Page 74 of Lovers Like Us
It surprises me when I think,I wish I knew more than Edward NathanielKeene.
My father has been wishing thattoo.
17
MAXIMOFF HALE
Cleveland FanCon is cancelledfrom hotel poweroutage.
Even on route to the next tour stop—Chicago, here we come—the news headline gnaws at me. The hotel confirmed that the power blew, and technicians couldn’t fix the issue for at least 24-hours.
Security called the FanCon a wash. Ending the event early—it’s an irremovable knife in mychest.
No promised Q&A. Majority of fans never met us. Some spent a lot of money just traveling toCleveland.
And we fucked themover.
I tried to resolve the problem. I made calls, talked to the crew, and I could’ve shifted the event to another conference room in a nearbyhotel.
Akara and Thatcher refused.We haven’t done prep for a different hotel, they said.It’s notpossible.
I’m supposed to move on and forget Cleveland’s mishap.Think of this like trial-and-error, Akara told me.The Chicago FanCon will bebetter.
I can’t just forget. TheseerrorsI make hurt people—and I’m not okay withthat.
“You need to brainstorm,” Farrow tells me while he crunches his abs in a sit-up.
We’re in the second lounge with Janie, a U-shaped couch back here. Pretty quiet since half the bus is asleep in theirbunks.
Farrow isn’t working out on the ground. He’s lengthwise on the gray couch. I sit so damn close that his bent knees steeple my legs. My hand has been sliding down his thigh, and my other forearm rests on his kneecap while I cup myphone.
My childhood crush doing sit-ups right up against me—that should without a doubt be thebestdamn distraction from bad press. Sweat glistens his inked skin, pirate tattoos peek from his black Adidas V-neck, and a piece of white hair keeps falling to his brown lashes. Causing his fingers to constantly push the strandsback.
Jesus, it’s unnatural how hot he is. And how fucking attracted I am to him.And still,my mind derails and circumnavigates to Cleveland. To a colossal fuck-up.
He lifts his body in a crunch. His face a centimeter from my face, and he eyes my phone. The screen is popped up on a news article that I’ve read a billiontimes.
The H.M.C. FanCon tour in Cleveland was a massive technical disaster with no backup plan. Maximoff Hale was unprepared to handle an event of this magnitude. If this is any indication of how he runs H.M.C. Philanthropies, it’s clear he’s too young, unprofessional, and inexperienced to be the CEO of a corporatecompany.
Farrow skims the words in point-two seconds and then chucks my phone behind his head. It hits a pillow and thuds on thefloor.
“Thanks,” I saydryly.
“Fuck them,” he tells me with raised brows. “Calling you young and unprofessional is a cheap shot, and those journalists will take it every time.” He lowers his back and rises in another sit-up. “That’s the truth. I’m not blowing smoke because I’m dating and fuckingyou.”
He lowers again, casual and cool. Acting like he reported a simple weatherforecast.
Fuck me.I feel my smile try to takeshape.
“Je suis d'accord avec lui, Moffy,” Janie says, sitting on the couch’s other long side. Mirror propped on her thighs. She applies an avocado mask, her hair twisted in a pinktowel.
I agree with him,Moffy.
My mouth inches upward a bit more. I’m trying my best to let go, but some things are clinging to me like fuckingtar.
I adjust my ice pack on my sore shoulder and remember what Farrow said aboutbrainstorming.
So I lower my voice, ensuring Beckett, Charlie, and Sulli won’t hear me. “I’ve thought about people who’d want to create a murder account,” I tell him, “and I came up with absolutelynothing.”
