Page 72 of Alphas Like Us
Farrow’s jaw tics. That one got tohim.
I gorigid.
The auction news has probably made headlines, and I just haven’t checked the internet yet. I’ve been unaware of how the whole world perceives my relationship with Farrow.Purposefully.
But now I think about the pornstar.
I think about what people must be saying online, whether they’re calling my relationship with Farrow a fucking sham or not monogamous or maybe they just think I’mcheating.
I don’tknow.
And now I need to know. So I can defend my boyfriend with a tweet, an Instagram video, and an airplane banner over the PacificOcean.
While Jack, Oscar, and Akara near the window—most likely with a plan that doesn’t involve the last resort: call the cops for noise disturbance—I search for my phone under thecovers.
“What are you doing?” Farrowasks.
I find my phone tangled in the sheets. “Looking at theinternet—”
Farrow seizes my phone. “We’ll look together. Downstairs.” He climbs off the bed, standing. And as he combs his hair back for athirdtime, I realize he has something serious to tellme.
Inprivate.
I stand, the pain in my collarbone thumping more consistently than a half hour ago. Farrow rounds the bed, careful of the air mattresses, and Oscar wrenches the windowopen.
Jack sticks his head out withAkara.
“Maximoff isn’t here!” Jack shouts. “Production is setting up for the show! You all need toleave!”
“Or we’ll be calling the police for noise disturbance!” Akarathreatens.
“AKARA KITSUWON!” a drunk girl shouts. “PROTECTMEEE!!”
Akara yells one more threat and then leaves the window. Annoyance lines his forehead. I can’t imagine how frustrating the lack of anonymity must be forSFO.
As Jack closes the curtains, they all discuss waiting to see if the heckling worsens or diesdown.
I cut in front of Farrow before he reaches the door. Just so I can tell Thatcher, “We’re just going to the kitchen. I need moreice.”
Thatcher nods, no argument, and let’s uspass.
12
MAXIMOFF HALE
We’rein the kitchen pantry. I’d say that I led us here, but I clearly trailed behind Farrow, broken collarbone and all. I’m slower, but right now, I’m not as frustrated about it and he’s not teasing me since we’re dealing with heavier things. Waist-deep inquicksand.
I swear we can’t catch abreak.
Farrow tugs the string to the ceiling light bulb. A warm glow casts on cluttered wooden shelves, stocked with cereal boxes, protein bars, candy, andcrackers.
We both agreed on this spot. The pantry is the quietest place in the townhouse. Farrow and I have fucked against these shelves more than once. Rough enough that as I pounded into him, soup cans fell to the floorboards. No one upstairs heard, and with the door locked now, our voices shouldn’t echo up thestaircase.
So it’s climax-proof.
I hold out my left hand for my phone that’s still in Farrow’sgrip.
He rests his elbow beside a half-opened box of Pop-Tarts, not relinquishing my phone. He tilts his head at me. “I meant it when I said let’s looktogether.”
