Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Jane.” He breaks our eye contact, which worries me. He runs a rougher hand across his jaw and dips his head, causing a piece of brown hair to fall in his face. The strand lightly caresses his jaw before he tucks it back behind his ear.
I touch my hot cheek with a few fingers. “Really, you don’t have to answer.” I’m about to transition topics, but I’m stuck watching Thatcher.
He drops his arm to his side with a sort of decisiveness. As though he’s certain about his next action.
I’m feverishly trying to read and understand him from four feet away.
Thatcher nods to me. “You really want to know?”
“Of course I do.” I inhale a sharper breath and then lean my hip on the shelf, a lilac fabric roll poking my side.
Skin between his brows pleats, his confusion like cracking cement. “Why?”
You’ve always fascinated me. I open my mouth, those words trapped for a full second. I end up saying, “…I suppose those years, eighteen to twenty-two, make up who you are, and I’d like to know you better.”
He seizes my gaze in a vice that I’d rather not escape. “Most people don’t get this far. When I tell them I haven’t gone to college, that’s it. Hold on.” He clicks his mic and speaks louder. “Thatcher to Omega, I don’t copy. You’re coming in weak.” He scans the fabric store for threats while he listens.
Sometimes I envy bodyguards and their radios. To be a fly on the wall within the team. Farrow has let Moffy and me listen to comms chatter before. I thought it’d weaken my interest in security, namely Thatcher, but hearing how assertive he is just drastically increased his appeal.
He detaches the radio off his waistband, and his eyes dart to me. “Sorry, I’ve got to unfuck the comms.”
I wave him onward. “Go ahead.” While he handles security, I flag down the storeowner who passes the aisle. She’s elderly and sweet enough to answer several questions I have about fabrics. After which I let her be, and now I’ve gained a morsel more knowledge.
More prepared. I’m veering towards sheer black fabric. Very Calloway Couture. Very not me.
Thatcher clips the radio back to his slacks and adjusts his earpiece.
I peek more over my shoulder. “Finished?”
Without tearing his gaze off me, he checks his holstered gun on his waistband.
In the silence, the word finished lingers oddly. “With comms,” I add, facing him fully. “Not any other sort of finishing.”
Oh my God. I’m on six months without sex, and I wonder if this is a symptom of dick starvation. It better not be because I’ve sworn to never let a man inside of me. Never again. Not after the last time.
Thatcher doesn’t blink. “I know what you meant, Jane.”
“Bien.” I nod.
Good.
Good.
He sweeps the other end of the aisle. “About what you asked me…” His stern eyes return to my face. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else, not Maximoff or your brothers or sister.”
Moffy is the hardest to keep a secret from. After coming home from Greece, I gushed to him about Thatcher’s oath with me. I felt immensely better when Thatcher confessed that he told Banks about the oath too.
Out of everyone in my family, I’m closest to Moffy. Thinking of losing him, thinking of life without him by my side clenches my stomach and wells my eyes—because him and me, it’s all I’ve known. Moffy is a part of me. We’ve shared so many experiences together. We grew older together. Only one-month apart in age.
But what Thatcher is willing to share now has nothing to do with me. It’s personal and private information regarding himself, so it’ll be easier to hold this secret hostage from Maximoff.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. “Do you want to spit on it?”
Light almost reaches his eyes, but his seriousness never fissures. He shakes his head once. “I trust you.” He takes a long pause and brushes his hand over his mouth. “You’re going to need to tell me how you think I came into security.”
He wants to see what I know first, I assume. I think back. “I heard that another bodyguard referred you and Banks to the Tri-Force, but I’m unsure who you knew from security. Ninety percent of bodyguards are hired off referrals, aren’t they?”
“Most are,” Thatcher says, voice deep.
“I’ve only just started learning more about the team this past year,” I admit. “Not because I haven’t been interested.” I ramble on. “Security has been a fundamental part of my life since birth, but Moffy and I were always told not to worry about the details. Our parents didn’t want us to stress about who’s coming in and out. They’d rather we just trust in the team—and we do,” I say quickly. “I still do. That hasn’t changed.”
Thatcher’s palm pauses over his mouth. Letting very little emotion pass through his stoic features.