Chapter 2

• ASHTON
• To whom it may concern; I kindly request that you cease troubling me. Yours sincerely, an exasperated human.
• As fate would have it, the very last person I desired to encounter today steps foot inside J. Son Paradise. I swiftly refill my glass of orange juice and observe as the familiar face enters through the door.
• Standing tall at an impressive six feet and three inches, he dons a black V-neck tucked neatly into black jeans, secured by a leather belt. Protruding from his waistband is the handle of a handgun, while his dyed bleach-white hair sharply contrasts his thick brown eyebrows.
• Although many individuals find Lennox Burke to be an intimidating figure at first glance, I, on the other hand, have grown immune to most forms of intimidation.
• You see, it's a trait inherent in being a Johnson.
• Allow me to depict Lennox in three significant ways:
• 1. Infuriating.
• 2. Exasperating.
• 3. A major annoyance in my life.
• Considering that he serves as my mother's bodyguard and frequently accompanies her to this establishment, it is to be expected that she is not far behind his self-assured and unflappable demeanor.
• Lennox carries himself as though he possesses ownership of the entire world, yet a perpetual sense of amusement twinkles within his brown eyes. At times, I suspect he deliberately channels the essence of James Franco from the Freaks & Geeks era—minus the marijuana, but magnify Franco's infectious smile by an astronomical factor.
• Under normal circumstances, his presence should not capture my attention.
• But alas, it does.
• He does.
• At this very moment, I endeavor to disregard his overpowering presence, focusing my gaze solely on the juice container while gingerly replacing its cap. Nevertheless, my eyes remain fixed on him, regardless of my futile attempts to divert them elsewhere.
• This has been an ongoing struggle since I turned sixteen. Unfortunately, I have known Lennox for an extended period of time. I am referring to our early teenage years. Prior to being assigned as my mother's security detail, he was merely the son of our family's concierge doctor, constantly on call twenty-four hours a day for home visits and medical emergencies.
• Thus, when my younger sister Primrose fractured her ankle while wearing five-inch heels, it was Dr. Burke who promptly arrived, accompanied by his son Lennox.
• As I attempted to remove Primrose's boot, Dr. Burke commanded, "Step aside, Ashton," motioning for Lennox to take his place. It was a moment where he imparted basic first aid skills to his son, ensuring that he would follow in the footsteps of the esteemed lineage of Burkes before him—a family renowned for their medical expertise.
• Such instances ignited my competitive spirit. If Lennox was propelled to the forefront, an irresistible urge beckoned me to be right by his side. If Lennox accelerated, I pushed myself even harder. And he never relented. With everything he did, he possessed an unwavering determination that refused to allow me to surpass him without a fiercely fought battle.
• Around the time of my sixteenth birthday, I found myself developing a crush on him. It could be because he never lets me win easily. Maybe it's because he's five years older and a Yale graduate.
• Or perhaps it's because he effortlessly does thirty pull-ups. It might also be the striking gray and black tattoos that adorn his fair skin, even extending to his throat. Symmetrical wings inked on his neck and crossed swords on his Adam's apple create a beautiful display.
• Then there are his four visible piercings: a hoop on his nostril, bottom lip, and two barbells on his brow.
• Perhaps it's the combination of all these things that makes my skin heat up, my blood rush south, and attracts me to him like a fool. He has taken up a permanent residence in both my mind and my desires, and I have no idea how to get him out.
• When I was a teenager, it was easier to handle this crush, as I would secretly fantasize about the attractive older guy pleasuring me. I always knew he was gay, and when I turned eighteen, I publicly declared myself as bisexual. I thought there might be a chance that Lennox would start seeing me differently.
• But he didn't.
• Then, exactly three years ago, he became my mother's bodyguard.
• Suddenly, the attraction I felt toward him became even more ethically wrong than it already was. I constantly remind myself that he knows nothing. The only person I've confided in about my crush and lapse in judgment is my best friend Willow, and I trust that she would never betray my secret.
• As Lennox enters the doorway of the store, he takes a large bite of a red apple.
