Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

“Faith” by George Michael.

He instantly laughs. Jack snaps his fingers and joins me in hallway karaoke. He sings, “baby,” against my mouth, and our lips meet in playful passion.

We’re smiling in a deeper kiss, our chests welded, legs threaded, hands roaming—it’s a perfect moment, one for the Oscar Oliveira history books.

I almost wish he’d have his camera out.

Film us.

Our genuine feel-good love.

It’s worthy of the spotlight. He’s not background. Neither am I. And we should be the favorite ship online. Fans should be making cupcakes with our mother-effing names and hoisting up posters that say, Oscar & Jack for All Time.

All time.

Not for a short time, not a long time. But for all fucking time.

That’s going to be us. If we can get through the tough parts. I’d bet on it.

Before Jack goes, he stops midway in the hall. He twirls a pen between his fingers, something he does absentmindedly. “I have to tell you something.”

I watch him walk back to me. “You have my attention.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but—”

And then my radio buzzes. I’m off-duty today, but I kept comms on. The earpiece dangles on my shoulder, radio chatter echoing in the hall.

“Quinn to Akara.” My brother’s voice freezes my blood. “Luna is heading to the Hell’s Kitchen apartment. She’s spending the night with Tom and Eliot. I’m requesting permission to sleep at a hotel.”

At a hotel.

Jack frowns.

The alternative is for Quinn to stay in my studio. SFO is supposed to crash here when their clients end up at the Cobalt brothers’ apartment. Akara and the rest of Omega already okayed Joana living here, knowing there’ll be less space for times like this.

Akara answers, “That’s not protocol. You need to stay at the security apartment in the same building as Luna.”

I wait for Quinn to argue, but a second later, he just says, “Fine.”

I understand what Akara is doing. If Quinn and I can’t work together like any other guy on the team, then we shouldn’t be here. But our fight is so fresh, and I see my brother trying not to start shit. I don’t want tonight to ruin our progress on day one.

“If Quinn is sleeping here, I might go somewhere else for the night,” I tell Jack and explain my feelings.

“You can stay with me, but you’d be 2-hours from Charlie if something happens.”

That is a risk.

Before I figure out my plans, I ask, “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal.” His uneasiness says otherwise, but I don’t want to prod past comfort. He’s been dealing with so much shit, and if I can be one less thorn, then I’m going to be that silky smooth petal for him.

Didn’t think I’d end up here tonight. I’m on the pull-out couch of SFO’s Philly apartment. The one located three-floors below Farrow’s penthouse. And I’m with Jack. He’s under the thin sheet next to me, barely able to sleep on the uneven springs.

How we ended up here is classic what-the-fuckery. It began with a text.

Since Quinnie is staying at your place, you think it’s against policy to rent out his room for the night? – Donnelly

I was driving to Philly when I got that text. I talked into my phone. “Bro, why do you need to rent the room? Send.”

Because it’s an empty room. What if I rent out the couch too? Thoughts? – Donnelly

My thought was, he’s nearing broke.

I told him that I knew someone who’d rent out the couch. He didn’t ask for a name. Just an email address so he could send an invoice to the “couch renter”—and since Donnelly knows my email, I reached out to my boyfriend.

Jack sent the money to Donnelly. And when we showed up to crash on the couch tonight, he was pissed in the way that Donnelly gets pissed at friends.

He sighed really hard. And then he let it go. He even offered Jack a beer.

Standing ovation for my ingenuity.

We should be sleeping easy knowing Donnelly has some money, at least. But the pull-out couch is uncomfortable, and we end up whispering most of the night.

“When was the exact moment?” Jack murmurs, lying on our sides. My arm is draped around his waist, and I listen to him clarify, “Where you were like, yeah, I’m into him. I could fuck that guy.”

I grin. “I was thinking more like, I could hit that.”

“When?” His smile inches up.

“The same day you joined the FanCon tour. It was that night after everyone finally left the hotel room in LA.” Crowd control was terrible. The Hot Bodyguard video just leaked. My life was upending for a moment, and there came Jack Highland with a bag of supplies to get everyone through.

His levity was a breath of fresh air on a suffocating day. And he started flirting with me. Like really flirting with me that night.