Page 182 of Alphas Like Us
My dad would tell me that it’s not my job. Still, I want the superpower to erase everything my grandmother said. Banish the words from fuckingexistence.
Maybe that should’ve been my birthday wish. Guess I still have time since it’s notmidnight.
July 13thisn’t overyet.
Despite some bad parts, there is so much good here. And I hang onto every damn piece. Especially the small moments inbetween.
Likenow.
Farrow is slouched against me on the couch, most of his weight anchored off my chest. He’s mindful of my injury but not to the point where it’d frustrate me. His amusement fucking mushrooms. Like he just beat me at some sort of listeningcompetition.
“I heard you,” I refute while I try to raise my right arm vertically. In a stretch. But I still can’t reach all the way up without intense stress on the muscle. “I just need you to say it again so it can sinkin.”
He slowly chews mint gum. “I wrote him a letter, wolf scout. You know: paper, pen. The Cobaltway.”
“I got that,” I say. “Butwhy?”
The second we sank down onto the couch together, Farrow admitted that he gave Beckett a letter, but I have no fucking idea the reasons or thecontents.
Farrow sits up straighter. Turning more towards me, his inked hand slides along mythigh.
Christ, I likethat.
He smiles knowingly. “Because Beckett is the family member who keeps questioning my intentions with you, and normally I’d just sayfuck himand move on. But our relationship should bring you closer to your family, not farther away. So I gently explained some things in a manner I thought a Cobalt wouldappreciate.”
Wow.
He didthat.
I breathe in, my chest expanding with something powerful. “Thank you,” I say seriously, lifting my arm at a forty-five degree angle. I glance at hismouth.
His know-it-all smile has returned. “You want me to kissyou?”
“Or maybe I just want to fuck you,” Icombat.
He shifts, his gaze falling down me. “If you want to fuck me, you can fuck melater.”
My blood heats. Goddamn. I can never tell if I love or hate flirting. The impatient parts of my brain loathe it, but the rest of me would gladly do this for millenniums withhim.
“I saidmaybe,” Iretort.
“I saidif,” he says. “Man, your listening skills areworsening.”
I give him a middle finger while my arm ascends to a sixty-degree angle. “Where’s your copy of this fuckingletter?”
Now he’s really laughing. “You think I made a copy for you toread?”
“Not for me. Just in general,” Ilie.
Yeah, okay, I thought he would’ve made an extra one forme.
Farrow lifts his foot to the couch, balancing his arm on his bent knee. We’ve dried off from a night swim earlier, but he’s still in black bathing suit trunks, and my form-fitting green suit is a boxer-briefcut.
He smiles at me and says, “There’s only one. If you want to read it, you’re going to have to get it fromBeckett.”
Janie bounds over to us in a peach tankini, wavy hair knotted in a high bun. “Are we talking about the letter?” she asks, overhearing the end of our conversation. She cups a steaming mug and gracefully plops down on the ottoman, ankles crossed. “Moffy, it was trulybeautiful.”
I frown. “You’ve readit?”
