Page 200 of Lovers Like Us
“I’ll dye it,” I tellhim.
“I can get it.” He turns toleave.
I catch his broad shoulder. “Notyet.”
Maximoff faces me again, and I can’t stop staring at him, water dousing both of us. His chest rises in a headybreath.
My hand ascends to the back of his head, and he clutches my neck. Our foreheads nearlymeet.
I can’t lose this guy, and he’s alive.He’s alive. Not hurt, not injured, he’s breathing right in front ofme.
Maximoff licks his lips. “I didn’t listen to your fuckingtext.”
“No shit,” I murmur, and he lets out a short laugh—but his eyes melt over me. We’re drawing closer,closer.And more serious, I whisper powerfully, “I’mglad.”
He holds me stronger; my grip is tighter, and we pull towards each other abruptly, chest slamming against chest. As though we’re trying to connect as deeply physically as we are emotionally, the intensity rattling me, and I cup his face. His fingers claw at my shoulders. We spin, wrestling for more, and my back hits the tiledwall.
We haven’t kissed, but he’s already devouredme.
“Maximoff,” I breathe against hismouth.
His eyes screamI fucking love you.“Don’t let go,” heorders.
“I’m not.”I’mnot.
“Neither am I,” he assuresme.
“Good.”
And I realize and feelsomething. I would’ve self-destructed without him. He’s been the prince in knight’sarmor.
Protectingme.
46
FARROW KEENE
“Maybe I should gointo the nunnery,” Jane says softly while lying on the Victorian loveseat. She rests her head on Maximoff’s lap and digs a spoon into a pint of chocolate chip ice cream. “That way I won’t make any more dreadfully badchoices.”
“Yeah,” I say, “don’t do that.” While I sit across from them on the coffee table, I balance a mirror on my knees. A piece of jet-black dyed hair falls to my lashes as I fix my hooped lip piercing. Nate’s fist must’ve caught my mouth. My bottom lip is a little bitswollen.
It’s only been three hours since I knocked Nateunconscious.
Jane is still processing tonight’s events. Maximoff runs a hand through her wavy hair, and he shares a cautious look with me likeit hasn’t hit heryet.
Iknow.
“Icando that,” Jane says like she’s preparing to debate me. “I’m an independent, strong-willedwoman.”
“You’re not Catholic,” I say, finished loosening my piercing. I stretch forward and steal her spoon. Scooping into the ice cream, I take abite.
Jane narrows a look at me, searching for a rebuttal. She can’t find one for once. I’m going to be painfully honest here: I don’t likeit.
I hold out the spoon for her to take itback.
Shedoesn’t.
Jane.
