Tangled Like Us (Like Us 4)

“You’re more like a D-minus, wolf scout.”

His face falls blank. “Thank you for that inaccurate grading scale.”

“Anytime.”

Maximoff groans in the back of his throat, and Jane turns more to me, stepping nearer. Only a few feet away now.

She skims my black button-down and the gold horns that are back around my neck. And then we lock eyes for a hot beat.

“Thatcher,” she says like we missed our routine greeting. “It’s good to see you. Um…you look well.” Confidence bleeds through her breezy voice, despite the pause.

Heat gathers in my fucking lungs.

Instantly, I remember yesterday—I remember her breathless noise against my mouth, my hands gripping her firmly against my strong build, and her soft thighs wrapped around my waist, clinging tighter and tighter.

Wanting more.

Aching.

And I couldn’t satiate her full desire and my fucking hunger. Good thing. It’s a good thing I didn’t overstep, but for some reason, it’s tearing me up.

Come on.

I put a hand to my radio and remember why the hell I exist here in the first place.

Her safety. “Jane…” I want to tell her she looks good too, but I should just get to the point. “You have an announcement.”

“Right, yes.” She arches her shoulders in preparation for the big reveal.

Maximoff and Farrow concentrate solely on her.

“So,” she says, “you three are the most important people in my life right now. My best friend.” She waves to Maximoff. “My best friend’s fiancé.” She waves to Farrow. “And my bodyguard—bold-hyphenation fake boyfriend.” She smiles at me.

“Bold-hyphenation,” Farrow repeats with raised brows. “Shit, what’s next, eighteen point font and parentheses?”

Jane rocks on the tips of her toes. “Funny, but no, there is simply just bold-hyphenation happening.” Her lips fall into a serious line, and all humor dies.

What’s this about?

“My announcement,” she continues, “is that I’ve chosen a career. I may be a passionless human being, but I will no longer be aimless.”

This is a big deal.

Whether or not she likes this job, she’ll throw herself into it with as much drive as she thinks she has to possess. Just in order to live up to the Cobalt name.

It’s a lot of pressure.

Jane looks to Maximoff. “You remember how those publishers have been contacting me since college?”

Publishers. My mind immediately jumps to celebrity tell-alls. But I can’t see her doing that, especially not as a job.

Maximoff is as rigid as a brick wall. Nothing out of the ordinary. “What publishers? There were tons, Janie.”

“The ones with the fiction imprints,” she answers, and then looks to me and Farrow. “They’ve requested that I narrate a few of their novels for audio. And I’ve finally accepted.” She continues briskly like she’s nervous about our reactions. “Celebrity narrators are very popular, and since my little sister adores romance, I figured that I’d kill two birds with one stone. Make her immensely happy by narrating her favorite genre and have a steady job.” She claps her hands. “Any questions?”

Security issues: there aren’t many. It’s not a career that’ll put her safety at risk. “Where will you record the audio?” I ask.

“There isn’t enough space in the townhouse to set up any kind of recording booth, so I’ll have to go into a studio.”

Maximoff frowns. “I thought most celebrities narrate classics and children’s books?”

“They do. But I was offered romance.” To me, Jane adds, “And, when I’m not recording, we can do things that normal couples do or whatever security has planned for us.”

Do not have sex with Jane Cobalt.

I nod, about to reply, but Maximoff interjects, “We need to talk alone.” He’s staring right at me.

I don’t hesitate. “Alright.”

“Right now.” He’s already putting away the straight razor.

“Moffy,” Jane warns. “I thought we just said—”

“This isn’t a wedge,” Maximoff cuts in quickly, wiping off his jaw. “I just need to clear some things up with Thatcher.”

I have no fucking idea what he’s going to ask.

Farrow frowns, also confused, and Maximoff sends his fiancé a look that says, I’ll tell you later.

He nods, accepting.

I back out of the bathroom. “Where do you want me?” I ask him but I check on Jane. Half a reflex, half a—who am I fucking kidding ; it’s mostly a desire. She’s whispering with Farrow.

“My room.”

