Iris
Time hurried up and slowed down.The days I spent away from Ronan dragged unless I was with the boys writing music, while the hours I was with him flew by. He wasn’t my bodyguard anymore, so I couldn’t claim all his time. My jealousy rose when he acted as extra security for a socialite visiting from Italy for a week, but I managed to work through it in the bedroom. And he reassured me in his own way when he growledmealain my ear as he took me hard.
Adam and I were walking home after a run. We’d stopped for boba, which probably canceled out the calories we’d burned exercising, but to hell with it. I worked out so I could eat and drink.
“You seeing the bodyguard today?” he asked.
“Of course.” I sipped my tea and chewed on the boba pearl I’d sucked up.
“That’s a real thing, huh?”
I rolled my eyes at him. Adam was a fuckboy through and through. I doubted he’d ever settle down. The concept seemed to confuse him. Roddy and Hope were practically married, and Adam still seemed surprised every time he saw them together.
“Yep.” I popped the P. “It’s a real thing.”
“How does that even work?”
I snorted. “Well, darling, when a boy likes a girl, he puts his cock—”
He slapped my ass. “Shut up. I meant how does it work when he’s full-time bodyguarding someone else like he did with you? Will you even see him?”
“I don’t know yet. He doesn’t take long-term jobs, so it probably won’t be an issue.” I shoved his arm, and he stumbled sideways. “Don’t touch my ass.”
He held up his boba like a shield. “A slap isn’t a touch.”
I cocked a brow. “Would you do that in front of Ronan?”
His smile slowly fell away, and he shook his head hard. “No. I’m picking up what you’re putting down. Ass touching is inappropriate.”
“Yes. That’s a pretty good rule for any woman you’re not currently fucking, Adam.”
He pushed me, sending me a couple feet across the sidewalk. “I don’t touch random women, Iris. Jesus. I’m a tool, not a perv.”
We were laughing as we approached my townhouse, and Adam followed me up the steps, coming in to work on a song with me.
An eight by ten piece of paper was taped to the door, my name scrawled in red ink in the middle. I reached for it, but Adam knocked my hand away.
I scowled at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “Fingerprints? Aren’t you not supposed to touch a crime scene?”
“How do you know it’s a crime scene?” I grabbed the paper and pulled it off my door before he could stop me. The other side contained a printout of a black-and-white photograph. Two people were sleeping, curled up in each other’s arms.
“Iris,” Adam hissed from over my shoulder, “give it to me.”
But my fingers were clenching too hard to let it go, even though I wished I’d never seen it. Even in grainy black and white, Ronan and I were easily identifiable. Someone had taken a picture of us through my bedroom window while we’d been sleeping.
The word “whore” was scratched on top of my head in the same red ink my name had been written in. This sick person had sullied a sweet moment. They’d invaded my privacy and my home once again.
Adam took the picture from me and pulled me into his arms, squeezing me tight against his chest. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
Sniffling, I nodded and gave him my keys. My hands were shaking too hard to even begin to try to unlock my own door.
Once we were inside, Adam locked the doors while I wandered into the kitchen. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. I didn’t really know what to think or how I should have felt, so I just...didn’t. My legs went as numb as my brain, and I stumbled into the counter, clutching it to keep me upright.
Adam rushed in, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and taking me into the living room to sit on the couch. I tucked my feet under me and stared at the paper Adam had left on the coffee table. He murmured something about calling Ronan, but my blood was roaring in my head too loudly for me to think, let alone respond.
The words didn’t matter. They never had. Hell, one of my favorite T-shirts said “whore” on the front. It was the utter invasion of privacy that tore me apart. I couldn’t even fall asleep in my boyfriend’s arms without being worried someone would take that as an opportunity to watch me like a damn monkey in a zoo.