Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

Janie raises her drink to me in cheers and encouragement. “On se voit dans une solide minute.” See you in a solid minute.

I wave goodbye, and I weave through sprawled bodies on picnic blankets, the click-click of flash bulbs barely registering. I’m too used to the sound of cameras. Declan, my bodyguard, materializes out of thin air, already on his feet and in front of me.

“Moffy!” Tom catches my ankle before I pass, Luna and Eliot slouched beside him. “Can you get me peanut butter cups?”

“And more popcorn,” Luna adds, one eye still shut.

“Yeah.” I glance to the tents, where my mom waits in line at the cotton candy stand. Farrow is speaking to fans before they reach her. I focus back on my sister and cousins. “Anything else?”

They all want root beer floats.

Nothing too complicated, so I take mental notes.

As I walk past the blanket with the four youngest girls (Audrey, Kinney, Winona, and Vada), I place a loving hand on each of their heads.

“Stay here,” they all plead and talk to me at once.

“I’ll be right back.” But I linger a second longer. Crouching down next to Kinney. “Hey, birthday girl.”

“Hey.” She wears a blasé, unconcerned expression while watching Hocus Pocus. Pictures of her goth outfit—laced sleeves, black hat, combat boots, and choker necklace—are already all over the internet.

“You want anything to eat?”

“The souls of my enemies,” she deadpans.

I smile. “I’ll work on that.” I miss being home.

She shrugs, turning more towards me. “Then a candy apple. No nuts.”

“Got it.” I take more orders, the list piling.

Ben and Xander seem satisfied over on their blanket. They share a tub of kettle corn, and my younger brother might as well have dressed up as a mummy. To hide from paparazzi and you. Because right now he’s shrouded behind dark sunglasses, a baseball cap, and hoodie.

At least he came out to celebrate Kinney’s birthday. Our sister already warned him that if he didn’t show, she’d etch “turd hole” on his tombstone.

After the pit stops, I trek down a grassy slope to concessions. The cotton candy line is slow-moving. My dad has joined my mom, and they haven’t reached the front yet. Currently a few teenagers are snapping selfies with them while their bodyguards loiter close.

Farrow observes the fan interaction, and I eye the skulls, pirates, ships, swallows, and more ink that decorates his lean-cut and sculpted MMA-build. Half a skull peeks out of his black V-neck, his whole being screaming I’m too cool for school. From gorgeous tattooed wings on his neck, to his nose and lip piercing, and bleach-white hair.

He looks like a Grade A rebel and rule breaker. Unlike me and my faded jeans, hiking boots and plain gray crewneck, which molds my muscles from swimming. His stance is even casual and relaxed—like this job is the easiest in the world.

And I know it can’t be that easy. On my way home, Declan got an elbow to the eye outside the airport. His face is still bruised.

My stride is unwavering. Firm, and in less than a minute, Farrow locks eyes with me. He assesses me in a quick sweep, and his smile stretches.

He knows I’m coming towards him.

I mean, I’m not hiding the fact, but Christ, that widening smile—the one that reaches cheek-to-cheek and is too teasing, too confident—it bugs the hell out of me.

I scowl into a glare, only five feet away, and I bypass his spot, sensing his gaze attached to me as I round his body. I decide to stand in the line right beside him where people wait for hand-dipped candy apples. The sweet scent permeates around me, and the movie is more muffled over here.

All I want is to look at Farrow. But in the same breath, I want to give him a hard time. To make him squirm like he’s easily making me feel…something.

I turn my head.

Our eyes catch again, and I gesture to the candy apple tent. “I’m getting food for my family.”

Farrow raises his brows. “I didn’t ask.” He’s an asshole, and I must be weird because I like that he’s not fawning all over me.

He smiles more, and the back of my neck heats. It’s rare that I feel my age, but I feel nineteen around him.

Maybe that’s a good thing…

“Great,” I say dryly. “I didn’t tell you shit then.”

Farrow glances at my mom. He’s doing his job—and it’s strange. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s a bodyguard. He tilts his head back to me. “You definitely said something, wolf scout.”

“Not a lot.” My voice is tough with that endnote.

He rolls his eyes into a short laugh.

Talking to my childhood crush is starting to erase a quarter of my brain. Where all the food orders exist. I need to write this down.

I pat my pockets for my phone. Fuck. I left my cell with Janie.