Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

He pulls his black shirt over his head, his tattoos and cut muscles in full view, but it’s his unabashed, casual confidence that almost strokes my cock.

Almost.

I can contain a hard-on.

Farrow climbs off the stool and stands in front of Thatcher. “Wherever you can find space to write fuck you, Farrow, go ahead.”

Thatcher uncaps the pen. Without a word, he writes I promise to follow the rules near his collarbone.

Farrow just rolls his eyes, and then he tucks his shirt in his back pocket. Returning to the stool beside me.

Another roll, and Thatcher is fucked on the bet. He loses his second dice. “Truth,” he reads, “how hot do you find your client—no, this is inappropriate, Oscar.”

“I can explain,” Oscar says in a professional tone. “I meant for Akara to pick that.”

Akara shakes his head repeatedly. “No.”

Donnelly lights another cigarette. “On a scale of one to ten, Thatch, how hot is Jane Cobalt?”

“It’s Thatcher,” he corrects Donnelly.

This isn’t that bad. Janie would be beyond fucking curious just to hear the answer. And I’d tell her in a heartbeat.

“I’m not answering this,” Thatcher says adamantly.

“To the surprise of no one,” Farrow declares and then motions for another round to start. When Akara loses next, his dare says to call the 5th contact in his phone and propose to them.

His fifth contact is Banks Moretti, and he has Thatcher’s twin brother on the line in less than a minute. “Banks?” Akara says, phone cupped to his mouth.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds identical to Thatcher’s.

“Hey, you know I love you, man.”

“Uh, yeah?”

Thatcher starts smiling, maybe for the first time all night. I know that look. I’ve worn it before. That’s his family, his home, and it shows.

Akara sips his whiskey. “And you’re my number five, my ride-or-die guy—”

“Alright, now you’re full of shit.”

“Will you marry me, Banks Moretti—”

“Goodnight, SFO.” Banks figures out that Akara is on speakerphone. He hangs up, and Thatcher loses his third dice. Out of the game.

He picks his last truth or dare. “Truth, when’s the last time you jacked off?” He finishes off his whiskey. “Three hours ago.”

“Hotel pit stops are saving us all,” Oscar says and refills his little brother’s whiskey glass.

Farrow, Akara, Oscar, and I only have one dice apiece. Last one left with a dice wins and doesn’t have to do a third truth or dare, and honestly, I want to win.

I play conservatively, but Farrow loses. He sticks his hand in the hat. “Hoping for a dare.” He pulls one out. “Perfect. Dare.” His smile is out of this goddamn world as he reads, “Fake an orgasm at the table.”

Wait. What.

21

MAXIMOFF HALE

Farrow tosses the napkin, not flinching or hesitating. Not for a fucking second. He stands and white-knuckles the edge of the table, and then inhales through his nose like he nears a peak. Holy shit.

Shirtless, his abs noticeably tighten. He bucks his hips into the table a fraction like he’s caught mid-thrust.

I flex, my muscles scorching hot.

Farrow grits down, then mock groans, “Fuuuuck.” His head lolls back; his eyes flutter like he’s experiencing mind-numbing, euphoric pleasure.

A brutal noise rumbles in his throat, struggling to break free. He narrows his gaze, eyes partially rolling back, and then suddenly, he sets them on me.

He starts smiling.

Like he caught me jacking off.

I glare. Trying not to show that I’m turned on like a damn broiler.

“You need a second?” he teases.

More than a fucking second. A solid, hard half hour. I play it cool. “To drink some water, hydrate, and maybe nap, read a book, plan my trip to the fucking moon, yeah. Give me a second.”

They all laugh.

Farrow smiles. “Always a precious smartass.”

I give him a middle finger, and he catches my hand as he returns to his seat and tells the table, “That’s how it’s done, boys.”

Donnelly and Oscar throw napkins at him, and Donnelly says, “Here, wipe yourself up.”

Farrow ignores them, still grinning at me.

Only two rounds left. One winner. We roll, and Akara makes a bad bet. He reads the napkin. “Truth, who is your celebrity crush—” His phone rings on the table.

Everyone goes quiet.

