Page 70 of Headstrong Like Us
He pulls me even closer, and we stay like this for a while.
Melded together. Breathing.
“I love you,” I tell him. “And my family loves you.”
Farrow leans back slowly, his jaw skimming against my jaw. His eyes are red and welled up. “You have me beat, wolf scout. Because my father won’t ever love you the way that your family loves me.” His voice almost fractures. “Shit.”
“It’s okay.” A knot is in my throat, his hurt knifing my gut. “He would’ve been a major buzz-kill at the wedding anyway.”
Farrow lets out a tight laugh. “I still work with him.”
Fuck.
“I can try to—”
“No.” Farrow shakes his head. “I don’t want to spend energy on him. He’s nothing, Maximoff. You and your family are something.”
I nod. “Alright.”
I’m accepting what Farrow has already accepted. I can’t change Dr. Keene. I can’t make him value his son the way he should.
But I can love Farrow for eternity. Love him with zero hesitation. Love him with no second-thought or condition.
“Shower?” Farrow tips his head.
I nod and kiss him, stealing one, before we pull away.
We check the baby monitor.All good.And then we shed our drawstring pants. Our eyes tracking each other, hungry for carnal flesh, and Farrow begins to smile. “Who’s making the first move?”
“Me.” I step out of the clothing—and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My course of actionperishes.
Boom, I forget to jump my fiancé’s bones.
Because my brain is doing a double-take, side-step, and back-flip at the sight of my new tattoo. Black script is inked across my bicep. It still jars me that I have a tattoo.
Still surges up in me.
I eye the lettering. God, how infatuated do I look right now?
And it’s not just his name.
It’s his handwriting. Farrow drew on my bicep with marker, and the way his eyes flitted up to me and down to the movement of his hand as he scrawled on my skin—that stays with me.
He wrote outFarrowin smooth, cool script, and underneath the “w”—a little off to the side—he drew a small heart. And inside the heart, he wrote a tiny,M + F
And yeah, I got that tattooed too. Thanks to Donnelly, who permanently inked everything that was written in marker.
“You’re drooling,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. He beats me to the shower and opens the door.
“At theMpart of the tattoo.” I stubbornly squeeze between his tattooed chest and the entry to the glass stall. Rotating the faucet on myself. Water pounds the marble tile. “And how theMcomes before theF.”
“Eh, it is accurate.”
His agreement surprises me. But I play it cool. “Yeah, it is.”
His mouth hikes up. “You docomebefore me 9 times out of 10.”
Christ.The sexual innuendo rakes hot coals down my body. My cock likes that agitation. Blood pumping, and I grip the frame of the shower beside his shoulder. Neither of us steps inside the stall yet.
