Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

“Hidey ho.” Luna hops off the last stair into the living room. “Uh, I mean hi.” She raises a hand in a hesitant wave.

Luna.

“You covered your ink?” Donnelly mimes to his forearm where lyrics to “Dreams” by The Cranberries should be. The black ink is concealed with flesh-toned makeup. Hiding her tattoos is new. The plain dress, pin-straight ponytail, and simple makeup has been happening for weeks now.

“Yeah, yeah.” She comes over and sits on the loveseat.

I raise my brows at her. “Why do you keep looking less like yourself and more like everyone else?”

She shrugs. Glances at Donnelly, then back to me, and tells us, “Andrew says it’s easier.”

Easier for him.

“Luna, fuck this fucker,” I say, grinding my gum beneath my molars. Maximoff has been afraid that her new boyfriend is the cause of Luna changing, and in four words, his fear has been confirmed.

“This guy wants a basic bitch. Go let him date a basic bitch,” Donnelly says while he finishes my ink. “Don’t turn into one.”

Luna watches the tattoo machine, lost in thought. “He’s not all bad. He gives okay head.”

I pop another bubble. “Okay head sounds like bad head.”

Donnelly wipes my skin clean. “If you’re just lookin’ to be eaten out, I’ll eat you out—”

“Hey,” Maximoff cuts in on the bottom stair, eyes narrowed. His dark hair is wet from a shower, but he’s already dressed: jeans and a green crew-neck. “What the fuck, Donnelly?”

He shuts off his machine. “I like eating pussy.”

Maximoff looks at him like he lost his mind. “That’s my sister.”

Luna falls supine on the loveseat in a groan.

Donnelly packs his ink. “I think you’ve embarrassed your sister, man.”

Maximoff looks whiplashed, and I can’t stop smiling. I stand up, pants unzipped and unbuttoned. My tattoo just needs bandaged.

The second he sees the new ink on my lower back, he zeroes in. Fixated. Completely forgetting about Donnelly and his sister. Now I know how to capture 100% of his attention. He even draws near me, dazed.

My smile stretches. “You’re drooling.”

“I’m glaring.”

He’s a human heart-eye emoji.

Donnelly tattooed a wolf with a pirate eye-patch, and two letters are inked on the patch.

WS.

Maximoff reaches me, and I rotate to face him so his gaze lifts to mine. And he tells me, “You broke one of your only rules.”

My rule: never get ink that relates to a boyfriend.

My only exception stands in front of me. Either he hasn’t figured that out yet or he’s still coming mentally to the fact. “Take it easy, wolf scout,” I say. “It’s not like I tattooed your name on my ass.”

He makes a face. “You sure you haven’t?”

I chew my gum even slower. “Damn, he wants to see my ass.”

He groans, annoyed that I fucked with his humor.

I laugh hard, and his hand instinctively finds my hand. He doesn’t realize he’s given in that easily, and he almost pulls back. I hold tighter.

And I’m here for this. I’m not stuck in a hospital. I’m not meeting up with him later just to meet-up with his dad. Fuck, I treasure these moments so completely, but the unknown definitely lies ahead of us. I’d rather not crash and burn, but recently, crashing seems to be the name of some game I’m playing.

“Where do you see yourself in twenty years?” That’s the first thing his overprotective dad says to me at this casual burger joint—and we haven’t ordered food yet. I’m actually in the process of taking a seat next to Maximoff, scraping the chair back.

“We just got here,” Maximoff cuts in with a glare.

“Huh, I had no idea.” Lo drills his sharp-edged eyes onto me. “Where do you see yourself in twenty years?”

Maximoff shoots me an apologetic look.

To be honest, I’m slightly intimidated. Mostly because I’d love to leave good impressions on them—better than I have in the past—but I can’t be anyone other than me.

