C'est possible....

"So did you get into that apartment?"

I winced and sipped my cider.  "I was approved save for one thing.  Unfortunately, that one thing happens to be the bill from Tristan's psychotic meltdown in Spokane."  With a shake of my head, I sighed and took another sip.  "I scrubbed and scrubbed those walls, every inch of that place, and I still got slapped with a $2,200 bill."

Michael took a swig of his beer.  "Should have called a professional," he said with a knowing wink.

"Yeah.  We were in Spokane," I replied.

"Like I said.  You should have called a professional."

I scoffed.  "You were in Iowa!  How could-"

And then it hit me.  Like a pallet of bricks to the chest, it hit me.  I stared at Michael over my glass, mouth open, eyes unbelieving yet calculating.  He gazed back at me, his own eyes filling in the blanks before he looked away.  I could barely find my voice.  "You were in Spokane?"  I whispered.

Michael took another swig of his beer, raised his brow in that playful "you know it" twitch, and slid out of the booth to go do who knows what else.  Mainly, just to get away from my onslaught of unspoken questions.  After a while I saw him head outside so I followed him, determined to get at least one answer out of him.

"How could you have been in Spokane?"  I tried to fit the pieces together in my mind while listening to his at the same time.  "You were-"

He turned his head to me just enough so I could see that look.  The look that says, "You know exactly how. It's hilarious you're asking."

What raced through my mind wasn't so much a list of questions as it was a list of scenes.  Images of Tristan's madness taking over, of his hand around my throat, of being slammed into the wall, of prying bloodied knives from his hands while begging him to listen to me through the haze.  "Do you have any idea....how could....why would anyone do that to me?!?" I was so....confused I didn't know what to say.

Michael turned to look at me head-on and gave me a wry smile.  "It wasn't about what we were doing to you."  It's what we were doing for you.....

The look on his face told me I had heard the whispered thought correctly, and then that my immediate assumption was correct.

Tristan's not the only one with bodyguards.

I just now decided to scan through my Facebook and eh, why not, see if Michael uploaded anything new.  There's a new-ish photo of him carrying two svelte young ladies in bikinis, one on each arm (and I literally mean on, they're sitting on his biceps while he carries them around) and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.  Then I realized no one is looking at me right now so I rolled them anyways.  Oh, Michael.  Michael, Michael, Michael.  Genius, warrior, guardian, playboy.  I constantly remind myself of that last little attribute so I don't let the other three drag me into his seductive web.

Images race unbidden through my mind.  Fingers tugging clothes....tongues tangling in a flurry of lips against lips....naked limbs entwined on the concrete.....bathed in moonlight.....gasps, moans, whispers.....

Drag you into his seductive web? My inner conscience scoffs.  Honey, you dived into that web with a smile.  Nay, a grin.  

My mental foot swiftly kicks my inner conscience in the shins.  We don't need to go into that.  So what if I had a tryst with a sexy young man who may possibly be my guardian (or one of)?  It's not like we're "together" or anything.  Heck, I haven't seen him in over a week.  Because you've forced yourself to stay away.

Shaddup, you.