Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)
Uncle Connor nods, understanding. “If you ever change your mind”—he rises to stand—“I’m always here.”
I thank him again, and he walks off towards the saloon. Eighteen-year-old Tom and Eliot jump out from behind the mini bar, trying to scare him, and their dad just blinks at them. Unfazed.
I try to spot Farrow through the glass doors. But I don’t see him.
Suddenly, water splashes behind me. Wetting my paperback.
I feel his hands on my waist and his chin on my shoulder. His chest presses up against my back, and I try to restrain a smile.
But I fail as soon as he places a kiss on the side of my neck. “You’re tense, wolf scout,” he breathes, kneading my muscles with the heel of his palm. Goddamn.
My waist knocks into the pool wall, my blood hot. Craning my head over my shoulder, I catch the amusement in his eyes. His bleach-white hair looks darker wet, and beads of water roll down the light stubble on his jaw and inked wings on his neck.
His barbell piercing rises at me with his brown brows. But his smile fades fast. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“You and Rowin.”
He cringes, but he doesn’t drop his hands. “Not my favorite phrase. Let’s actually remove it from your lexicon.”
“You work together,” I remind him. “You’re going to be around him, and my trust level with strangers has about plummeted to negative-infinity.”
He nods slowly, and his hands work their magic on my traps, gentle on my bad shoulder. Whatever he’s doing feels too damn good.
I add, “You shouldn’t be around someone who’s made it clear they literally hate you. Not only is that a toxic work environment, but Christ, he could fucking hurt you.” I have more to say. So I abandon my paperback.
And I turn around completely. Facing him now, his hands fall off my back and clutch my waist beneath the water.
“I don’t trust him,” I continue while Farrow never breaks eye contact. “I know if I go to my parents and ask for him to be fired, it’s going to seem like I’m a jealous boyfriend. But after the villa, after you’ve been doxxed, I can’t watch you share space with that guy.”
Farrow waits for me to finish, still nonchalant. Like I just announced today’s forecast. “Done?”
I add one final thing, “But if you’re utterly against it, I’ll try not to do anything.” It’ll be hard.
“Okay, working with Rowin is irritating at most,” Farrow says. “He’s not going to murder me and throw me overboard. Plus, I’m stronger than him.”
“Great,” I say dryly.
He smiles. “But if this is something you need to do, I’m behind you. Always.”
That feels good.
I nod a few times. “After this trip, I’ll make it happen.” Getting Rowin fired while he’s on a free vacation in Greece seems callous for some reason.
My voice fades as one of my younger cousins races across the deck, darting past us and yelling, “Happy Birthday, Moffy!”
It brings me back to this morning. When Farrow gave me my birthday present. He bent down in front of me and rolled up the hem of my drawstring pants. Revealing the holster strapped to my ankle.
And Farrow pulled out my tactical knife.
When he stood up, he said, “Your present is on your ankle.”
I didn’t understand until I reached for my ankle and I realized he slipped a new knife in the holster. One that he bought in Mykonos. The wooden hilt is carved in intricate patterns.
He knew I loved it. And I didn’t conceal the fact that I did. I just kissed the fuck out of my boyfriend. And the delivery of the present got to me as much as the actual knife. No wrapping paper or bag.
Farrow Redford Keene’s movements were all over that birthday gift. My brain loves that to death. I replay the way he bent down and smiled up at me on repeat.
“Maximoff.” Farrow splashes water at my chest.
I wake up from a slight daydream, but he’s not teasing me about it. I follow his ultra-focused gaze across the main deck.
Fucking Christ no.
Gray hair pulled into a bun, string of pearls around a wrinkled neck, and a strawberry daiquiri in hand—nothing good can come from talking to my Grandmother Calloway.
She plays favorites with her four daughters. And that hierarchy directly affects me and my siblings and my cousins. I’ll give you the breakdown.
1. Rose Calloway – Jane’s mom
2. Poppy Calloway
3. Daisy Calloway – Sullivan’s mom
4. Lily Calloway – my mom is dead last. Always.
Before I make eye contact with Grandmother Calloway, I come up with a kindergarten idea. But if you knew my grandmother like I know her, you’d do the same.
I tell Farrow, “Under. Now. Hold your breath.” Quickly, I dip beneath the water, avoiding someone who should be avoided. At all costs.
It takes me a solid second to realize that Farrow isn’t coming down with me.
33
FARROW KEENE
Yeah, I’m not hiding from his grandmother.
She’s the definition of a crotchety old bat, and whatever she wants to say, she can say to my face.
Grandmother Calloway approaches and halts a few feet from the pool’s edge. Careful not to wet her bejeweled sandals. Her bony fingers skim the pearls at her neck. “Have you seen my grandson?” she asks me.
“He’s around here somewhere,” I say casually. Maximoff might be a swimmer, but he won’t be able to hold his breath forever.
She purses her lips, scrutinizing my tattoos and my brow, lip, nose, and nipple piercings, all with visible judgment. Nothing that I haven’t met before.
“Do you need something?” I ask in an easygoing tone. “Maybe I can help.”
Her fingers pause on her neckline, and she meets my gaze. “I think you’ve done enough.”
I let out a short laugh. For fuck’s sake. Should’ve expected that. But I’m a little shocked she had the nerve to say it directly to my face. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
Maximoff is tugging my bathing suit trunks underneath the water. Wanting me to dive down. I have to hold onto the waistband so he doesn’t pull them off. And fuck, I’m smiling.
Grandmother Calloway instantly sees my amusement as an affront. She bristles, her lips more compressed together than before. “My grandson had a bright philanthropic career ahead of him, and then you came along. His life would’ve been better-served with a…”
She falters at the sight of my cutting glare.
“…with someone else,” she finishes.
“No, he wouldn’t have,” I say plainly. “There is no one better for Maximoff than me.”
Maximoff suddenly
breaches the water, wiping water off his face.
His grandmother startles backwards. Shock parting her lips, and accusations lace her eyes. That’s when it dawns on me. Grandmother Calloway thinks that Maximoff was just blowing me in the pool.
I’m near laughter. Can’t make this shit up. Donnelly is going to be rolling on the floor when he hears.
“I should’ve known.” She’s trying to bite her tongue, but she spits out at Maximoff, “You’re just like your mother.”
My smile fades. I instinctively hold the back of his head. He’s stunned cold.
“Maximoff,” I whisper, wanting to draw him away from his grandmother.
He’s marble. Immovable. Cemented in place. “What’d you say?” Shock is seizing every part of him.
My hand falls to his left shoulder.
His grandmother shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You know I told her I’d raise you in my home. It would’ve been better. She’s admitted she has a problem, and that problem has obviously affected you—”
“You can’t say that to him,” I cut in, coldness frosting each word.
“He’s my grandson—”
“That’s his mother,” I retort. I love Lily Calloway, and she’s one of the closest things that I’ve had to a mom. So no, I won’t let this fucking old bat try to drag Lily or Lily’s son down.
She fumes and looks to her grandson. “Max?”
I roll my eyes. “Max” is the only socially-acceptable name to this blue-blooded aristocrat.
Maximoff unfreezes enough to speak. “I know you’ve had issues with my mom in the past. But I thought you two buried that a while ago.”
My chest caves. He’s more upset that what she said could potentially fracture his mom’s relationship with his grandmother. I squeeze his shoulder.
Grandmother Calloway stiffens like she’s never taken a shit in her life. “We’re at a good place, but there’s room for everyone to hear advice. Especially your mother. If she can’t hear it from family, how will she grow?”