Summary
When I was 19, I hired a bodyguard.
He was ruthless, didn’t talk much, and could take all my teasing without batting an eye.
Every one of my flirtatious moves fell flat with him.
One night, he grabbed my misbehaving hand and said coldly, “You better fucking behave.”
After that, even my friends tried to talk me down: “Why are you wasting your energy fighting with a block of wood?”
Fine, I fired him.
I never expected to run into him again at 25.
He was sitting in a crowd, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and mumbled to me:
“Come here.”
“Sit on big brother’s lap.”
Teehee
OOUUUUU HEHEHEHEHEHEEEE