Page 64 of Tangled Like Us
I whisper to my bodyguard, “It seems Akara and Sulli are back on good terms.” They had an awkward month or so after Greece, but their buddy-guard friendship is intact.
The Omega lead, a six-foot-two commanding Akara Kitsuwon is dressed in his usual Studio 9 muscle shirt and backwards baseball cap, and he shares the Victorian loveseat with Sulli. Fuzzy pillow on their laps, their hands are clasped together in an intense arm-wrestle match.
I missed their bet, but they look about tied right now.
Thatcher studies them a little longer, and then his attention drifts to the corkboard. Where Oscar and Donnelly are surveying the photographs of suitors while eating Sun Chips and a pudding cup. I think they must have temp bodyguards covering their clients for a short bit so they could help Akara move in.
Jack and I make eye contact from across the room, and he treks over to the staircase to greet me. “Jane,” he says; his charming smile radiates a thousand feet in all directions.
The exec producer is very charismatic, affectionate, and a good friend to me and Maximoff after so many seasons filmingWe Are Calloway. We shed our armor and share our insecurities in the docuseries, usually with Jack first.
I instantly smile back.
He hugs me. “Looking gorgeous as ever.”
“You as well.”
Oscar looks back at us, his curly hair falling over a rolled blue bandana. “Where’s my positive affirmation, Highland?”
Jack wears a softer grin. “What kind are you looking for?”
“What do you want to give me?” Oscar shakes a water bottle full of protein mix.
Jack is about to reply.
“Give it to him sloppy,” Donnelly smirks.
“Ignore Donnelly,” Oscar tells Jack. “You’ll feel smarter.”
Donnelly scoops pudding with his finger. “Ignoring Oscar makes your dick feel bigger.”
Oscar ends up laughing, but he nods to Jack. “I’m still waiting, Highland.”
Jack opens his mouth, and now Farrow chimes in, “Really digging deep for a compliment, Oliveira.”
Oscar sets down his water bottle. “At least I know what they look like, Redford.” And then he throws a potato chip at Maximoff, which my best friend dodges easily.
Farrow points at his friend. “Fuck you.” It’s very lighthearted.
Oscar grins, and Jack has already left my side to go referee Akara and Sulli’s arm wrestling match. Jack has grown closest to Akara out of all the bodyguards.
Thatcher observes all of them without much of a reaction.
I truly adore being a fly on the wall among security. The FanCon tour was a pivotal turning point. I was able to peek further and further into the lives of our bodyguards in ways I never had before, and I could spot pre-established friendships of their own.
“Who bought a hundred banana cream pie pudding cups? Literally, ahundred.” Quinn scrunches his face and hoists a plastic bag at the table.
Oscar tosses a chip in his mouth. “Who do you think? There’s only one guy who’s eating that shit.”
Donnelly is crushing the cup, squeezing pudding in his mouth.
Quinn reads the nutrition label with furrowed brows. He’s a very clean eater, something I noticed during the FanCon tour. “Damn, how come no one bought avocados or bread, but we have a hundred pudding cups?”
Thatcher stares more sternly. “If you had your radio on, you could’ve asked for that.”
Donnelly nods. “You tell him, Thatch.”
“It’s Thatcher,” he corrects. Often, actually.
