Guarded: A Roleplay

I laugh. "That's the point. The stupider, the funnier." I accept his offerings with a nod of my head. "Appreciate it, Heath."

I take a sip of chocolate milk and work on a pancake with my fork. It's all pretty good. Maybe not as good as our chef back home, but I couldn't possibly ask Evelyn to pack up her things and come with me for every time I crave a breakfast panini. I don't think I ever even thanked her for all the cravings I had that she cooked up at my every whim. Sometimes I really suck.

After a few minutes of silent eating, I set down my fork and run my fingers through my hair. It could use a good brushing.

"Any updates?" I ask, figuring I might as well. "Any idea how long we'll be here? I mean, maybe we could get some sketch artist or something here, the cops find these guys, and life returns to normal?"

Heath looks at her, "Things I never thought about? My priority was getting you out of that house. Mission accomplished, they are still working on everything else."

"I am waiting to get a call back, I told them how I thought someone must have been in the house. The cameras on your property did find someone, they have ran his face and now trying to find him as we speak, unfortunately, all we can do is wait. Anymore questions?"

He tosses his empty box in the bag.

Another guy? At my house? And a cop who's in on it? My life is turning into a CSI episode mindfuck.

I push away the rest of my pancake and finish off my chocolate milk. "I thought of something last night," I offer. "You sleeping on the floor has got to suck. We can share the bed. Nothing unprofessional or whatever, and I know you're taken, but the floor? That's just wrong. Or, you know, maybe we could take shifts or something like that. Make it so one of is awake at all times. That should make it easier on you. I'm no cop, sure, but it kind of makes sense."

Heath looks at her, "Or, we'll just continue what I've been doing. I am fine, I usually only get 3 hours sleep, 5 if I am really lucky. I also wake up the second I hear something."

He tosses all the food, "Now, go take a shower first...who knows how long the hot water in this place lasts, so you go and then I'll have some more information for you, when you get out."

I sigh, knowing there's no winning with this man, and gather up my bag of toiletries. I take a shower as quickly as I can and blow-dry my hair. Then, hesitating in front of the mirror, I pause. Yeah, this face could use some foundation. Heath's got a girlfriend, but that doesn't mean I can't look good.

After dabbing at my face with powder and running a mascara wand through my eyelashes, I smile back at my reflection. Not too shabby.

When I step outside again, Heath is reclining against the far wall, his eyes trained on the parking lot outside our window. Bad news already? Or will it be good?

I hesitate, my hands on my hips, and nervously brush my hair behind my ears. "What's the prognosis, Doc?"

Heath glances at her, "Well, we're not far away....,spoke to your Uncle and he has informed me about a safe house, in Vermont? We're heading there. We're going to be there until I am told to move on. I informed them of the information you told me last night, so that should help."

He walks off, with not a word more and brings some clothes with him to the washroom. He shuts the door and gets cleaned up, moments later he is returning. His cell then rings and looks at the number, answers, "Hey...everything okay?"

He walks around the room, listening to his girlfriend. How she is in Washington still and plans to stay, she got a job offer with the company she was visiting. She still wants to be with him and hopes they can work something out, "Until this case is over, it's probably for the best....,call me if you need anything, you too..."

He hangs up and though a moment flashes in his mind, how this is life. His job, always has cost him his relationships, they never want to stay. It's hard to commit and marry a cop. He brushes it off and grabs his bag, everything else, "You ready to go?"

That smile I'd found myself seeking out, the one filled with warmth and light that seemed only reserved for Superbad and his probably super attractive girlfriend, is now gone. He's back to business, stoic and bossy. And we're moving yet again. I let out a huff of air and grab for my purse.

"First this asscrack hotel, now Vermont? What's their best attraction, the biggest ball of yarn?"

I'm whining like a six year old, I know, but I'm a New Yorker through and through. I know the best clubs. I can party with the best of them. I don't know a damn thing about Vermont. I'll ask Siri later. If I can get a reception.

I catch a slight shake of his head, just barely perceptible but there, but he doesn't turn back to roll his eyes or give me some incredulous look. He just opens the door, steps aside and waits for me to pass.

Gritting my teeth because I'm with a man who, of all men, doesn't want me, and people are out trying to kill me and because I'm in the middle of goddamn nowhere, I stomp myself outside and climb inside the car.

"I might just call these killers and offer myself up on a silver platter if we can't even get somewhere with cable," I mutter through the open driver side window. I'm almost positive Heath is rolling his eyes at that, too. Sulking, I turn the key in the ignition before he even gets in and begin fiddling with the radio.

Heath just gets into his car and they drive off, she is of course playing with the radio. He looks at her, "I will just...say this now, their is a lot you can do and it won't annoy me. Just in case you were trying to...get a rise out of me."

