Page 154 of Lovers Like Us
Beckett smiles. “We’ll all protect you, Sulli, just try not to outrunus.”
“Virgins don’t die in horror movies,” I say and cross my arms as a breeze whips through. “You have itbackwards.”
“Sluts die first,” Charlie says on the ground. He unbuttons another button on his white shirt. Even with thecold.
“Well, most of us will die then,” Oscar says, tying a bandana around hisforehead.
I catch Charlie’s gaze. “Yeah, you’re right.” I nod, and everyone quiets as Charlie and I agree on something. A rarity on this damn trip. “Death by sex,” I explain. “It’s a trope, especially in older horrormovies.”
Farrow ties his other boot. “Moral takeaway:sex is bad, kids. Protect yourvirginity.”
Charlie leans back on his elbows. “But if the virgin does die, it’s usually a girl and she’s always the final kill.” He smiles at Sulli. “Congratulations, you’ll outlive usall.”
“Fuck that.” She stands and wipes the gravel off her legs. “We’re allsurviving.”
“Goals.” Donnelly blows smoke in the air. He tosses the cigarette pack toBeckett.
Farrow rises and stuffs his hands in a green Philadelphia Eagles hoodie.Myhoodie.
I rub my mouth, trying to tell myself tolook away.Stop staring like I’m fucking obsessed withhim.
But my childhood crush is wearingmyclothes. It’s the first time he’s dressed in something of mine. Maybe being in the middle of nowhere without paparazzi is thecause.
I skim him. Head to fucking toe. He took out his brow piercing, but he still has an earring, hoop in his nose and lip—and he has on my hoodie.Jesus.
Christ.
Fuck me and my short-circuiting brain.It’s just a fucking hoodie.He’s not wearing the meaning oflife.
Farrow suddenly catches me staring. His lipsquirk.
My neck heats, and I lookaway.
More smoke guzzles out of the bus. We allwatch.
“Maybe we should put some distance between ourselves and the bus,” Jane suggests. She hops to her feet and takes off down the deserted, darkroad.
I quickly follow suit. Jogging to catch up. “So I gotta tell you, this is the part of the horror movie where we both die. We’re the first to leave thegroup.”
She smiles softly. “On the contrary, old chap. We’releadingthegroup.”
I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, my cousins, their bodyguards, and Jack are following ourtrail.
Bodyguards click their flashlights, and I notice Farrow keeping pace with Oscar. He nods to me, but he doesn’t run ahead. Maybe to give me some alone time withJanie.
The further we are from the bus, the darker. My best friend powers on her phone light, and I unclip my carabineer on my jeans, an emergency flashlightattached.
I look at Janie. “What’s the chances we’re leading them to theirdeaths?”
Jane ponders this. “With your survival skills and my wit, we’d put up a good match against any adversary ahead, but we’re hopelessly unlucky, you andme.”
I put an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into my build. Almost like oldtimes.
Shining my flashlight on the street, I ask, “Did you talk to your mom today?” Aunt Rose has been calling Janie every single day since the tour began, and every single day, Janie has ignored the call and replied with a text:notyet.
“No,” she says. “I thought about it. I did.” She ties her wavy hair in a low pony. “But so much time has passed, now I don’t even know what to say. They wrote those essays for me, and they both apologized. Now I feel like the brat that’s icing themout.”
“They fucked up,” I remind her. “You can take however long you need. That’s not being abrat.”
