My friends and I had planned on attending the Rokbury music festival for years, and now, I had to sit it out.
“So? Come anyway. He works for you, not the other way around.”
I wished I could, but we were still in the trial period of our deal, and Rhys’s concerns weren’t totally off base. Rokbury took place at a campground an hour and a half outside New York City, and while it looked like a blast, something inevitably went wrong every year—a festival goer’s tent catching fire, a drunken group fight leading to several hospitalizations, a panic-induced stampede. It was also supposed to storm the weekend of this year’s festival, which meant the campground would probably turn into a giant mud pit, but my friends were risking it, anyway.
“Sorry, J. Next time.”
Jules sighed. “Tell your man he’s hot as hell but a total buzzkill.”
“He’s not my man. He’s my bodyguard.” I lowered my voice, but I thought I saw Rhys pause for a millisecond before he resumed polishing his knife.
“Even worse. He’s running your life and you’re not getting any dick from it.”
“Jules.”
“You know it’s true.” Another sigh. “Fine, I get it. We’ll miss you, but we’ll catch up when we’re back.”
“Sounds good.”
I hung up and sank into the armchair, FOMO—Fear of Missing Out—hitting me hard. I’d bought the festival tickets months ago, before Rhys started working for me, and I’d had to sell them to a random junior in my political theory class.
“I hope you’re happy,” I said pointedly.
He didn’t respond.
Rhys and I had settled into a more functional dynamic over the past three months, but there were still times I wanted to chuck a textbook at him. Like now.
When the day of the festival rolled around the following weekend, however, I woke up to the shock of my life.
I walked into the living room, bleary-eyed, only to find it transformed. The furniture had been pushed to the side, replaced with a pile of boho-printed pillows and cushions on the floor. The coffee table groaned beneath various snacks and drinks, and the Rokbury festival played out in real time on-screen. The pièce de résistance, however, was the indoor tent decorated with string lights, which looked exactly like the ones people set up on the festival grounds.
Rhys sat on the couch, which was now pressed flush against the wall beneath the window, frowning at his phone.
“What…” I rubbed my eyes. Nope, I wasn’t dreaming. The tent, the snacks, they were all there. “What is this?”
“Indoor festival,” he grunted.
“You put this together.” It was a statement of disbelief more than a question.
“Reluctantly, and with help.” Rhys glanced up. “Your redheaded friend is a menace.”
Of course. That made more sense. My friends must’ve felt bad I was missing the festival, so they put together a consolation party, so to speak. But something didn’t add up.
“They left last night.”
“They dropped everything off beforehand while you were in the shower.”
Hmm, plausible. I took long showers.
Appeased and delighted, I grabbed an armful of chips, candy, and soda and crawled into the cushioned tent, where I watched my favorite bands perform their sets on the TV. The sound and picture quality was so good I almost felt like I was there.
Admittedly, I was more comfortable than I would’ve been at the actual festival, but I missed having people to enjoy it with.
An hour in, I poked my head out from the tent, hesitant. “Mr. Larsen. Why don’t you join me? There’s plenty of food.”
He was still sitting on the couch, frowning like a bear who’d woken up on the wrong side of the cave.
“No, thanks.”
“Come on.” I waved my hand around. “Don’t make me party alone. That’s just sad.”
Rhys’s mouth tugged in a small smirk before he unfolded himself from his seat. “Only because you listened about not attending the festival.”
This time, I was the one who frowned. “You say it like you’re training a dog.”
“Most things in life are like training a dog.”
“That’s not true.”
“Show up to work, get paid. Woo a girl, get laid. Study, get good grades. Action and reward. Society runs on it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he had a point.
“No one uses the word woo anymore,” I muttered. I hated when he was right.
His smirk deepened a fraction of an inch.
He was too large to fit in the tent with me, so he settled on the floor next to it. Despite my cajoling, he refused to touch the food, leaving me to inhale the snacks on my own.
Another hour later, I’d ingested so much sugar and carbs I felt a little sick, and Rhys looked bored enough to fall asleep.
“I take it you’re not a fan of electronic music.” I stretched and winced. The last bag of salt and vinegar chips had been a bad idea.
“It sounds like a Mountain Dew commercial gone wrong.”
I almost choked on my water. “Fair enough.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin, unable to hide my smile. Rhys was so serious I delighted whenever his stony mask cracked. “So, tell me. If you don’t like EDM, what do you like?”
“Don’t listen to much music.”
“A hobby?” I persisted. “You must have a hobby.”
He didn’t answer, but the brief flash of wariness in his eyes told me all I needed to know.
“You do have one!” I knew so little about Rhys outside his job, I latched onto the morsel of information like a starved animal. “What is it? Let me guess, knitting. No, bird watching. No, cosplay.”
I picked the most random, un-Rhys-like hobbies I could think of.
“No.”
“Stamp collecting? Yoga? Pokémon—”
“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 nottrying 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 asfun 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.