Tangled Like Us (Like Us 4)

“Fifteen,” he answers, unflinchingly. “What about you?”

My brows bunch, fingers paused on a veil. “Don’t you know about me already?”

It’s not public information. But the boy had to sign an NDA, and my bodyguard at the time was around to protect me.

Our bodyguards are privy to stories and secrets that they’re supposed to safeguard. For most of my life, I had Mitchell, who’s now retired. I always believed he shared more stories with the team about me, which is allowed. So I just assumed all of security knew this one.

“I do know how old you were.” He holds my gaze tighter. “But I want to hear it from you.”

My lips rise. The act of sharing personal stories feels intimate. I’ve never really done this with anyone beyond the docuseries producers and family.

“I was fifteen when I lost my virginity,” I say aloud. “Same as you.” I can’t restrain a smile.

His carriage lifts in a headier breath.

“Did you enjoy your first time?” I ask.

“Hell yeah,” he nods a few times. “Did you?”

“I did, immensely, and I really love that you enjoyed your first too.” Feeling that there was happiness in his life makes me happy.

He checks slight movement on his right, orange streamers blowing as the air conditioning kicks on, and then he looks at me. “Your first time didn’t hurt?”

I inspect a pair of black wings in a fallen angel costume. “A little bit in the beginning, but then it felt better.” I turn more to him. “The overall experience was illuminating and exciting, and now sex is practically a favorite hobby.”

He nods. “Sex feels different with you though.”

We both tense at his admission. Treading carefully.

“Good different?” I pry a little deeper.

“Beyond fucking good, honey,” he answers, inhaling strongly like my scent does him in and we’re only a few feet apart.

Heat pricks my nerves, flush ascending my cheeks. He’s on-duty , I remind myself, and I’m respecting his position as my bodyguard from now until forever.

He shifts around me, standing closer to the emergency exit as someone pounds on the door from the outside.

I flinch at the noise.

Thatcher’s indomitable I will annihilate anyone who tries to harm you presence eases me considerably. Anyone who tries to hurt me will have to pass through his iron-will and brawn, and it won’t be an easy feat.

I hear a muffled, masculine voice. “It’s locked.” And then footsteps drift further away.

Thatcher turns to me. “It’s still safe here.”

I relax more, and he watches me examine the black angel wings. I manage to land on another question. “What were you like as a teenager?”

He’s a second from responding, but his phone rings. Security would communicate through comms, so I’m assuming this has to be his family in South Philly.

“Mannaggia,” he curses under his breath in Italian and digs for his phone in his pocket.

I asked him what the Italian-American word meant not long ago, and he said, Damn.

Thatcher narrows his gaze onto the phone screen. “Xander is calling me.” We share a look of confusion.

When Thatcher permanently transferred to my detail, I asked him repeatedly if he was positive, if he was comfortable, leaving Xander Hale: my fragile cousin, who Thatcher protected and saw grow up from nine-years-old to fourteen.

I love my cousins as if they were my sisters and brothers, and Xander needed Thatcher more than me. There was a giant place inside my heart that felt like I was stealing someone crucial and vital to Xander’s mental well-being and life.

Thatcher told me, “I need to leave Xander, and Banks is going to have to leave at some point soon too. And it’s going to be one of the hardest things we ever do.”

I didn’t understand at first, but he said, “It’ll be good for all three of us.” Thatcher explained that Xander relied on them to the point where he’d panic if they needed to take a day off and couldn’t be on his detail. If they needed to switch with a temp for an hour, he’d be more anxious and upset.

I think Thatcher felt like they made a mistake for five years in not helping Xander be more comfortable with other bodyguards. Becoming so dependent on them that only they could be his safety net—when they needed Xander to trust the entire team.

And so they had to help him move on.

Now Xander is calling him, and it’s a little out of the ordinary. Thatcher has been off his detail for almost a year, and if Xander calls anyone, it’s most likely he’ll dial his older brother’s number. Possibly he couldn’t reach Maximoff, but that’d mean something terrible is happening to my best friend.

Moffy is almost always reachable.

“Maximoff is still here?” I ask Thatcher before he answers the call.

“As far as I know,” Thatcher says. “But Farrow doesn’t always use comms if he changes locations.”

I wait to text Moffy.

Because there are more possibilities for the call. Xander could be hurt knowing that Thatcher never told him he was a Marine. His military service leaked recently, and Banks and Thatcher have had to assuage confusion and some stronger feelings in the team. All without answering a probing question as to why they didn’t enlist in the Navy and follow their father’s footsteps.

No one knows.

And I wouldn’t pry, but Farrow said the Navy guys were digging at the Moretti brothers during the meeting. Until Akara stepped in with harsher words.

Thatcher taps his phone screen.

“Thatcher?” Xander sounds a little out of breath.

“Hey, kid,” Thatcher says, concern lining his forehead. “Jane is here; you’re on speaker.”

“Bonjour, Xander,” I say brightly. “Is everything okay where you are?”

“Yeah…life’s going, I guess.” Xander pants some. “I’m at Uncle Ryke’s gym…hitting this bag, or trying to.” He pauses. “Thatcher, you know how I’ve been learning to box?”

He’s been working out with Moffy and Farrow more recently, and he’s taken more interest in boxing, so Farrow has been helping teach him.

“Yeah,” Thatcher says, eyes on me and our surroundings.

I plant a hand on my hip, staring at the phone.

“I asked Farrow if he thought it’d be cool if maybe…you, him, and Banks could train me or something. To actually fight in a ring. And I get that you don’t have a lot of off-duty time. It was just an idea I had…”

Thatcher is unblinking, thinking at rapid pace. I can practically see the gears shifting in his mind, and he cares about Xander. But he must be gauging how healthy it’ll be to reconnect in this way.

To give Thatcher more time to consider, I chime in, “What’d Farrow say?”

Xander catches his breath. “He said he’s up for it.”

I’m not so sure I understand what Thatcher and Farrow are at the moment other than co-workers. But they’ve been far more willing to share space together.

“Okay, I’m up for this too,” Thatcher suddenly agrees. “I’ll help you in the ring, but with Farrow.”

“Yeahyeah,” he says, a joyful smile in his voice. It swells my heart. “Thanks, man. Just text me when you’re free.”

“Sounds good. Take care of yourself, kid.”

Once they both hang up, Thatcher has a faraway look in his eye that he tries to extinguish. He blinks hard a few times, centering himself to the here and now. His muscles are taut, and he rubs his mouth with a rougher hand.

My curiosity has fallen to the wayside. Replaced by concern. “Can I do anything for you?” I whisper and hook the angel wings back onto the rack.

Skin wrinkles between his constricted eyes, staring at me like he’s looking directly into the brightest light.

I keep going. “Maybe I can help with whatever you need. I fully recognize we’re fake boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but I’m a terrific wingwoman. I can be your right-hand.”

His

lips almost tic upward. “I have no doubt you’d be great. But I’m your right-hand, honey. I’m your wingman.”

I smile a very overwhelming smile. “And you’ve been a superb wingman, but maybe my wingman needs a wingwoman from time to time, and I’m at your service.” I mime the tip of a top hat.

He’s more lost in my eyes than before. “If you want to be my wingwoman, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I stare up at him more curiously and prepare for impact. “I’m all ears.”

24

THATCHER MORETTI

I’m literally a half a second from telling Jane something I almost never talk about. To anyone. Barely even Banks.

Call it divine intervention or maybe the devil is laughing in my fucking face—but her phone rings and blows this one shot to hell.

Truth is, I’m not even close to upset. Because she’s my purpose. I want to be here for Jane more than anything; it’s my drive in life and I’m already squared away to push out.