Page 39 of Headstrong Like Us
And suddenly, the meeting feels like a breeze compared to thisuncomfortabledoomsday.
8
MAXIMOFF HALE
He’s a therapist.
That’s the first thing I learn about Kaden Simmons. Farrow gave me more details from the background check. Like how Kaden has his own private practice in Philly.
I should beelatedthat Kaden isn’t a chief marketing executive of Hale Co., or a brand ambassador. Nothing that’d put him in direct contact with my dad on a weekly basis. But the uncertainty ofwhyhe was there is a frustration that I’m trying to ignore.
I realize it’s highly possible that he knows someone from Hale Co. and was stopping by to say hi or maybe to be their ride home. I don’t know.
At least he’s not my family’s therapist. My parents have had the same ones for years. Christ, if Kaden was working for my family in that capacity, I might actually need to be resuscitated back to life.
All I know is that I can’t put any more energy into Kaden than I already have. There are more pressing things in front of me.
At the current moment: a billion damn invitations to stuff.
Batman & Robinplays on the living room TV, and Farrow and I half-watch the 90s movie while envelopes and cards lie before us, spread over my parent’s coffee table.
We huddle close on the sofa, shoulder-to-shoulder.
His tattooed bicep brushes my bare bicep as he slips a card in an envelope. My breath hitches. With two fingers, Farrow passes me the invitation. All the while his gaze is on the TV.
I’ve been trying not to smile for the past hour. Clenching my jaw. Until my whole face is sore.
I’m onenvelope lickingduty, which is just me running glue over the edge. I could’ve let an assistant handle these types of boring tasks. But stuffing invitations with my man is so fucking normal that I don’t want to hand it off or pass it up.
Farrow doesn’t look away from the movie. “You’re slacking on your job, wolf scout.”
My neck blazes. I twist off the cap to a new glue stick. “I’m not even behind.”
Yeah, I have five invitations on my lap that need sealed and stamped.
He holds outanotherenvelope, his smile stretching with that annoyingknowingness.And I imagine those inked fingers gripping me. From my jaw, sliding down my chest to the ridges of my abdomen, and our lips collide in heavy, synchronous desire and thunderous love. Until we’re out of breath, and he uses the last footholds of his strength to pull me under him.
His muscles bearing on my body, and I clutch his hair and look deeply into—
“Maximoff.”
I blink too slowly out of a fantasy-daydream.
Fuck me.
Farrow is smiling just like James Franco’s character inFreaks & Geeks.Full-blown, cheek-to-cheek. “If you keep picturing my cock in your ass, you will be behind. Literally and figuratively.”
I plant my eyes onBatman & Robin.“Who said I was imagining you inside me?” I seal the invite. “Maybe my cock was in your ass.” I force myself not to glance at Farrow.
I can play hard to get.
Though, I realize why he’d guess that I was picturinghiminsideme.I’ve been really into bottoming lately. I’m aware.
Highly aware.
I sense Farrow giving me a once-over in interest. Blood pools south, my dick straining against my jeans. I crave to see his expression, but I’m trying to ruffle him a bit.
I tear the new invitation out of his clutch and make a show of doing my job better than he’s doing his. “Maybe you should take your own advice, man. So you don’t get behind.”
