Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

“More like one water wing.” He lifts a foot on the bench, knee bent. “The Cobalts are definitely too much; the second those cards came out, I would’ve trashed them.”

Farrow might be used to going rouge, but I’m more battle-tested to withstand fucked-up rules. To push through them rather than go around.

I grab another fucked radio from the box. “That’s why I’m dating a Cobalt and you aren’t.”

“No shit.” He smiles.

The corner of my mouth upturns, and we swig beer at the same time. When we look over at Jane and Maximoff, we notice they’re already watching us, their expressions thunderstruck and curious: mouths gaping, eyes cinched, question marks dangling over their heads.

It’s fucking comical.

“He’s too precious.” Farrow grins at him.

Maximoff scowls and flips him off.

It’s strange that my brother is thousands of miles away, Akara is icing me out, and the bodyguard I’m closest to in Scotland is Farrow Redford Keene.

That isn’t lost on me.

But I’m nowhere as shocked as Jane or Maximoff. I almost forget they’re five years younger than us and famous and not trusting of most people. Other friendships outside their families, especially bodyguards and our rifts, are uncharted lands—and it sparks Jane’s curiosity like ten thousand Roman candles.

She bows forward, knuckles to chin, and eyes shimmering.

I swig my beer. I could be in South Philly this Christmas, left to wonder what the fuck is happening to my girlfriend. Instead I’m here. Knowing Jane is safe.

Keeping her safe.

Sharing in this experience with her.

Can’t ask for more.

As the poker game dies down, Oscar and Donnelly come over and test the waters with me.

Oscar upnods. “If you need pointers, Moretti, we have a professional dick pic photographer on the team.” He squeezes Donnelly’s shoulder.

“Straight up.” Donnelly slips a ballpoint pen behind his ear. “I can make your five-inch wiener look like a foot-long.”

I’ve seen every dick on SFO. Just like they have. Comes with quick-changes on-duty. But this, right here, is the first instance they’ve felt comfortable enough to rib me about my nine-inch cock.

Maybe they realize I won’t reprimand them.

Oscar grins. “Donnelly, if he’s five-inches, you’re a centimeter.”

“Give me a tape measure, man.”

Farrow swallows beer and stands. “I was trying to get away from you fuckers.” He always acts like the three of them aren’t tight, but they spent years at an Ivy League together.

The Yale boys are about as solid a friendship as lifelong ride-or-dies.

Donnelly takes his seat next to me, and Farrow ends up staying, his boot on the bench and forearm to his thigh.

I hand Oscar my beer, giving him the rest, and I dispose the dead battery out of a radio. My voice is low as I say, “Jane already took the dick pics.”

Oscar chokes on beer. “Jane took them? So you two are…”

I nod.

Farrow translates. “They’re good.”

“You pose for her?” Donnelly banters.

“Close-ups?” Oscar chimes in.

“Girls love that anus shot, you get that one?”

Farrow laughs hard, and fuck it, I laugh too. I wish my brother were here. He’d be rolling over in laughter just knowing my girlfriend is three dick pics richer. And how she tucked the phone to her chest like she was guarding the Hope Diamond.

I test the radio. “What I do for love and pussy.”

Amen, Banks would say. Not hearing it just makes me miss him more.

Quinn Oliveira joins us right after the words leave my mouth, and the air strains. Oscar assesses his little brother, to see if he’s okay. Last I heard, they weren’t talking since Quinn punched him.

Oscar nods. “I’m cool if you are, bro.”

Quinn nods back. “Yeah, I’m cool.”

Tension gone, Oscar picks up the conversation. “I could cheers to that: love, pussy, and add in good dick.”

Farrow quips, “What’s bad dick feel like, Oliveira?”

“I don’t know, Redford, you tell me. You’re the one who slept with that redheaded witch.” He brings up Rowin Hart, his ex-boyfriend, who almost assaulted Maximoff in Greece.

Farrow cringes into a sip of beer. “He’s worse than a witch, but nice try.”

Quinn interjects, “Why’s Akara hanging out with the Epsilon douche-bros?”

Our heads turn.

Akara is in a conversation with O’Malley, more than Tony, but they’re all on the red-green plaid couch, the SFE guards pocketing wads of bills they won.

I shut off the powered radio. “Recon.”

Quinn scrunches his face. “What?”

“Keep your enemies close, Quinnie,” Donnelly says.

“But not too close,” Farrow advises.

My jaw hardens as I suddenly zone in on a target. Tony is smiling over at Jane like she’s a chick in a bar he wants to fuck-and-chuck, and my blood is boiling. Muscles flexed, and I barely hear the guys talking about a game of charades tonight. To lighten the mood for Christmas Eve.

If Tony stands up, I’m Oscar Mike.

I will shove off and shove him back from her before his eye twitches in a fucking wink.

He folds his hands behind his head, then looks at me.

Good.

Stay the hell away from her. Tony thinks I’m Banks, but my brother would be just as protective of Jane as I would of his girlfriend (if he had one).

I glare, and the more I stab him between the eyes, the more he grins. He smacks O’Malley’s chest, stealing his attention, and very loudly, he says, “You know that Banks’ brother does butt stuff?” He laughs.

That affects me about as much as chugging water, but it shoots a bullet through multiple people.

“Excuse me?” Jane springs to her feet, and Maximoff stands at her side.

Farrow and Oscar are glaring at Tony.

I carefully watch Jane as she marches to the cou

ch and confronts him. She can handle her own, but it fucking kills me knowing he won’t respect a word she says.

“What?” Tony playfully crosses his arms, still seated.

“I want to know why you laughed like that was an insult,” Jane demands. “Please, share with us.”

Tony lets out another laugh and raises a patronizing hand. “Hey, Jane, it’s okay if your boyfriend wants you to play with his asshole. It just makes him a little less, you know…manly.”

You could hear a pin drop.

I don’t blink. More focused on her anger than anything.

“Someone educate this motherfucker,” Oscar says under his breath.

Farrow catches Maximoff’s wrist before he storms Tony, and he brings his fiancé’s shoulders and back into his chest. “He’s not worth it, wolf scout.”

“First of all—” Jane raises a pointer finger “—men are not less masculine for having anything in their ass—”

“But it makes them gay,” Tony cuts her off with a smirk.

Jane steeples her hands. “No, it doesn’t. You see, every man has a prostate gland, and prostate stimulation is not an indication of sexual orientation. It feels immensely good to some, and you can enjoy this very much and prefer any gender.”

“There we go,” Farrow says quietly.

Tony leans comfortably back and smiles up at Jane. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

Jane stews. “I feel sorry for you, that you can’t see how insecure you are and how secure he is. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be.”

I hit the jackpot with this girl, and holy hell, I’m smiling.

Until I see a switch in Tony.

His eyes go dark.

It kicks my ass to a stance.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jane.” He stands, puffing out his chest. “Go sit down—”

“Hey,” I cut in, my stride severe. Urgent. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Tony uses his height to loom over Jane. To physically intimidate her—and I bolt, fury blasting in my veins, and I draw her behind me in an instant, and I confront him full-force.

I’m not shoving him back.

I’m done with that shit.

I fist his shirt and pull him up, his feet off the ground.