“Are you okay?” I asked, my hand cupping her chin, scanning her for injuries.
She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “I’m okay, thanks to you.”
We made our way out of the bar, the night air hitting us like a shock. I kept her close, my senses on high alert until we were safely back in the car. The drive back was silent, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving a heavy quiet in its aftermath. I couldn’t stop replaying the incident in my mind, the what-ifs and close calls.
Once we arrived at her house, Salt turned to me, her expression one of gratitude and something else – a realization of the real danger her life carried.
“Komante, tonight... I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, her voice soft.
“You don’t need to thank me, Salt. It’s my job.”
But it was more than that, and we both knew it. I was turning into more than her bodyguard. Neither of us could deny the small touches, the glances that lasted a little longer than they should have, the way I watched over her, the jealousy that took over my body when another man was near her. I saw it, I felt it and I know she did also.
“Stop saying everything is your job. I know you and I feel something. Something we shouldn’t. You do more than protect me. You love me, probably more than anyone else in my life has,” she screamed. I was taken back by the words coming from her mouth.
“Salt go to bed, you been drinking.”
“Well I’ve been keeping something from you.” My brows raised as I made eye contact with her. She toggled from foot to foot. I stepped a little closer.
“And what’s that Salt?”