• His brown eyes immediately lock onto my forest-green ones, and in an instant, I can tell that he knows. It's as if he has this all-knowing look.
• I attribute it to his tendency to act like a know-it-all. I must have displayed my slight irritation because his lips curl up into a smirk as he chews and swallows his fruit.
• I quickly gulp down my orange juice before speaking up. "Look who the wind brought in." I place my glass on the counter.
• Lennox raises his apple to his mouth. "You mean blew in."
• "No," I say firmly, planting my hands on the pearly counter. "I meant threw up."
• He rolls his eyes playfully, his smirk growing wider and wider. Then, he casually kicks the door closed and locks it with his spare key.
• My body tenses up. "Where's my mom?"
• Lennox finally puts away his cellphone, the one he's been glued to since we arrived here. "Regina's bodyguard transfer was finalized this morning."
• Transfer.
• As I stood there, observing Lennox's confident stride as he approached the vinyl stools, my mind seemed to fry, my jaw sharpened, and my breath grew heavy. He possessed a certain masculinity and nonchalance that emanated from within, a self-assuredness that belonged to those who truly understood themselves.
• Drawing nearer, he casually rested his knee on the stool next to Perth and uttered the words that instantly sent my pulse racing at an unnatural speed, though I maintained outward composure. "I'm your new bodyguard," he informed me.
• I took a deep breath, struggling to process this new addition to my life. It was unsettling, and I found myself eerily silent, attempting to block out the complications that would inevitably arise. Lennox Burke, my new bodyguard.
• Meeting my gaze directly, Lennox asked with a mischievous smile, "Excited?" as if he already knew the answer.
• Excited? How could I possibly be excited about my former crush becoming a permanent fixture in my life? And to make matters more complex, we were bound by ethical guidelines to maintain a platonic relationship.
• If I were to choose my words honestly, I would describe the situation as sexually frustrated and incredibly complicated. But for now, I opted for the word "excited" to avoid unnecessary friction.
• "That's one way to put it," I replied, downing the rest of my drink in one gulp. "But what's the actual reason behind this?" I gestured towards Lennox with my empty glass. I understood the weight of the decisions made by the security team, who took various factors into account when assigning bodyguards.
• I couldn't simply demand a replacement like a entitled jerk. The bodyguards worked as a team, and they were individuals, not mere action figures. I respected them enough to trust their choices.
• Besides, they had no idea that I had once imagined Lennox in compromising positions.
• And they would never know.
• Perth chimed in, "The usual. We consider the location of your residence," referring to my townhouse in Philly, "your lifestyle," which was always on the go, "and other security variables, and then we make a match."
• "So it's like Bodyguard Grindr without the sex," I quipped, trying my best to ignore Lennox, although my eyes involuntarily kept glancing in his direction.
• Lennox raised an eyebrow at me, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
• I wanted to groan and smile at the same time, the conflicting emotions surely evident on my face.
• Perth responded, "We won't market it like that, but essentially, yes."
• "Essentially," Lennox interjected, "Regina wanted me to be your bodyguard." Regina, my mom.
• Perth's gaze locked onto Lennox, a mixture of intensity and secrecy. Clearly, Lennox had shared more information than he was supposed to.
• He even added, "Word-for-word, she said Lennox is the best."
• "I don't believe that," I retort, my voice filled with disbelief. "My mom would swear on her life that no one could ever be better than Drake." Drake was her first bodyguard, and I had never seen her so emotional when he retired.
• Lennox, casually rotating his apple, searches for another spot to take a bite. "Well, she broke her promise for me," he replies matter-of-factly. His voice is deep and rough, yet there's a subtle sensuality to it, like gravel wrapped in silk.
• A rush of warmth spreads through my muscles from head to toe. "Wow," I manage to say, my tone strained. My mind is elsewhere, consumed by this new reality and the presence of Lennox.
• Lennox lowers his apple, and I notice my cheekbones tightening as his brown eyes graze over my most distinctive feature.
