Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

I know. Lily is endearing. I miss how she’d text me random shit about tortilla-shaped blankets and superhero memes. But she hasn’t messaged me since I broke her trust.

“Mine is Ryke Meadows,” Sana chimes in. “He’s such a DILF.”

Maximoff barely flinches, used to people fawning over his parents and uncles and aunts.

I restrain a laugh. “That’s great—”

“And I love all the Cobalts,” Sana adds, “except for Jane Cobalt.”

This took a bad turn. I tap the counter, tentative, and I’m about to interject. But she speaks quickly.

“She’s always seemed pretentious and just unmotivated. Everyone in her family has done something extraordinary, and she’s just…blah. If I was a Cobalt, I wouldn’t be wasting my potential like her.”

Shit.

Maximoff mouths, I can’t.

He can’t reveal himself now. He’d crush this girl.

I hold onto the key cards. I can’t let him go to a room without me.

Here’s some unspoken history catalogued only by security (not public): two men tried to jump Maximoff in a hotel hallway when he was fifteen. Unprovoked. His old bodyguard escorted him to safety, but that shit is why he’s stuck with me 24/7.

Izzy asks me again, “So who’s your favorite?”

“Maximoff Hale,” I say without pause.

His chest lifts in an aroused breath.

My smile is killing me. I rub my mouth a couple times.

“I love him,” Sana swoons.

Same.

“Well, I used to,” she sighs. “I don’t know. That article about him and Jane Cobalt made me feel…weird.”

Izzy nudges Sana’s arm. “It’s fake. Celebrity Crush already issued an apology, and so did three other tabloids who ran with the fake story. I think one of them is even getting sued.”

That’s the work of the Hale and Cobalt lawyers.

“It’s been entertaining,” I say casually, “but we need to grab our bags—”

“Thatcher to Farrow.” A strict voice blares through my earpiece that hangs on my shoulder. Audible to Maximoff and both girls. “Farrow, are you in the hotel with Maximoff—” I quickly decrease the radio volume, but not fast enough.

Shit.

“Oh…my God.” Sana has her hands to her mouth. Both girls stare intently at Maximoff’s back. “Is that…?” Tears flood her big eyes, upset. Because she knows he heard every negative thing she said. “I didn’t…I…”

I hang back, already knowing what he’ll do.

Maximoff hurriedly spins around, drops his hood, and raises a hand. “Hey, it’s alright, don’t cry, don’t cry.”

Sana bursts into a sob. “I didn’t mean…” Her knees buckle while she cries, and Izzy catches her coworker’s elbows. Maximoff sprints around the counter, and I follow close behind.

I fit my earpiece in, but I don’t worry about the volume yet. Instead, I take out my phone and tap into an electronic contract.

Maximoff crouches to Sana. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

She mumbles something about hurting Maximoff Hale and how Jane Cobalt is his best friend.

He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I’m okay. I’m okay. You don’t need to cry.” She’s still sobbing, and that’s affecting him.

He glances briefly at me, his chest constricted.

I squat next to him. “Sana, he’s smiling. He’s not upset.”

Izzy wipes her friend’s tears with her blazer sleeve. “He doesn’t look mad at all, Sana.”

She sniffs, but she stares at the carpet. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…”

“I know. I understand. It’s okay,” Maximoff says, and he asks if he can touch her. When she agrees, he rubs her arm in comfort.

As Sana gathers her emotions, we all stand.

He hugs the girl, then Izzy. And I describe the NDA in detail that they each need to sign. No photos posted online. No alerting the media that Maximoff and his family are here. After they sign the electronic contracts, Thatcher pushes through the revolving door.

Aimed for me.

We back away from the counter and stop him midway. I open my mouth, but he already cuts me off, “Turn up your radio volume.”

My jaw tics. “That wasn’t a priority—”

“It is,” he snaps, and then raises a leveled hand to Maximoff. “I’m sorry, but I need to talk to Farrow in private. It’s security—”

“He can hear,” I cut off Thatcher. “I don’t give a shit.” All three of us head towards the revolving doors, the two girls unable to hear us.

