Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

Lo doesn’t flinch. “Are you willing to watch out for my son’s well-being tonight?”

Maximoff covers his face with his hand, a second away from groaning.

“All nights,” I answer, trying not to laugh at my boyfriend’s distress more than anything. He’s making this easier on me.

“What are you two doing tonight?” Lo asks.

“Staying in,” I say easily and look to Maximoff.

He nods. “Maybe watch a movie. Farrow has never seen Batman Returns.”

“No DC at the table,” Lo snaps. “I swear to all living Marvel things, I grabbed the wrong child in the Home Goods store.” His eyes almost soften when tells me, “I lost him in the toilet section carrying around a plunger in aisle four.”

“I was three,” Maximoff explains to me. “I thought it was a sword.”

I smile picturing that, and this is one of those moments where I can feel Lo’s love for his son. I didn’t have that. It’s just a fact. But when I have kids, I want to give them that kind of unconditional, overwhelming attention and care.

Our waitress returns to take our orders, and after she leaves, Connor tells the table, “In other news, I was offered a condom sponsorship this morning.”

Ryke almost spits out his water. “You have seven fucking kids.”

“Royal sperm,” Lo quips.

“Don’t fucking encourage that,” Ryke says and points at Connor’s billion-dollar grin with a butter knife.

With more seriousness, Ryke asks Connor, “When’s the last fucking time you even used a condom?”

I don’t really want this information. At all. Listening to “uncles” and “dads” talk about sex is not my forte. I’m just not used to this shit.

Sex was never a topic of discussion unless it was an academic lecture about reproduction or ejaculation.

I learned about fucking from the internet or friends growing up. I didn’t have advice on lube from my uncles like Maximoff. I didn’t have “the talk” from my dad. No safe sex lecture. Because the old man assumed I was smart enough to know about STDs from the medical journals that I skimmed.

I glance at Maximoff who looks absolutely unfazed. I’ve always loved how close he is to his family, and I only want our relationship to bring him closer to them.

“Decades,” Connor answers the last time he’s used a condom.

“Are you taking the sponsorship offer?” Maximoff asks while an appetizer of string fries comes out on our table.

“I wouldn’t.” Connor swishes his wine. “It’d have a negative impact on the children if I advertised my face or name on a condom line.”

I’ve noticed that whenever they’re just with Maximoff or Jane, they always exclude those two from “the children” category.

I unscrew the mustard bottle.

Lo focuses on me. “Are you willing to show my son the same respect that I’ve raised him to show you?”

Maximoff makes a face. “Where the fuck are these questions coming from?”

I watch as Lo digs into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “Questions for the Overly Tattooed Boyfriend of My Perfect Son Dot Com.” He gives me an iconic dry smile. “I hate tattoos.”

“I know,” I say with a nod. “Good thing your son loves them.”

Connor and Ryke turn to Lo. Gauging his reaction. And Lo is narrowing his sharp-edged eyes at me, and very dryly, he says, “Does he?”

Maximoff pipes in, “I really fucking do.”

An amused smile breaks across my face. Fuck, I can’t believe he admitted that in front of me.

And Lo laughs, a real laugh, all before passing the questionnaire to his brother. Ryke reads the paper in silence.

“These are fucking terrible,” Ryke says, his gaze veering as our food parades over, and while we all dig into burgers and fries, we talk about the latest Fourth Degree movie, the Philadelphia Eagles, and how in July all three families have planned a trip to Greece.

But instead of Greece, we keep saying Tahiti in case anyone overhears. It’s the code name. That trip is approaching fast, and it spans over Maximoff’s birthday. It’s a vacation that I wasn’t supposed to be attending. Because I should’ve still been in a residency program.

Now that I’m out, I can go.

I notice Jack Highland setting his camera down towards the end. He speaks in Tagalog on his phone to someone. I hear the name Jesse. His little brother.

As we’re winding down eating, Connor asks me what’s one thing that surprised me the most about losing my privacy. The three of them reminded me that they were in their early twenties when they became famous after a scandal, and they knew what privacy felt like.

They weren’t born into fame like Maximoff.

I toss my napkin on my plate and lean back on my chair, considering his question for a half second before the answer reaches me.

