Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

But he lets out, “Back to what you said before about physical prowess…”

“Yeah?” I cock my head, wondering where this is going.

“I don’t have a nasty uppercut.” He tries to smile, but it levels-out again. Is he nervous? “To tell you the truth, I don’t have any kind of uppercut. I’ve never been in a fight or punched anyone before…” He trails off at the sight of my grin. He smiles back. “You knew.”

“I figured you’d hug it out before punching it out.” Not a surprise.

Jack massages his hand, still seeming uncertain or…again, nervous. Maybe, though, he’s still just in a war with fatigue. “So your parents don’t care that you went to Yale?”

“My mom brags to family and friends, but they bragged harder when I was a pro-boxer.” I add, “And they let my brother skip school all the fucking time for fights.” I shrug. “My siblings never really cared about an education the way that I did. So I went to Yale, and they both ended up in the ring.”

Jack leans forward again, arms on his thighs. He always sits like a jock holding a football between his spread knees. Only instead of a football, he’s usually gripping a camera.

You’re way too into him, Oliveira.

Yeah.

I should go to bed too, but this feels like the most comfortable place to be. Awake, talking to him.

“I don’t understand why Quinn followed you,” Jack says. “To security, I mean. If he was so good at boxing, why not stay?”

I shake my head. “All he’s ever really said is that he wanted something different. He knew security work existed, so he left boxing behind. Our dad would’ve fucking blown a gasket, but Jo was and is really good. She’s the new protégé.” I push some curls off my forehead. “My biggest pet peeve with Quinn is that he didn’t even look at colleges. This career takes more than it gives, and there’s so many other paths he could’ve taken.”

Jack rubs his tired eyes. “I get what that’s like. Jesse wants to follow my path and do camera work—photography, mainly, but I guess it’s a bit different from your situation.” He explains, “My brother wants to go to college. My alma mater.”

University of Pennsylvania, located in Philly. “Were your parents happy about you going to UPenn?”

“I just call it Penn,” he says with a smile. “And no. Not at all. It was all the way across the country. My mama and dad kept saying, why not Standford? Jesse begged me to stay in California, but I liked Penn’s swim team.” His lips downturn. “I broke his heart that day. But it got better the more I FaceTimed and called.”

“Can relate,” I nod. “On some level, I guess. My brother hated when I went to Connecticut for college.” Here we are eighteen/nineteen and our brothers are just little eight/nine-year-olds, and we’re tearing away from them. Jack went through that too. “I think he felt like I wouldn’t ever come back to Philly. Like I’d never see him again.” I shake my head at myself. “I didn’t do a good job staying in touch. I barely ever saw my family while I was at Yale, barely ever came home. But I always told myself I’d end up with them anyway, so the four years would go by and we’d be together again.” I meet his eyes. “You know I studied sports medicine with the idea that I’d come home and help boxers my dad trains—like my brother and sister. I’d help them after bad blows and intense trainings. Ice baths, stretches, PT.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jack says softly. “How come that changed?”

I scrape a hand over my tensed, unshaven jaw. “Once I graduated, I started realizing that I didn’t want a full-time career around boxing. My family trains at Akara’s gym, and Akara is the one who introduced me to security work. So I ended up here. And eventually, I did try to be with Quinn more. I tried to train him in boxing while I was a bodyguard. To reconnect. But it went down like a grenade. I don’t think he ever got over me leaving.” My muscles strain. “Looks like you’re What To Do and I’m What Not To Do when it comes to college and little brothers.”

“No,” Jack tells me. “I just got dealt a different set of cards, Oscar. Probably the easier set.”

I’m not quite sure that’s true. But I ingest Highland’s sunny outlook anyway. Our conversation has roused him awake more, and I feel badly about fucking with his beauty sleep.

I go to stand. “You should get some rest.” Once on my feet, I press a hand to his broad shoulder to ease him back against the leather couch.

He grabs my forearm with one hand, and we both go still, our breaths heavying. Our eyes descending and exploring.