Page 8 of Lovers Like Us
I stay quiet. My pulse pounds hard. But my mind speeds in undiscovered directions—I can’t stopthinkingabout everything and anything, past and present—and I’m not even sure how to startspeaking.
Farrow waits for me to saysomething.
Anything.
When I don’t, he stands. “Watch your feet, wolf scout.” He scours my tensed build. Reading mewell.
“I got it.” I stand and we dispose of the broken glass in a smalltrashcan.
Farrow brushes his palms clean before combing his hands through his dyed-black hair. “You going to tell me what you’re obsessing over?” He leans casually on the woodendresser.
I’m a rigid statue in comparison. I’m not used to unloading on people, but for some godforsaken reason, I want to unload on him. I know he can carryit.
I take a short breath, and I blurt out, “What about you? How are youdoing?”
Jesus.
Christ.
That’s not what I meant to tellhim.
“At the moment,” Farrow says matter-of-factly, “I’m watching my boyfriend deflect by asking me how I’mdoing.”
I nod, arms crossed. “He sounds like a realkeeper.”
“He’s something,” Farrow teases and checks the time on his phone. He steps away from the dresser and walks backwards to the door. Away fromme.
I have serious déjà vu from the yacht four yearsago.
“Last chance.” His voice is deep, rough but paradoxicallysmooth.
Last chance to speak about what’s on my mind.Phone calls summoned both of us downstairs. Me, by Jane. Him, byAkara.
Farrow looks straight into me. His strong gaze clutches me tight while caressing me. Silently prodding me to speak but softly reminding me that he’s always protected my thoughts andfeelings.
“Wait,” Isay.
He stops and lounges his shoulders on thedoor.
“I’m thinking about how Jane just called and said,come downstairs to the kitchen. We need to talk, Moffy.” I gesture to Farrow. “I get that I’m not an expert on relationships, but I know friendships andwe need to talkis never a good fuckingthing.”
His mouth starts rising in adrop-to-your-kneessmile. “Or she could just want totalk.”
I hone in on his piercings: the hoop around his lip, his nose ring, and dangling earring—I’m dating a twelve out of ten. For more than just his looks. He’s standing here, entertaining my hang-ups, and I know he’ll only give me honesty inreturn.
“Or Jane wants to moveout.”
“You’reoverthinking.”
“I’m preparing for the worst,” I rebut and motion to the door. “Since that stupid fucking article, she’s been spending most of her time with her brothers. I have no clue where her head’s at.” For the first time in…maybe forever, Jane and I aren’t on the same page of the samebook.
“You’re about to find out,” Farrow reminds me and checks the time on his phone again. “And you’re going to belate.”
“So,” I say without thinking. Such a genius. I rub my sharpenedjaw.
“So,” he draws out the word and nears me, his knowinggaze raking me from head-to-toe.
My muscles contract and burn, fucking aroused. Everything about him has become a turn on. I’m happy that he’s only two feet away now, but a bit irritated that I didn’t initiate that movementfirst.
