Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

Donnelly blows smoke into the air, and the bodyguards exchange cagey glances that I can’t fucking read. They must come to a verdict because he speaks and no one stops him. “Heard about Eliot and been discussing whether it’s real or rumor. Figured you’d know.”

I know about that incident thanks to a hundred texts at midnight, and Luna, Eliot, and Tom FaceTimed me together. “What’d you guys hear?”

Oscar cracks a peanut and pops it in his mouth. “I heard he got a week suspension.”

“For messing with some guy’s Porsche,” Quinn chimes in and pours whiskey in an empty glass.

Donnelly sticks his cigarette in his mouth and mumbles, “If someone fucked with my Porsche, I’d have him by the nuts.”

Farrow chews his gum with a growing smile. “You know we’ve left reality when Donnelly thinks he has a Porsche.”

Everyone laughs, including me, and the mood lightens, Omega starting to relax around me.

Donnelly nods to me. “Real or rumor?”

“Real,” I say. “You hear what he did to the Porsche?” Farrow knows. I already told him.

“Nah, no one’s said yet.”

I think about how this won’t ever reach the public. You’ll never hear about Eliot’s suspension thanks to the Cobalt’s lawyers, but I’m betting security will find out tomorrow morning.

And SFO is about to find out by me tonight.

“In red paint,” I tell them, “he wrote ‘the most unkindest cut of all’ on the windshield.” I shake my head a few times, conflicted. I wish I could defend my eighteen-year-old cousin, but he vandalized another guy’s car. Eliot is a Cobalt, innately passionate. I swear he can never do anything half-heartedly.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Quinn asks. “The most unkindest…what?”

“Should’ve gone to college, little bro.” Oscar throws back a whiskey shot.

Quinn scowls. “Maximoff didn’t go to college—”

“He’s a billionaire. He didn’t need to go to college.” Oscar outstretches his arm. “If you quit boxing, you should’ve gotten a degree, not followed me into securi—”

“Guys, be cool,” Akara interjects. This isn’t the first time the Oliveira brothers have argued on tour. At least they never get physical like Charlie and me.

Quinn clenches his jaw and screws the cap on the whiskey bottle.

“It’s a quote from Julius Caesar,” I explain. “You know Tom was with Eliot?”

Donnelly smirks. “My Cobalt children, slayin’ together.”

Thatcher shakes his head. “Let’s not advocate vandalism, especially among the teenagers.”

“Advocado-what?” Donnelly pretends to be dumb.

I laugh with some of them, and Farrow eyes me a bit, his smile stretching.

“How’d Tom get out of trouble?” Akara asks me.

“Eliot just took all the blame for them.” I pause, their heads turning to the entrance. Vigilant as a middle-aged woman peeks in the bar and pops out. I hear her tell a friend that it looks empty in there, and their footsteps fade away.

Not spotted. For once.

Their attention fixing on me again, I finish, “The whole thing was Eliot’s idea anyway.”

Oscar digs through the peanut shells. “Why’d they do it?”

I decide to be vague, the whole truth too personal. “The guy was messing with my sister.”

Luna clued Tom and Eliot in on the pregnancy scare, and they said the guy she slept with was spending his holiday break telling his friends that Luna Hale is a slut.

I wish I could’ve teleported to Philly.

So I could do something. Be there for her. I don’t know if she told our mom and dad yet. And I honestly can’t tell you what I would’ve done if I were the same age as Luna, in school at the same time—would I’ve reacted similar or worse than Eliot? I don’t know.

The bodyguards nod. Not pressing for more details. I bet they can sense when I’m being reserved.

Quinn slides a newly filled glass to Farrow, but Thatcher steals the drink midway across the table.

Farrow rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to drink it, Mom.” He slides off the stool and walks backwards to the empty bar. “What do you want, wolf scout?”

I think about how that’s stealing—fuck, he can totally tell I’m considering all the rules. His smile widens, and I swear “so pure” is on the edge of his tongue.

I lick my lips. “I’m good.”

He chews slowly. “Even if I leave cash behind?”