I look between the three men across from me. “I consider my sexuality the fifth or sixth most interesting thing about me. Being gay isn’t all of who I am, but it’s definitely a big part.” I take a beat. “And I’d have to come out all the time. Whenever a girl hit on me, whenever I introduced a boyfriend, I’d have to say I’m gay over and over again.”

It wasn’t uncommon for most people to assume I was straight.

That’s changed.

“Being in a public relationship with Maximoff, broadcasted to the entire world, means that I don’t need to come out nearly as much anymore.” I start to smile with a laugh. “And that still surprises me.” It still kicks me in the chest.

Maximoff shares my smile for a second, and he nods to me like it’s a good feeling, huh? I prefer to live my truest self.

As terrifying as that can sound, there’s no freer feeling than being able to be me.

“Motherfuckers,” I swear behind the wheel of the Audi.

Paparazzi bang on the car windows so we’ll roll them down. The rapping fists on glass need to stop. We haven’t left the restaurant’s graveled parking lot yet. Maximoff’s dad and uncles inch ahead of us in a Land Cruiser, and security is behind us in another SUV.

Add on these other facts: lunch ran late, the sun has fallen, and each camera flash sears like a strobe light.

“MAXIMOFF!! FARROW!!!”

I slam on the horn. “MOVE!” I shout without rolling down the window.

Maximoff yells at paparazzi, “You’re going to get run over!!” He gestures them to get the fuck out, but they just crowd closer. Standing in front of the hood with hefty cameras.

It all goes to hell when the Land Cruiser finds an exit and veers onto the street. All the paparazzi that’d been crowding their vehicle suddenly rush ours.

“One of us should get out,” Maximoff says.

I assess him in a quick sweep. He’s been death-gripping his leg, and I know he wants to be in control in this situation. But he has no license. “Hold on. I’ll be able to reach the street.”

It takes a long second, but the tires meet the curb before I’m blocked in again. Hoards of cameramen put their own safety at risk. They are standing on the road.

Fuck.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maximoff growls, squinting at the harsh glare. He yells at them through the windshield. “You’re going to kill yourself!!”

Flashes burst d

irectly through my passenger window, and my aviators aren’t shielding the light. “I’m rolling down my window,” I warn Maximoff.

As the window rolls, the noise level amplifies, and I scream, “Move! Get the fuck out! You’re not allowed to do this!”

“FARROW!! MAXIMOFF!! Look here!!”

A cameraman puts the lens to the windshield and Maximoff almost loses it. He unsnaps his seatbelt.

“Stop.” I extend my arm over his chest. “You’re not fighting these bastards—”

Maximoff suddenly reaches across my body and shoves the fuck out of a camera that inched into the car. A camera that almost hit me in the face.

I roll up the window, my pulse thrashing because Maximoff is in serious pain. He stretched his right arm. Used strength on his right arm. Right shoulder. “Maximoff,” I say tensely, lifting my aviators to my head.

“I’m alright.” He shuts his eyes, breathing through his nose and leaning back against his seat. “I’m going to puke.”

I reach back and find a workout towel on the floor. I toss it to him, and he throws up between his legs. Into the cloth.

The cameras go wild. Banging the glass. I keep a hand on Maximoff’s back, and I check through the rear windshield. I can barely spot security’s SUV through the masses.

Instinct tugs at my body to jump out of the car. Create a path. But also keep him safe.

Keep Maximoff safe. I need security’s help. I’ve been in that SUV before, and sometimes paparazzi will purposefully cage bodyguards and try to jam doors. Just so they can’t reach their clients.

Bruno should be widening a path for us to drive. If I could crack a guess, I’d say he’s being trapped in the SUV.

I put a hand on the wheel. I’m about to drive more aggressively and whoever I lightly hit, I hit. Before I press the gas, water drips on the windshield. I hear ping.

Ping, ping.

I smell rain on metal, and I feel gravel…

Shit.

This is a steering wheel. A leather steering wheel. I grip harder. Fucking pissed. Out of all times this could be happening, a storm has to rip through the sky now.

“Farrow,” Maximoff calls out, breathing hard through physical pain. He sees the rain cascade onto the windshield.

“Wolf scout…” I hear the crush of metal. My pulse spikes into a cutting breath. Slowly, I reach out for my boyfriend, and his hand is in mine. I bring his large palm to my face. He clutches tighter.