He gingerly picks up his phone and puts it to his ear, cigarette between his fingers. “What’s up? You feel alright?”

I can’t hear the other end, but Oscar mouths the word Sulli to the table.

“We did agree on that,” he says, lips lifting. He stacks a tower of dice. “Tomorrow. Bright fucking early. That’s what you said.” He smiles more. “You forgot. I know you forgot…okay, yeah…I’ll be there. Bye.” He hangs up. “That was—”

“Your celebrity crush,” Oscar says.

I go rigid. Naturally, I want to look out for Sulli. That’s my cousin who I’ve known way longer than any of these guys.

Maybe Akara can tell because he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t listen to Oscar.”

“He doesn’t like buddy-guards,” Farrow tells me.

“Too close for comfort,” Oscar gives his reason.

Akara ignores him. “My celebrity crush is Alicia Vikander from Tomb Raider.”

“I’d bang her,” Donnelly says.

“And she wouldn’t let you,” Farrow adds.

I laugh, and Thatcher hones in on Akara. All business. “What was that about?”

“She woke up and thought she forgot to tell me that she planned to hit the hotel gym at six.” Akara searches the peanut bowl, but most are eaten. “Beckett’s coming along.”

“Cool,” Donnelly says.

Sometimes I wonder when they all sleep, but I’ve seen them nap whenever they can. Used to bizarre sleep schedules.

A malfunctioning timer beeps on my watch. I turn it off and look up at Akara. “You know I told Sulli to text Jack Highland?” I suggested that she contact Jack for interview pointers. I thought it’d help calm her nerves since Jack has experience with fans and media as an executive producer on We Are Calloway.

Akara breaks apart a peanut shell into tiny pieces. “You did?”

“Yeah,” I say, not able to read his expression. “What’s your issue with him? Pretty much everyone likes Jack.”

Akara brushes the shells off the table. “This is the first person that Sulli seems to trust enough to be friends with…and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

I nod, feeling the same. Maybe not about Jack specifically but just protecting Sulli from anyone new in her life. In my cousins’ lives. Partly, it’s why Beckett has his guards up with Farrow. We all feel the need to vet the people that come into our trust circle.

From experience, outsiders are the ones that fuck us over the most.

“We should’ve ordered food,” Akara mutters.

“Oscar has food in his hotel room,” Donnelly says.

Oscar swigs his whiskey. “If you’re talking about the cookies, they’re gone. I let the crew have the tin for two seconds, and they ate all of them.”

Everyone groans.

“Audrey’s cookies?” I’m guessing. I heard that my youngest cousin mailed homemade cookies to the hotel. Just for Oscar.

“Yeah…it’s…you know, she’s young.” He finishes off his whiskey, almost wincing. She’s twelve and putting him in a weird spot. I’m starting to think she’s going a bit overboard since he works for our families.

And he’s thirty. I have no fucking clue why she can’t crush on a kid around her age.

“I’m sorry, man.” I rub my jaw. “I can try talking to Audrey.”

“Don’t. I wouldn’t want to break the girl’s heart,” he says. “It’ll pass.”

Farrow nods. ?

??When she’s prescribed glasses.”

Oscar chucks the peanut bowl, but it sails towards me. I grab the bowl midair before Farrow reaches over, and he glares at Oscar, shaking his head.

“Just hitting you where it hurts,” Oscar tells him. “Go for Redford’s boyfriend, and you awake the—”

“Fuck you,” Farrow says easily and hurls the bowl back like a Frisbee.

It knocks over Quinn’s glass and shatters on the floor.

“Shit,” Farrow curses.

“Party foul.” Donnelly stands and tosses down some napkins on the glass.

Akara mentions taking care of the spill and broken glass later, and we’re only one hand away from finishing the game.

Oscar and I face off with a dice-roll, and a bet—fuck.

Me.

Oscar grins and passes the baseball hat to me after my loss. “Last one, bro.”

I dig in the hat and grab a truth or dare. “Dare,” I say aloud, “read the last dirty text you sent.” A dying groan is strangled between my ribs. Before anyone else can react, two guys around my age slip into the bar and their eyes widen at me.

Spotted.