* * *

We stand in the middle of his hot attic bedroom. Warm lights wrapped around the ceiling rafters, and as he clenches his jaw, his cheekbones like knives.

I’m prepared for hell from Maximoff.

If he still wants to punch me because I punched Farrow—I’d open my arms and let him. Hundred times over. He can even throw kicks in.

But something in my gut says that’s not where we’re headed.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago.” Maximoff carries himself like he’s my age or older, even though he’s five years younger. “But out of respect for Farrow, I didn’t get into it with you. Now that you’re about to become a significant part of Jane’s life, I need you to tell me something.”

I nod, not breaking eye contact.

“Farrow isn’t going to ask because he’ll tell you he doesn’t care, but I care about him and Jane. And having a clearer picture about who you are makes a difference to me.”

He’s giving me one of the biggest privileges and letting me—trusting me to exist in the center of his world among people he loves.

I have to honor that the best I can. “What do you need to know?” A huge part of me is worried my answers won’t be enough for Maximoff.

“Were you upset that Farrow was assigned to my mom?”

He’s going that far back. I rub my tensed jaw, thinking. “At the time, I thought my brother was a better fit for Lily. Your mom is one of the hardest people to protect.” Because of the crowds , which Maximoff knows. She’s that popular in the media.

Farrow was fresh blood at the time. Brand new to security. I thought Lily needed someone with more experience.

Maximoff gestures to my chest. “So it upset you when Farrow got her detail and not Banks?”

I can’t shake my head. Because he’s not wrong. “If my brother is frustrated that he lost out on something he was preparing for, I’m going to be irritated and frustrated too. I’m on his side—I can’t change that, but we try not to let our feelings affect the team.”

He listens closely.

I push myself to add, “I thought Farrow was a good match for your mom. It didn’t take long to see that.”

Maximoff un-balls his fists to crack his knuckles. “Farrow’s first day in security. You made him run a 19k in the Poconos Mountains in the damn dark. Alone.” Anger flares in his green eyes. “Yet, that same day you gave Donnelly a pancake breakfast. Why single Farrow out?”

This , I should’ve expected. But it’s a blip in my mind.

“I wasn’t singling him out,” I say, honest about this. About everything. “It’ll take me longer

than a second to explain.”

“You’re in luck. I have a millennium.”

I’ve never had to draw this picture of the team for anyone. But I’m about to try. “When we’re training new hires, we’re trying to build them into a bodyguard. It’s not about reading a textbook and doing a few jumping jacks. It’s more than that.”

Maximoff seems open to what I’m saying.

I pause for only a short beat. “The situations you and your family are in are so abnormal , and in training, we’re preparing fresh blood for this new norm. To react quickly and efficiently when confronted by hecklers and amassing crowds. To be alert when mentally fatigued. To follow protocol and orders on instinct. And only the leads are aware that the first day on the job is actually the final day of training. It’s a test.”

“A test for what?” Maximoff asks.

“To see how well they can follow orders. And to make sure they’re not here for fame and access to your family. If they complain or push back, we don’t let them through.”

Maximoff knows this isn’t security at a music festival. It’s 24/7, high-level close protection to American royalty. Some of us might be young, some of us might act like friends, but we’re on more than we’re off.

Vigilant, always.

“It’s not for the weak-willed,” I tell him.

His shoulders square. “That doesn’t explain the 19k versus a pancake breakfast.” He scrunches his face. “Were you just going easy on Donnelly?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I observed some of Donnelly and Farrow’s training, and it was clear to all the leads that those two were tight. To the point where Donnelly would probably slit his own fucking throat for his friend.” I lift my shoulders. “But one was from my side of town and had no issues taking orders. The other was Farrow.”

Maximoff thinks hard, brows cinched. Processing.

I keep going. “I knew if I asked Donnelly to run a 19k, he’d do it backwards, blindfolded, crawling on the fucking ground. The hardest thing for him isn’t physical or mental exertion in harsh conditions—it’s being told to sit down and eat celebratory pancakes knowing Farrow is about to go bust his ass in the pitch-black night.”