Connor Cobalt, Ryke Meadows, and Loren Hale have already claimed the other side of the wooden table. Three larger-than-life men. Each one had a profound impact on Maximoff, and it’s always clear to me when I speak to them just how great their influence was and still is to this day.

Hell, I see them as different sides of my boyfriend:

Connor is mental. He taught Maximoff intelligence, emotional restraint and confidence.

Lo is emotional, the sarcastic, loving and empathetic pieces of him.

And then Ryke is physical, all determination and stubbornness and unshakeable strength.

I lower down in my seat. “Honestly, I’m not much of a planner.”

Maximoff almost smiles. He likes that answer. And he extends his arm over my shoulders.

“No life plans?” Connor arches a brow.

The heat of their gazes is hotter than any camera. I tilt my head. “If by life plans, you mean goals, then sure. You can’t be a doctor without setting some,” I say casually.

“Are you always this vague?” Connor asks me.

“Good question, love,” Lo says and motions for me to answer.

Maximoff mouths something to Ryke, and that prompts Ryke to throw a wadded napkin at Connor, who easily leans back and dodges the affront.

“Excuse the Rottweiler,” Connor tells me. “Continue.”

Ryke rolls his eyes and buries his attention in a menu. He mouths, sorry, Mof. I’m a little bit surprised that Ryke Meadows isn’t going hard on me like the other two.

Then again, I helped his daughter in the car crash. And I’m not a bodyguard anymore, and that was his biggest qualm with me dating Maximoff.

“Am I always this vague?” I repeat their question, one that I’ve never met this directly. “With anyone who isn’t in my bed, yeah. I tend to be less forthcoming.”

Ryke looks up from a plastic menu. “Who else is in your fucking bed?”

“Just your nephew.”

Maximoff is currently pinching his eyes like he’s wishing this were one of his little alternate universes.

Lo leans forward and asks, “What is it about my son that made you want to spend time with him?”

“Dad,” Maximoff growls, his neck flushing.

My smile is killing me.

“Let Farrow answer the question, bud,” Lo says while he eagle-eyes me to death.

Just like that, my smile fades, and my eyes flit briefly to Jack Highland who films our table with another producer of We Are Calloway. We’re in a private section of the burger joint. Photos of old rock bands hang on the green-leafed wallpaper, but I can feel the presence of a camera.

“Any portion of this can be edited out,” Connor tells me, perceptive of my body language, “and none has to be aired.”

I agreed to be a part of the docuseries. Anything that brings me closer to Maximoff and his family, I want to do, and plus, since my life is very fucking public, there’s more to gain and less to lose with We Are Calloway. It’s a highbrow award-winning docuseries, aired on a premium cable channel.

“Noted,” I nod, and Jack flashes a charming “you’re doing great” smile behind the camera. I shake my head, and I ball up the paper to a straw.

“Remember my question?” Lo asks me.

“Farrow remembers everything,” Maximoff interjects and then groans at himself. He swings his head to me and rakes a hand through his brown hair. “I didn’t mean it in a good way.”

“I think you did,” I tease.

He plasters on a decent scowl, and that’s when a twenty-something waitress brings out a tray of ice waters. I lean back in my chair and wave her to come here.

“Can you get us a baggie of ice?” I ask since my boyfriend put more stress on his muscle earlier when he wrenched the car door open. I’ve noticed how he’s shut his eyes in longer beats. Wincing.

“Of course,” she says

. “Anything else?”

“A coffin,” Maximoff interjects. “For my immediate death.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not dying, but he is dramatic.”

The waitress chuckles before leaving the table, and I turn to Maximoff. He’s looking really deeply into me.

My chest falls in a heavier breath, and fuck it…I kiss him. Our mouths meet, softly and tenderly, and I feel his lips rise beneath mine.

He likes that. And so do I.

When we ease back, I drop my arm to his chair. Maximoff still holds my shoulders in an assured embrace.

And Lo is waiting for me to answer.

“Dad, don’t make him answer that question,” Maximoff cuts in.