“I can get it—”

“I’m already here.” He’s behind the bar and opens the fridge below the counter. “Water?” he asks me.

I take out my wallet. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He’s buying me a drink. A bottled water since I don’t drink alcohol, but still, my boyfriend is buying me a drink. I thought I’d make that move first and buy him one.

I’m kind of shocked, and I wonder if the bodyguards can tell this is new for me or a first or the fact that it means something. Because it does. These little things mean more to me than I ever thought possible.

I never even dreamed about falling in love until I fell in love with him.

As I face the table, Quinn asks Akara, “Why can’t Farrow drink? I thought we’re off-duty…oh, damn, right.” He glances at me.

I get it. Since I’m not safely tucked into bed, Farrow is at work. On-duty. But if he wanted to drink, he wouldn’t have invited me here.

I unzip my jacket, getting hot.

Oscar leans back on the stool and calls out, “I’ll take a Corona, Redford.”

“Nice choice, get it yourself.”

Donnelly joins in, “Make me a bloody one.”

Oscar says, “Changed my mind, I’ll take a Blue Moon with an orange slice.”

“Still don’t care.” Farrow shuts the fridge and raises his brows at me like what’d I tell you about them? Truthfully, it seems like they’re his closest friends.

He returns with a bottled water and Lightning Bolt! energy drink. “What are we playing?” Farrow positions his stool nearer to mine before he sits down. His thigh right up against my thigh.

My hand slides on his knee, and I grab my water with the other.

Our eyes lock for a second. I wish I could sling my arm around his shoulders. But I can’t.

We can’t.

We’re in a public setting, and a stranger isn’t catching us at 3-something-a.m. in Chicago.

“Liar’s dice,” Thatcher says and gently sips his whiskey.

“How do you play?” I ask.

Oscar explains the rules. It sounds simple. Every round 1 person loses a dice, and you’re out of the game when you have no dice in your hand.

The crux of the game: when you lose a dice, you have to choose a truth or dare. They already wrote a bunch of truths and dares on shreds of napkins. All of which are randomly mixed together in Akara’s baseball hat.

Stakes seem higher for me than for them, but I trust SFO. So I’m game.

“Hey, everyone.” Akara drums his fingers on his whiskey glass. “Maximoff should be able to skip any dares or truths that he wants—”

“No,” I cut in. I was afraid of being too domineering again, too stiff and stringent and they’d treat me more like their employer, but I can’t be passive here. “I can play the game like you guys.”

Akara shifts on his stool. “You sure? You can skip anything I wrote down. You should, really. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Oscar hooks an arm around the co-Omega lead’s shoulders. “Akara strongly suggests and recommends it.”

Alright, they all have some sort of knowledge that I don’t, and before I even ask Farrow, he pops his gum and says, “Kitsuwon plays dirty.”

And by dirty, he means sex questions. Got it.

Akara holds my gaze. “I would’ve gone easier with the truths for you.”

I can’t expect these guys to treat me like I’m one of them if I need half the truths and dares remo

ved. I said I wanted all-in on Farrow’s world, and I’m going all-fucking-in.

So I say, “I’m glad you didn’t know I’d be here then.”

Akara smiles and raises his glass in cheers, and the first round of the game starts. Dice hits the table, we make bets, and Thatcher loses one dice first.

“Oohh,” the table erupts.

Thatcher takes the hat, not saying a damn thing. Being around him on tour, I’ve noticed that if he’s not discussing work, he’s quiet. Brooding. He unfurls the shred of napkin.

“Truth,” he reads. “Strangest place you’ve ever had sex?” One sip of whiskey, he answers, “Back of a Walmart outside.” He crumples the napkin.

Oscar and Akara rib him for choosing Walmart, and he just nods.

Dice in hand, we roll again. More bets and swigs of whiskey, water and Lightning Bolt! and Quinn loses the round.

“Get it, Quinnie,” Donnelly jokes as Akara jostles the baseball hat to the youngest bodyguard. Quinn digs his hand in the napkin shreds.