Page 3 of Headstrong Like Us
After the pit stops, I trek down a grassy slope to concessions. The cotton candy line is slow-moving. My dad has joined my mom, and they haven’t reached the front yet. Currently a few teenagers are snapping selfies with them while their bodyguards loiter close.
Farrow observes the fan interaction, and I eye the skulls, pirates, ships, swallows, and more ink that decorates his lean-cut and sculpted MMA-build. Half a skull peeks out of his black V-neck, his whole being screamingI’m too cool for school.From gorgeous tattooed wings on his neck, to his nose and lip piercing, and bleach-white hair.
He looks like a Grade A rebel and rule breaker. Unlike me and my faded jeans, hiking boots and plain gray crewneck, which molds my muscles from swimming. His stance is even casual and relaxed—like this job is the easiest in the world.
And I know it can’t be that easy. On my way home, Declan got an elbow to the eye outside the airport. His face is still bruised.
My stride is unwavering. Firm, and in less than a minute, Farrow locks eyes with me. He assesses me in a quick sweep, and his smile stretches.
He knows I’m coming towards him.
I mean, I’m not hiding the fact, but Christ, that widening smile—the one that reaches cheek-to-cheek and is too teasing, too confident—it bugs the hell out of me.
I scowl into a glare, only five feet away, and I bypass his spot, sensing his gaze attached to me as I round his body. I decide to stand in the line right beside him where people wait for hand-dipped candy apples. The sweet scent permeates around me, and the movie is more muffled over here.
All I want is to look at Farrow. But in the same breath, I want to give him a hard time. To make him squirm like he’seasilymaking me feel…something.
I turn my head.
Our eyes catch again, and I gesture to the candy apple tent. “I’m getting food for my family.”
Farrow raises his brows. “I didn’t ask.” He’s an asshole, and I must be weird because I like that he’s not fawning all over me.
He smiles more, and the back of my neck heats. It’s rare that I feel my age, but I feel nineteen around him.
Maybe that’s a good thing…
“Great,” I say dryly. “I didn’t tell you shit then.”
Farrow glances at my mom. He’s doing his job—and it’s strange. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s a bodyguard. He tilts his head back to me. “You definitely said something, wolf scout.”
“Not a lot.” My voice is tough with that endnote.
He rolls his eyes into a short laugh.
Talking to my childhood crush is starting to erase a quarter of my brain. Where all the food orders exist.I need to write this down.
I pat my pockets for my phone. Fuck.I left my cell with Janie.
“Looking for something?” Farrow asks while splitting his attention between me and my mom, our lines moving forward at the same rate.
“Just my phone.” I rake my hand through my thick hair. “It’s fine. I know where it is. I just needed to make a list.”
“A list,” Farrow repeats, too amused, like I’m the most uptight, do-gooder he’s ever met. “Of course you were about to make one.”
I feign confusion. “Because I’ve shared so manylistswith you before.”
He has gum in his mouth, and he slows down chewing while another smile spreads. He’s the epitome of nonchalant coolness—and I’mnevertelling him that. “I just meant that you’re the list type.”
Great.“So I’m more prepared than you.”
He seesaws his hand. “Not really.”
I grimace.
He laughs.
I gesture to him. “Try remembering a billion food orders without a list and see how you’d do.”
