So it’s okay for you to talk about wanting to get laid, but I’m not even allowed to go to a party and meet new people. Yeah, that’s totally fair.” She stomps off again, her ponytail swinging back and forth like one of those old clock pendulums. It’s almost hypnotic.

I lengthen my stride a little to catch up—it’s not hard, considering the difference in our heights. “Lighten up, princess.”

“For the last time—”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“I do have a name. You can just call me by my actual name, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” We’re headed for the coffee shop, which is where I can only imagine she wants to stop before going back to the condo. I have her bank card in my wallet as always.

I don’t know exactly how much is in her account, but the way he made it sound, the sky is the limit. The fact that he knows he can trust me with her account is almost humbling. But I’ve definitely proven myself, haven’t I?

We get to the door, and I reach for the handle, but Mia doesn’t follow. “What? You didn’t want a drink?”

She glances inside before looking up at me, and the smirk she’s wearing doesn’t bode well. “You know what? You already know what I like. Go in and get it for me. You’re the one paying for it, anyway.” With that, she plops down on one of the benches in the front and pulls out her phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Putting me in my place whenever she thinks I’ve stepped out of line. If it wasn’t for that girl coming on to me earlier, I doubt she would be this pissy.

And it’s only because of that—knowing she’s obviously burning with jealousy—that I go into the shop wearing a grin. If it’s this easy to push her buttons when I’m not even trying, how much more fun will it be to push them on purpose?

Princess Mia might not know it, but she just made my time at this school a lot more interesting.