Bodyguard University: I Hate Loving You

Slashing Hearts

Tying the strings of his sweatpants, I surveyed the room. The only furniture to sleep on was his bed. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"The floor," Porsche said, gesturing to the spot he cleared next to his bed.

Oh, fuck no.

That poor floor probably hadn't seen a vacuum in three years. There was no way I was sleeping there. Not to mention that my back couldn't handle hard surfaces. After spending sleepless nights on the floor for two years in high school, I vowed to never lay my head on any floor again.

I shook my head adamantly. "No way. I need something to support my back." I massaged my lower back, reminded of the achiness from years ago.

Porsche tossed a fluffy pillow at my feet. "Here, use this," he suggested.

I looked at him incredulously. That pillow couldn't even support a baby. "Seriously?"

Porsche nodded and flipped the light off, allowing darkness to absorb his space of exposure.

He crawled into his bed and snuggled underneath his furry blankets, cozying his face towards his wall.

I didn't care what Porsche said. I sank into the empty space on his mattress and shrugged the covers on. Porsche swiftly rotated to me with his huffy face.

"What the f-"

"I'm not sleeping on the floor," I interrupted.

Porsche weakly shoved me. "You're not sleeping here."

"You're the one that invited me to stay with you," I pointed out.

After my run in with the T brothers, Porsche offered me protection in his dorm room until I'd sorted out my drama with them. I only accepted his offer because he was drunk, and I didn't want him throwing up alone in his room. He could've choked and died or something. Plus, spending more time with him would give me many opportunities to have my way with him.

Porsche couldn't argue with that. Releasing a large sigh, he laid on his back. I followed his lead. We stared at the crusty ceiling, my hands resting on my stomach. The room was filled with an unnerving silence. There was something that needed to be said, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

"You sure like to party," I said randomly.

It was oddly pleasant seeing Porsche loosen up his tight asshole. He always put on such a front that he was this untouchable bodyguard. His heart never allowed for a moment of vulnerability. It was nice to watch him let go for a change.

"Please, I lasted thirty minutes," Porsche said, sounding regretful of his decision to drink that cup of vodka.

I chuckled. "You just suck at holding in your liquor."

"Give me a break. It was my first time." He didn't sound as defensive as I expected, even smiling along to my criticism.

That explains a lot.

"Damn, how much of a virgin are you?" I almost didn't want to know. Drinking was the first thing university students tried out when they escaped the confinements of their parents. I couldn't believe that it had taken Porsche three years to take his soberness for a test drive.

"I'm not a fucking virgin," Porsche snapped.

"I don't believe you," I said, slightly laughing. I was almost certain that Porsche's cherry hadn't been popped. He was too unfamiliar.

"It's not your business, anyway," Porsche said, glaring at the ceiling like it had offended him for not being black and filled with sparkling stars. My gaze wandered to his side of the room, attempting to imagine a full moon winking above us but only being able to visualize a crater.