I groan. "Sorry to disappoint you, Hottie Detective, but my world revolves more around sanitary living spaces and good thread counts and maybe a television that I wouldn't need a magnifying glass to watch than you."

I lean back in the seat, having let the sounds of a new Neon Trees track fill Heath's car, and bob my toes to the music. "Say, let's fill some time. I Spy? Maybe 99 Bottles-"

I spot a Beamer on the other side of the highway and my fist shoots out naturally. It plants right into Heath's bicep. "Punchbuggy!" I grin. He barely twitches. And all this earned me was the knowledge that his arms are just as rock hard as they look. Yay, me.

"You're right," I sigh with a shrug of my shoulders. "You won't break. Not easily, at least. But I haven't started singing yet."

Heath looks at her, nothing at all appearing on his face. He turns away and drives on, not making any sound till hours later, "Hungry?"

Really? That's all I get? Hungry? Well, yeah, I'm fucking hungry. I'm more starved, though, for some human interaction and all I've gotten is this boulder with eyes. He's aesthetically pleasing, sure, but he's got the personality of a pebble. He's just... there.

I'm starting to think this hot girlfriend just sees him for his looks, or he's an entirely different person around her. Seriously, am I that bad to be around?

Leaving that thought inside my head where it belongs, I nod and wait until he's pulled into the parking lot of the nearest restaurant and step out of the car. "Couldn't hurt you to socialize, Heath," I remind him, my arms crossed over my chest. "It's called being polite or whatever. Just talking. Awkward silence is, well, awkward. And if you haven't noticed by now, I like to talk."

I turn around, for the first time taking in just where we are, and shake my head. "No. Hell no."

This time Heath's the one with his arms crossed. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline, as if he's silently challenging me. I stand my ground. "I haven't been to this place since I was a kid, and just no."

I don't tell him it was the last restaurant I visited with my parents before my dad shot my mom in the head and then offed himself as I watched. Somehow that goes a little too deep for lunchtime conversation, and if we're doing any of this, I get to choose. He's the one being paid.

"Their chicken sucks, and last time I had it I puked, like, all over the place," I ramble in explanation. "I think it was undercooked. And they mistreat animals and stuff. Or at least that's what I read in a PETA article. I think."

I pull my iPhone out of my purse and activate Siri. "I want a fancy restaurant, Siri," I speak into the phone, casting a grin Heath's way. "Close by. Five stars. Expensive." Actually, Siri's already processing my little request, and that last part was for Heath's ears only. In seconds, Siri's giving me a list of places near to us for some fine dining.

"L’Amante Ristorante," I nod, figuring that sounds fancy enough, and walk back over to Heath's car. "Let's ride, Detective. We're having Italian."

Heath looks at her, "Food is food...what the hell difference does it make?"

He has a point, but I like fancy outings. I can be girly and dress up, and I know I've got some good outfits and dresses in my bags. Also, I've been craving Italian.

"Everybody loves pasta," I shrug, and glance down at my phone. "Siri says take a left."

Within minutes, we're at our destination. What a cute little restaurant. I step out of the car and trot on over to my bag. "What do you think? Floral dress or skirt and halter? It's a tasteful halter. Or I could go for a halter dress."

Luckily, my makeup is perfect and I'm already in some cute, strappy sandals. I pull the dress out of the bag, having not heard a peep from Heath, and duck down behind the door. I'm mostly hidden. Not that I'd mind if he got a good look.

I pull the dress on over my tank top, and when the ends gather just below my knees, I work the tank top down to my waist and pull it out from beneath me. Same goes for my shorts. I'm a master at this.

When I've straightened up and my hair is in order, I hold out my arms and twirl for my stoic bodyguard. "Gorg, right?"

No response. Figures. But he's definitely not dressed to the nines in his jeans and leather jacket, so I toss my bag aside and plunge my hand into his. "Don't tell me the ever professional hired muscle doesn't have a sharp tux in here. We can dress up and pretend we're not on the run from mobsters. It'll be fun."

Heath was about to respond but she was already changing, he can't help but slightly watch. As she looks back ,he takes his eyes off her and looks at the place, this is pricey and who the hell is paying for it?

She then makes a mention of his own clothes,"I really don't care..." as he gets out of the drivers side, she goes to the back seat and takes out his bag. He looks at this, amazed she has the nerve. She starts pulling out clothes and seeing one she thinks is best.

Finally comes across a black dress shirt and holds that to him.

He looks at her, "You really..." , she looks at him with determination and he rolls his eyes.Pulling his t-shirt off and putting on the dress shirt and buttons it up, she steps up and undoes the first too, leaving a little bit of chest to be seen.

He looks at this and then to her,"Are you done?"

I admire my handiwork, wishing I could touch the skin I've just revealed that's flashing me from between the flaps of his shirt, and manage a nod instead.

