Page 151 of Alphas Like Us
My boyfriend has been allergic to group chats. Pretty much ever since he’s seen how many incessantly ping my phone. But that text makes me think about Farrow and his relationship with Oscar and even Donnelly. Those two guys knew Farrow when he was with some of hisexes.
LikeRowin.
I’m not about to torture myself and fish for giant details about his past relationships. But I am curious about some things only Oscar can share. “Is Farrow always like that withboyfriends?”
Oscar leans back against the leather booth. Grinning and also crossing his arms, curly pieces of his brown hair sweep his forehead. “You mean does Redford always choose the boyfriend over thefriend?”
I nod, confident in this question. “Yeah.”
“Depends on the boyfriend,” he says, “but Hale, you’ve been chosen first 100% of the time, which is record-breaking.”
I should be happy about that, but a nagging thought pricks me. “I’ve put some family before him attimes.”
Oscar angles forward and grabs a peppercorn cracker from a tray. “And he has to love that about you, or else he would’ve only chosen you 45% of thetime.”
I nod to him before I bend down and tie my bowling shoe. “You like him better single? Then he’d pick his friends 100% of thetime.”
“No, that’s not how he operates when he’s single. He’ll go all lone wolf on us, and sometimes, he’ll be harder to get ahold of. Personally, I like him in a relationship—just not with that poorbastard.”
I finish knotting my shoe and look up. “Rowin?” Iask.
Oscar pours beer from a pitcher and nods. “They fought all the time. Personality clash.” He wipes a trickle of beer off the pint glass. “I saw the red flags from the start. Redford, however, is a stubborn ass. But we lovehim.”
I start to smile. Yeah, we do, but my lips fall again. Realizing he hasn’t messaged in a while. Even though he told Oscar he’d text me. “I don’t have any updates for you, man,” I tellhim.
Oscar looks just as concerned as me, taking a swig of foamy beer before he says, “He might be on hisbike.”
I check the weather reports. Just to ensure it’s notraining.
Partlycloudy…
“Excuse me.” One of the bowling alley managers suddenly approaches. Eyes on me. Her blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun, and she seems nervous. Her gaze pings to the camera that Jack Highland holds near our lane. In order to work today, Cassie had to sign a waiver to be filmed. So she knows potentially everything she says could be onWe AreCalloway.
She takes a tighter breath, focus returning to me. “Could you tell the member of your party that we don’t allow walking on thelanes?”
Fuck.
I haven’t been paying attention toTom.
Quickly, I swing my head towards the ten empty bowling lanes. Sure enough, at Lane 1, the furthest from us, my cousin wears a pair of skull and crossbones socks (no shoes) and takes a running start before sliding down it. He skids to his knees and slams into the bowling pins. A few knock over andclatter.
Jack filmsit.
“Tom!” I yell. “Get overhere!”
He lifts his head, longer pieces of his ash-brown hair falling into hiseyes.
You know Tom Carraway Cobalt as the eighteen-year-old lead singer ofThe Carraways. Tom’s band only just moved practices from the basement to concert venues, but they sell out every time. You’ve fallen in love with his irreverent charm, mischievousness, and the fact that he’s a daredevil on and offstage.
I know him as my little cousin who will be the first to fall into chaos. Who chooses to run towards danger instead of away, and who calls me up every Saturday to talk about that guy in the back of the class he has a crush on. He means more to me than any words candescribe.
Fair Warning: if you fuck with him, we will both fuck withyou.
He walks casually back to our booth like he didn’t just become a human bowling ball. “Don’t do that again,” I tell him, being a hardass. And then I add, “Bowling alleyrules.”
My phone pings with a text, and I glance at my cellquickly.
Still at work. Don’t know how long I’ll be. How mad is she?–Farrow
