Page 106 of Alphas Like Us
“Here.” I extend the napkin and pen to the guy. “Have a good night, man.”Please leave. Please don’t ruin my fuckingdate.
Pocketing the autograph, the guy loiters for another half second. And stiltedly, like he’s rehearsed this line with his friends, he tells me, “I didn’t think Farrow was your type, Maximoff. I thought you’d end up with a rich dick, not a famewhore.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you fuckingserious?”
“Isaid—”
“Get the fuck out,” Farrow cuts in, standing up. But he can’t usher him away that easily. I’m sure he wants to, but he’s not a bodyguard or a bystander. He’s a part of theconfrontation.
The guy laughs, then looks at me. “Is your boyfriend gonna hitme?”
Farrow rolls his eyes. He’s intimidating to most, but as my boyfriend, the worst of the worst kinds of humans will try to provoke him for fifteen minutes offame.
Chair scraping back, I stand up next to Farrow. “Kids are here,” I growl. “Go back to your goddamnbooth.”
My temp bodyguard is speaking into his radio.Hesitating.
“You seem tense, Maximoff.” The guy takes a single step back. “That’s what happens when you tradedown—”
“Fuck you,” I sneer, and Farrow fists the back of my shirt—because I almost lunge. Then he holds the back of my head, protective. Comforting. Telling me not to defend him and let street hecklers get tome.
Take abreath.
“You’re just like your dad.” He smirks at me. “How’s Ryke Meadows doing, by theway?”
My fist stays at my side. Ryke isn’t my dad, but I’ve lost the urge or need to spit that truth. I don’t move. I don’t charge athim.
But I also can’tspeak.
Farrow raises his brows at the guy. “Your opinions are fucking ugly. And we’re not here for that shit. You want a fight, go fight with the little fuckers you call friends.” He points at thebooth.
The guy chokes on a breath. He opens his mouth to say something else, and then shuts it. His eyes dart to the left where my temp bodyguard finallynears.
Farrow turns to him first. “Call SFA and get a couple guys over here. We’ll be in the bathroom until you kick this shitheadout.”
“I’m not leaving,” the hecklersnorts.
I look to the temp bodyguard. “You have five minutes,” I tell him, my voice stilted and firm. I’m just on automatic at this point. Farrow clasps my hand and quickly leads me through the packed restaurant. Towards the men’sbathroom.
Everyone is looking. Filmingus.
My eyes are on the bathroomdoor.
And then hot liquid suddenly splashes my face. “Fuck,” I curse, rubbing the…coffee off my burning cheek and temple. It’s all so damn abrupt that I have no time tothink.
People gasp and shout, while others stand up from their chairs, cell phones pointed atme.
Farrow shoves someone back and yells a threat that rings in my ears. I press the bottom of my shirt to my face that’s on fucking fire.Goddammit.
I’m disoriented. Catching shocked expressions. Some people are weirdly smiling while they film this with their phones. I miss sight of the culprit. But all the people recording are getting greatfootage. Maybe they’re thinking about how much money they can sell it for. How many likes and retweets it’llget.
I’m wallingup.
I’m shuttingdown.
This is my firstdate.
“Maximoff,” Farrow says, hand falling back intomine.