"Looking studtastic, Heath," I wink, and then I turn to grab my purse. "I'm ravenous."

Heath looks at her and they make their way to the doors, she holds out her hand and reminds him how much he hates leaving his job to be this brats bodyguard, of course his bank account was looking a lot better these days.

He took her arm, linked into his and they were seated shortly after. The waiter pulls out her chair and Heath looks at the guy, who stops and Heath finishes it. He then seats himself and takes the menu being offered.

Most of it is in Italian, he looks at her "I just want meat and noodles, order for me...because you clearly look fluent in any language." He adds, with sarcasm.

I hitch my brow at Heath and steeple my hands under my chin. "Va te faire foutre, Heath." I look over the wine selection first and foremost, looking for my favorite brand. I smile when I find it at the very top of the list.

"I speak French fluently, I know a little Latin because for some odd reason being a doctor was my calling in high school, and I played piano for nine years and the cello for five. I'm not just some blond bimbo."

Satisfied with having told him, I look for something on the menu that would appease a man. Something tells me he won't be hungry for quail.

"Grilled hangar steak, polenta fries and grilled asparagus," I read aloud, tapping a manicured finger on the menu. "That manly enough for you?"

Heath looks at her and smirks slightly, "Well...considering I will be spending most of my time with you, I better get used to your attitude."

The waiter comes and takes their order, soon after setting the bottle of wine between them and pouring it out. Heath knows drinking on the job, cannot be professional but considering he just got his heartbroken and now sitting here with a woman, he really can't stand, though he doesn't show it.

He takes a drink, she's watching him. Wondering how he must feel, being in such a nice restaurant and trying nice things. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I grin. "You cracking a joke and drinking wine? I don't know. It's kind of like watching a dog walk on its hind legs."

I take a sip of my wine and unfold a table napkin, draping it delicately across my lap. Growing up with a politician means a lot of etiquette classes and table manner lectures. We met a lot of stiff, rich people who seemed to think a teenage girl would care to hear about the stocks or the profits their companies were making.

But after each dinner, if I behaved well enough, Uncle Rich would hand me a credit card and reward me with a day out with my girlfriends. So I couldn't complain much.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. This would get me an F on the etiquette test, but I have a feeling Heath doesn't care.

"Specimen seems to exhibit human abilities. Must study further. Tell me, Heath, something about yourself. I'll start. I'm a Leo."

Heath looks at her and thinks about it, finally answering "28 years old, Detective and served some time in the army. Not much else to accomplish during all that."

I snort, because that's attractive. "Yeah. What a slacker, going off to fight for an ungrateful country. You never get anything meaningful done, do you?"

I take another sip of my wine. "Favorite movie? Color? Band? Come on, man, work with me."

Heath looks at her, "I didn't look at it as an ungrateful country...considering they paid for my education and without it, I would have been doing who knows what, I was a punk kid just like you are now, I grew up when I faced reality and the world."

I scoff. "A punk kid? That's low. You think I want to be here? In this situation? I have a job I want to get back to. Friends. And you clearly can't wait to be rid of me and go back to brooding and cuffing crackheads or whatever it is you do. Hell, I want nothing more than to go back home, and you can do the same with your perfect, pretty girlfriend and we'll both have a nice life."

I set down my glass of wine and lean back in my chair, because yes, I can be childish. "Sorry for trying to get you to open up and to smile and not be so boring. Obviously, you like being a stump on a log."

Heath looks at her, "If you didn't wander off and be so careless, you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. I watched you for a week, you hated your job and anything that requires not holding a martini glass in your hand. Prove I am wrong and see how serious this whole thing is, you want me to open up...their it is."

My hand twitches toward my glass. I want to toss the wine in his face. But then I'm shaking and my eyes are burning and welling up with tears. I refuse to cry.

"My job, not that it's any of your business, is just a start to something bigger," I spit. "I go, and I do it, and I'm good at it. And I like to party. And at least I don't treat everyone like they're something I just scraped off my shoe."

Well, not everyone. But I digress.

"We're stuck together, and all you can do is demean me or act like you couldn't care less, and I'm trying to make this whole thing suck a little less, and there you go, spouting out shit like you know me!"

My voice breaks at the end of my little tirade, my heart wrenching as if I've just found out how much Heath seems to hate me, and suddenly it's like I'm sitting with an ex instead of a guard. That's what I get for trying to socialize. He really hates everything about me. There's nothing good he can see anywhere. Does anybody look at me and see good? God, I'm a joke. I always have been. I've got truckloads of money and no redeeming qualities. Not that I ever cared so much before what anyone thought.

I push away from the table and skirt my gaze away, giving myself enough time to dab at my cheek. I'm actually crying over this asswad. Trying to keep my voice level, I burn my glare into the floor. "Screw you, Heath. This whole thing. I can't."