• I meet his gaze, and in that sudden silence, a thick tension hangs in the air. Both our lives are about to change with this transfer, and there's an unknown factor at play.
• I can't even begin to imagine what having Lennox as my bodyguard will be like. Perth, observing us, is assessing how well we're getting along. But his guess is as good as mine.
• And I have no answer.
• I have no clue how to navigate a new relationship with a bodyguard. I've had the same one for nearly twenty-two years.
• Lennox tosses the core of his apple into a nearby trashcan. Then he swings his leg off the stool, visibly more relaxed than my rigid posture. "Let's start with the basics, wolf scout."
• "Out of all the things you could call me..." I trail off, but Lennox never fails to use that nickname. My aunt established the Wolf Scouts as a wilderness and survival scouting organization that includes all genders. It gained national recognition, and yeah, I still help out in the summer as a troop captain. "And what basics are you talking about?"
• "The basics," he replies, moving closer to the edge of the counter. His face is just inches from mine. "Every time you leave your townhouse, I'll be by your side. I'll walk ahead of you. I'll enter rooms before you. I'll go wherever you go until you return safely home."
• I blink slowly, my skin tingling with heat. The thought of Lennox being with me every day, all day, is like downing a gallon of milkshake in one gulp—I'm left with a brain freeze. I rub my jaw, feeling the sharpness of its edges.
• Lennox tilts his head. "Okay?"
• "I need to make a revision," I finally say, my gaze shifting to Perth. They exchange a look that I can't quite decipher.
• I sidestep their conversation and press on, determined to make my point. "You walk into places beside me—"
• "No," Lennox interrupts immediately. He runs his hands through his shockingly white hair, pushing the strands away from his face. It's a habit of his, a way to buy himself some time before responding. Sometimes it signifies that he's about to get serious.
• Perth leans his elbow on the counter. "Tony, he needs to assess the room before you enter, just like Rodney used to."
• Rodney is not Lennox. My previous bodyguard preferred to keep our interactions strictly professional, to the extent that I hardly knew anything about him personally. Lennox, on the other hand, is someone I know in a way I never knew Rodney.
• This completely changes the dynamic of the bodyguard-client relationship that I'm accustomed to.
• "Then, when we're out on the street," I continue addressing Lennox, "walk beside me. You don't have to be in front of me all the time like some kind of guide dog."
• "A guide dog," he echoes, a mixture of amusement and annoyance playing across his face. "You couldn't have picked a more submissive animal, could you?" Before I can reply, he adds, "I'll consider it, but I can't promise I'll follow through in every situation."
• That seems reasonable.
• I nod a couple of times. "When did you find out about the new assignment?" He appears unfazed, but if he were a superhero in a battle zone, a comic book panel would show him relaxed on a destroyed bench, effortlessly surviving and adapting with his powers.
• In contrast, I consciously exhibit my readiness for chaotic situations: my back straight, shoulders tense, and head held high.
• "I was informed last night," he replies.
• I let that sink in. "So, you only had an eight-hour head start on me."
• "Technically, twelve," he corrects, a hint of satisfaction creeping onto his lips.
• I suppress my own smile. "Thank you for the technical adjustment."
• "Anytime, wolf scout." He leans forward, lowering his voice to a seductive whisper. "Just remember that I'm better than you at most things."
• It takes a great deal of effort not to stare at his lips. "Sounds like a parallel universe."
• A corner of his mouth quirks, and then he leans back.
• Suddenly, a loud noise shakes us both, and we turn our heads towards the store windows. People are pressing against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse inside, while others chat loudly, eagerly awaiting the official opening of J. Son Paradise.
• "We should go," I state the obvious.
• It truly hits me that the "we" in this situation refers to Lennox and me. Not me and Perth. Not me and some guy I recently met.
• It's just him and me.
• And not in the way I had fantasized. Lennox is now obligated to protect me, maintain a professional relationship, and ensure my safety at all times.
• Imagining a polar bear eating Fritos on the moon is easier than picturing Lennox as my bodyguard. I think it's a sign.
• A sign that things are about to get incredibly weird.