Page 39 of Lovers Like Us
She asks about their feelings on Farrow, but my parents didn’t even reach that topic. Maybe it’s what Farrow said. It has less to do with him as my boyfriend and more to do with him breaking their trust as a bodyguard. Those weeds are too tall for me to crawl in, and so I don’tstart.
“What about your passion?” I ask, realizing that I haven’t even brought this up. Not once. “You’re supposed to be finding what you want todo.”
“I will. Just…notnow.”
“Janie.”
“I brought knitting.” She crinkles her nose because she’s tried knitting and she’s not good. “It’s something, but I don’t think I’ll have time…don’t look at me like that. Our friendship comesfirst.”
“You comefirst.”
Jane pinches her eyes. “Don’t make me cry. My tear ducts are in pain. They haven’t been in this much use inages.”
I hug her again, and we chat for about ten more minutes, then we walk back to the bus—fuck.“I need to make a call,” I tell her, our bodyguards reanimating and shoving the last of the supplies in the outside-accessible bays. “I’ll tell you about itlater.”
A smile pulls her freckled cheeks. “Let’s never fightagain.”
“Deal.”
I step away from the bus and trek back to the curb. Searching for a number in my contacts. Cold drives through my gray sweatshirt, and my arms shake abit.
Farrow rounds the bus, black boots crunching snow, and our eyes latch. He combs a hand through hisbleach-whitehair. He dyed the strands early, early thismorning.
His features pop a billion times more. A barbell pierces his brown eyebrow again, and he stands like no stress on planet Earth could weigh himdown.
God, I am colossally, uncontrollably attracted to him. I motion Farrow over to me, 100% subconscious. My brain zeroes in on him and just computes one word:closer.
Farrow hikes over, his masculine stride so casual andunhurried.
My muscles contract, blood pumping in my veins and rushing down. In one blip, I imagine us tangled together. Legs, arms, bodies welded—I want him all over me. His hands, his eyes, his emotion, hismind.
I solidify at one jarringthought.
I want to be smothered by myboyfriend.
Fuck.
Me.
“Maximoff.” Farrow waves his hand at my face, pulling me from a somewhat-fantasy. His smile expands to James Francoterritory.
Jesus. “I’m great. Thanks forasking.”
“I didn’t ask.” His barbell rises with his brows, and my neck heats. “Where’d yougo?”
“Neverland,” Iquip.
He rolls his eyes, but hisknowinggaze drips down all six-foot-two of my build. “Next time,” he says, “take me withyou.”
You were alreadythere.
I swallow the words and my infatuation. Because I’m too apparent. He looks like he’s about to catalogue this moment, frame it, and gift it to me. “I was thinking about the weather and tour route,” Iexplain.
“Sure you were.” His teasing smile strokes my cock.Fuck me.He notices my phone. “Making acall?”
“Yeah.”Focus.“I’ll put it on speaker.” I scroll back through my contacts, and a large gust blows through the parking lot. Without my outer jacket, I shake way more than I wantto.
Farrow suddenly moves behindme.
