Page 68 of Lovers Like Us
But I realize I’m more vigilant than I’ve ever been. Most bodyguards would add precautions. And I don’t mean extra security. They’d tell Maximoff to change his lifestyle. Sacrifice these interactions. Be lesspublic.
He’d feel choked, and I still want to provide him that safe middle-ground. Shit, Ilovegiving him what other peoplecan’t.
I’m not forcing him into a cushioned room with no windows unless it’sdire.
I just can’t do that tohim.
16
FARROW KEENE
We’ve reachedthe one-hour mark of the Cleveland FanCon. The crowds are massive. Crew and assistants buzz around the conference room like invisible insects, and temporary security manages the long, weaving lines of excitedfans.
My sole focus:MaximoffHale.
Five velvet-roped aisles lead to plain-white backdrops. Jane, Maximoff, Sullivan, Beckett, and Charlie stand in separateaisles.
Differentlines.
Lesschaos.
Fans cue up and wait for their turn to meet their favorite celebrity. A line coordinator motions for a twenty-something brunette girl to approach Maximoff. She wears a FanCon shirt and eagerly sprints towards him, throwing an arm around his neck like they’re long-lostfriends.
He hugs back, smilinggenuinely.
I stand only a few feet away, hands cupped in front of me. I’m out of the photos, but close enough in case there’strouble.
“I’msucha big fan. I love you so much!” She speaks hurriedly. “Are you okay? How’s your nose? Who brought you breakfast? Did you have a nice shower? Oh my God, I can’t believe this is real. I’m meeting you right now.” She pets hisarm.
I chew my gum a little harder. This is the sixty-seventh time I wish I could sayhe’s mine.I know what I like and what I don’t like, and I’ve never been into people “caressing” aboyfriend.
But I’ve also never dated acelebrity.
“I’m good, I promise.” He squeezes her shoulders in a side-hug. “What’s yourname?”
“Penny. Oh my God, please say myname.”
“Penny,” he says with a biggersmile.
Shesqueals.
“Want a picture or autograph?” he asks. “Q&A will be later. Hopefully we’ll be able to answer some of your questionsthen.”
“Yes, yes! Can you sign myshirt?”
“Yeah,definitely.”
An assistant is ready and passes Maximoff aSharpie.
Penny clutches his bicep while he uncaps the pen. I hone in on her hand that veers to his chest, dives down his waist, and even reaches his belt. I wait, wait, and her hand moves south—I step in, my mere presence an electricshock.
She jolts backwards, wide-eyed at me and mytattoos.
“Try to keep your hands above his waist.” I’ve repeated this phrase too many timestoday.
Before she pales, Maximoff smiles again like nothing is awry. Distracting her from being called out. “Where do you want thesignature?”
“The back of my shirt. Thank youso, somuch.”
