The Bodyguard

But she belonged to this shit, this life. And I couldn’t get the fuck out of there, fast enough. That was a problem. I didn’t see her leaving all this behind to come back to my lair and shack up with me. Not unless I worked on her, gave her the old Hunter Sloane treatment, which I wasn’t yet sure I wanted to do.

A few days ago, after I’d been driving her for a while, just her and I alone for hours on end, she finally opened up to me on a more personal level. My phone had gone off while we were sitting in a restaurant waiting for the waiter to bring our meals.

I’d preferred to stay outside while she did her thing but she didn’t want to be alone. A few days ago I wouldn’t have cared, but now when she looked up at me with that little girl lost look I caved. I knew I’d already placed one toe on that slippery slope and was fighting like hell not to plant my foot on that shit.

There was only one way to go once that happened and she wasn’t ready for it. Too fucking innocent. Once that shit was done, once I made that move towards her, there would be no turning back. Meanwhile she didn’t have a fucking clue that the danger had changed and was now coming from a completely different direction. Me!

I’d amped up my search for the asshole stalker and was ready to take the fight to him. He’d been bouncing shit off of IP towers in foreign countries all along, and it had taken me this long to pin down his general location here in the states.

I still had no clue what he looked like, but I was closer now than I had been. Though I like getting my hands dirty in a fight, SIGINT is my shit. Once I pinned him down I could move in and eliminate the threat. So basically I no longer felt any threat from that corner. As long as I was on her, no one was getting within breathing distance.

But now, I was the one she had to look out for, though she didn’t know it. If where my head was going played out, her whole life would be turned upside down. I have no intentions of living here and I especially wouldn’t have my wife sleeping away from me for months at a time while she worked on location... And what the fuck! Wife?

So we were sitting there waiting to be served and the phone rang and a female’s face flashed across the screen before I could answer. It was my on again off again fuck buddy. At least that’s what they’re called these days. When we started there wasn’t a name for it I don’t think.

“Is that your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” It was a lie but it was easier than explaining that shit.

“Oh; she's pretty.”

“I think so thanks.” Zeta wasn't my girl, not really. Just someone I fucked when the need arose but not for lack of trying on her part.

There had been times in the five years I've been fucking her that I'd been tempted to go the distance, but always something held me back. My heart wasn’t in it and lately my dick has been on his way out.

Plus there was the fact that we both agreed that we were free to see other people, when we weren’t rolling around in the sheets together. I know for a fact if I saw her as mine that shit wouldn’t fly. So basically it was a dead end situation all around. But a pussy is better than my hand and with all the diseases running around out there I’m not trusting my shit to a rubber.

So, Zeta was my go to as I was hers. As long as she was careful I didn’t give a fuck who she fucked, though I’ve been doubling up on the skins whenever we get together. I really do like the fuck outta myself and won’t take chances with my life.

Lately though, I haven’t been calling her as often as I used to. I'm a passionate man, my fires run deep. And though our encounters were anything but tame, there was always something missing, something that I know I needed but had yet to find.

I knew she wanted more, at least I’ve been sensing that lately. But though I had nothing else on the horizon, I still wouldn’t take the jump. I’d rather not have kids than have them without loving their mother. That shit’s fucked.

She didn’t say anything else about Zeta and I let the call go to voicemail. We ate in silence once our food came. Me not giving a second thought to the conversation or the phone call, and she reading over her notes for the next day.