Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

He gives me a slow-burning once-over. “You want me to?”

I lift a shoulder. “Sort of.”

“Sort of,” he repeats with a laugh. “I ‘sort of’ want to stay too.” He uses air quotes and then rests a hand on my waist. “If that’s okay—”

“Yeah,” I say way too fast. Goddammit.

He grins like I just orgasmed from his hand. He lifts his brows in a teasing wave, and my eyes betray me and growl out a, kiss me, man.

He sucks in a breath. “Can’t, wolf scout. Sorry.” He’s being serious, by the way. Farrow has been drinking tonight, and he’s respectful of my sobriety.

“Can’t what?” My brows knot, and I play hard to get and back off. I dance with my brother as a new song plays.

Farrow rolls his eyes, but don’t let my bodyguard fool you. His gaze is super-glued to me. Omega bodyguards and my family all end up moving to the beat and clapping together.

And I realize SFO might be considered “off-duty” but they’re all in protection mode. Even as they dance, they create this perimeter around me and my sister, brother, and cousins.

I stay close to Xander while we bob to the music, and a throng of incoming girls bounces towards Xander, about to shimmy up against him. Effortlessly, Donnelly sideslips behind Xander, and like he’s wing-manning my brother, he dances with the girls and uses the rhythm to guide them away from our area.

It’s not just that one instance or even just Donnelly.

The coy, almost unseen protection happens around us with other SFO bodyguards and my family—and this is one of the many times that I’m just really damn happy they’re here.

They don’t have to care about us.

They don’t even have to shield us right now. Their friend is one of the grooms. Easily, they could be shit-faced plastered, and I wouldn’t fault them. But they’re choosing this. To keep us safe.

Luna does a “grocery checkout” dance move. I look down and wish I hadn’t.

I cringe at Farrow. And I’m rigid, more protective of my sister.

He frowns.

I lean into him and say, “I just saw my sister’s thong.”

He laughs hard, amusement behind his brown eyes.

Her thong sticks out of low-rise jeans. Pants seem hot in the humid Florida summer. That’s what I’m thinking about, just to wash the image from my brain. I know the jeans are purposeful. She hasn’t shown off her tattoo yet, in fear of our dad’s reaction.

“Slut!” a guy yells at my sister.

My eyes narrow.

Farrow holds my hand, as though to say, easy, wolf scout.

“You wanna slut, come get me!” Donnelly shouts back.

Luna grins.

“Moffy.” Sulli touches my other wrist, heat and hurt blazing in her green eyes. Her squared jaw set tight, bearing down on emotion.

Fuck. I go on total lockdown. “What happened?”

She’s near tears of rage and pain, and I need off the dancefloor so I can hear her. I turn back towards my brother and sister, and Farrow already leans in and says, “Quinn and Donnelly are watching them.”

“Are you staying back?” I question.

His lip lifts. “He forgot already.” He clasps my jaw and whispers against my ear, “You’re mine to take care of, wolf scout.”

“Right.” I nod. He’s been in positions lately where he’s had to prioritize my family above me, and I guess it slipped that he’s my 24/7 detail and required to follow me everywhere. “Still haven’t forgotten you’re my bodyguard. Can’t forget.”

His eyes burrow into me. “That’s not what I meant.”

Time stops, and the moment crashes into me like a tidal wave.

Husband.

He’s going to be my husband.

I inhale strongly, our exchange a snapshot—so fast but it’ll last forever. I have to move. As I clasp Sulli’s hand and guide my cousin to the bar, Farrow trails next to us, and Banks and Akara aren’t that far behind. They all keep their distance.

Seeing how upset Sulli is.

Respecting her privacy.

Temp bodyguards surround the bar, and Sulli white-knuckles the hanging rope to a swing, a phone in her other fist. Only one theory unspools in my brain.

Someone hurt her.

Someone hurt Sulli.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“No.”

Breath solidifies like cement blocks in my lungs. My face hardens, stoic—I rest a hand on her broad shoulder, and I’m about to speak but our heads swerve.

Beckett approaches, a bright-orange drink in his hand.

“Oh no, you’re not fucking coming over here right now.” Sulli looks offended by his presence. Right before Scotland, Sulli learned about Beckett’s cocaine use, and their close friendship fractured.

According to Charlie, Beckett has kept his word and hasn’t touched cocaine. I’m really proud of my cousin for not using drugs since the trip.

Beckett pauses a foot away. “You looked upset. I just wanted to make sure you’re—”

“I’m fine,” Sulli says heatedly. “I’m fucking fine.”

Their friendship has not been repaired. And I hate that it’s been this ripped apart. But Beckett said some cutting stuff to Sulli that can’t be taken back that fast.