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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Keep your girl.

  Chase

  She yelled his name in her sleep.

  And I hated her for it.

  I hated both of them.

  Yet I held her close.

  Because it was all I could do — hold her and kiss away the tears, hope and pray that one day the tears would turn into smiles, and that she'd see me as more than just her protector, but her friend.

  Weeks were spent by her side, weeks where I fell a little more in love with her each time she managed to laugh. Hell, she was beautiful, even when she cried.

  I hadn't gotten it before — what had made Nixon so obsessed. But now I knew; it wasn't just one thing. You couldn't just say, "Oh, it's because Trace is a really cool chick."

  It was everything about her.

  The way she looked at life; the way she responded to the bad stuff just made you want to give her more good.

  It was addicting, being with her. I felt better just walking by her side, knowing that I was going to wake up and spend my day with her. Then the moments of joy would get freaking stolen when Nixon would send me another ridiculous text about making sure she wore a sweater because it was cold out.

  Really, dude?

  Like I couldn't look at my iPhone app and figure out how cold it was.

  The bastard was a constant pain in my ass, a constant reminder that I was guarding treasure — but not mine.

  His.

  I wondered, if things were different, would I stand a chance? Little moments caused me to believe she could fall for me. She was blushing more, holding my hand more, like it was completely normal for us to be walking around campus holding hands.

  The real problem was I held her hand because I couldn't help it.

  She held my hand because it made her feel safe.

  Two very different reasons. Mine was obsession, plain and simple.

  Hers was comfort.

  Damn if that didn't make me want to jump out her stupid window.

  "Chase?" Trace kicked the leaves with her booted feet. "Did you hear what I said?"

  "Sure did."

  "No, you didn't!" She laughed, elbowing me in the ribs. "Why aren't you dating as much anymore?"

  Oh, you know, because I'm in love with a girl who doesn't know I exist. "Just not into it, not anymore."

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

  "You okay to go to class?"

  Rolling her eyes, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "Yes, I'm okay, just like yesterday I was okay, and this morning I was okay when you heard me yell from the shower."

  I burst out laughing. "One can never be sure."

  "Yeah well, you're lucky you didn't see me naked."

  "I think you mean unlucky."

  Blushing, she pulled her bag tighter across her body. "I'll see you after, alright? Then you can wrap me in bubble tape and push me toward my final class of the day."

  "I love it when you talk dirty." I smirked.

  "Go away."

  "Say bubble tape again."

  "Bye, Chase."

  "Bye, muffin!" I called after her and sent my usual text to Nixon. This time it was a picture of cow going into the barn, my way of saying Trace was safe. It entertained me but pissed him off because I didn't use words, but whatever.

  I watched her walk into the building, making sure she really was safely inside, then went over to the bench to wait. Outside. In the cold. For her to get done with class.

  My own grades were suffering for her safety.

  But I really wouldn't want it any other way.

  I checked my phone. Another text from Nixon.

  When I looked up, it was to see Phoenix glaring in my direction. He'd been pissing me off a lot lately, making my life a living hell since I'd had to actually protect Trace from him.

  I despised him for it.

  He knew it too. I could see it in his eyes. With a sneer, Phoenix grinned in my direction as he turned and walked away.

  When did he go from being one of my best friends to my enemy? Was it when I'd caught him staring at Trace?

  Was that really enough to throw away over a decade of friendship? I sighed and leaned against the wall.

  The air crackled with excitement around me — but all I was focused on—was her scent. It was still on me.

  Don't ask me how the hell that happened. It may have to do with the fact that I'd spent the night with her, not slept with her the way I wanted to — the way I'm sure Nixon wanted too as well, the bastard.

  But in her bed.

  With her head tucked underneath mine — where it belonged. I'd gotten use to her breathing, the way the air blew out of her nose in a slow lazy rhythm, letting me know she was in a deep sleep, or the short gasps that sometimes escaped from her pretty lips, telling me she was having a bad dream.

  I was there for it all.

  The Good. The Bad.

  And where was Nixon?

  Doing his job.

  She moaned in her sleep, not that I'd ever share that with Nixon. Last night she'd been scared, so I'd stayed. I always stayed until she fell asleep, but last night was different because Mo had been gone.

  And I'd broken every damn rule I'd put into place — every damn rule that Nixon had said he'd enforce.

  Touching her, being near her, was like getting a hit of adrenaline or doing drugs for the first time. You tell yourself that it's just one touch, but your body demands you take more.

  My lips had grazed her head, and then my nose burrowed into her thick mop of brown air.

  Moaning, she'd hit me across the face on accident — it had been enough to get me to pull back, to actually shake the insanity from my body.

  I checked my watch; she'd be in class for at least an hour. I had just enough time to go across campus, grab a coffee, then meet her back at the bench. I took off, a smile crossing my face as I imagined her own excitement that I'd thought of her and grabbed an almond hot chocolate.

  Damn, I wasn't just falling.

  I was on the ground.

  Looking up at the sky with a dumbfounded expression, wondering how the hell I'd gone from being a trained assassin.

  To a man in full-blown love.

  Buying a girl who had no clue of his feelings a damn hot chocolate.