Thatcher towers over me, and I rest my shoulder blades on the wall, uncaring about the whole domineering tactic. He begins to scold me for not waking him up before we left the bus. Apparently that was a rule since he’s keeping an eye on Maximoff, too.

“Thatcher.” Maximoff draws his attention. “I told Farrow not to wake you up.”

“No he didn’t,” I tell Thatcher and shoot Maximoff a cold glare. He’s never lying to cover for me. I can’t be the reason the best parts of Maximoff change. Ever since we kissed in front of his parents, I promised myself to protect the good in him.

His honesty isn’t dying by my hand.

Thatcher’s strict gaze pings between me and my boyfriend before landing on me. “Try harder or there’ll be repercussions for every infraction.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes. “Sure.”

He leaves at that, and we’re left alone in the lobby, the girls disappeared in the back room. Maximoff adjusts his sunglasses. They’re hurting his nose.

“I’m fine.” He lowers his voice. “I guess it’s good to know people are still talking about the rumor.” His sarcasm is clear.

“It took her ten other comments, including calling your uncle a DILF before she even mentioned it,” I whisper. “I’d say that’s a success.”

“Yeah.” He nods, more assured. “I think the tour is going to help.”

“Me too.” I sweep his tensed build, stress weighing heavier on his shoulders. My muscles burn because I want to step nearer and wrap my arms around my boyfriend. And just hold him for a second.

Maximoff takes one foot forward, but he stops himself. Craving the same thing.

13

MAXIMOFF HALE

Finally in my hotel room with Farrow, I prep in the bathroom for something I haven’t tried since I was eighteen.

I’m a pro at sex. But being a bottom is new for me, and there’s a pretty good chance I’ll be a terrible lay.

I try to shelve any doubts and just focus on the fantasy. Of Farrow Redford Keene—a twenty-seven-year-old sexily tattooed guy—driving his cock into me.

I lick my lips. Goddamn, I crave that.

I exit the bathroom.

A champagne-colored comforter fits a king-sized bed. Nothing else in the modest-sized hotel room besides a desk, chair, dresser, and television.

Farrow winds the wire around his radio and tosses it on the chair. As soon as he turns, our gazes latch like magnets. We inhale the tension, built from constant, nonstop teasing on the bus. The air could snap.

My body says go, go, get him.

In a second, we both saunter forward and bridge the distance—our bodies collide, our mouths crush together. Instinctive and starved.

Holy fuck. I hunger for his touch, his love.

I breathe deeply into a kiss. Gripping his bleach-white hair in a tight fist.

Farrow cups my jaw, his masculine grip driving me closer. Nearer. Fuck me. We’re pushed up against each other. Muscle to muscle. Heart hammering against heart.

The corner of his mouth curves upward knowingly.

Newsflash: I’m more aggressive. In a powerful kiss, I walk him backwards into the hotel dresser.

“Fuck,” he curses, his gaze rakes my build like hot coals.

Closer, my body demands. Fucking closer. I grind forward. Our cocks confined behind the fabric of his pants and my jeans—they rub. Hot friction hard

ening us.

I pull off his leather jacket, and I yank off his black shirt over his head while he lifts off my sweatshirt and tee. Our mouths return like a firestorm. Wild, crazed. Never ceasing.

When my waist bucks against him, he curses huskily. His large hand drops to my throat, fuck me. His fingers add force, and he carefully chokes me. His eyes dance all over my face. “You like that?” he whispers into a kiss.

Fuck yes. Veins pulsate in my cock, and my eyes almost water in desire. More.

Fucking more.

I grip the dresser on either side of him, his back digging into the wood. So close, our foreheads nearly press together.

“Harder,” I order, breathless.

Farrow tightens his grip a fraction. Air lunges from my head, dizzying me—fuckyesfuckyes. My mouth parts, and he whispers in my ear, “You want it hard and rough?”

I could come to his voice, day and night.