Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(49)

“How is this fancy?” Oscar asks me. He waves a fried grouper finger as evidence and then pops that sucker in his mouth.

“Donnelly thinks Toaster Strudels are fancy,” Farrow says.

“Oh yeah, forgot about that.” Oscar adds another shrimp to a fried seafood pyramid on his plate.

“Toaster Strudels are fancy Pop-Tarts,” I argue. “Change my mind.”

Farrow smiles. “Yeah, no. Not getting into an argument over Pop-Tarts.” He puts a lobster roll on his plate.

I go for the hush puppies and glance over my shoulder. Rooftop has three extra long picnic tables and a bar over in the corner with a bored as hell bartender. No one else from SFO has arrived yet.

It’s September 19th. A day I used to celebrate with Beckett. I try to let that go, too. I can’t look back.

But today is Beckett’s 23rd birthday.

His twin brother Charlie’s birthday.

And Ryke Meadows’ birthday. A triple whammy.

Triple things seem to be cropping up this month. As someone who is personally born on the 13th, the number three doesn’t always scare me.

Lately, though, maybe it should.

All of those birthdays have gathered the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts at the gated neighborhood this afternoon. No need for bodyguards means we’re off-duty, which means we’re all free, and so the boss called a meeting.

“You thinking everyone got stuck in traffic?” I ask them. To get here, the three of us shook off an annoying camera guy getting in Farrow’s face while we walked.

“God, I hope my baby bro doesn’t drive. There’s no parking,” Oscar says.

Farrow cocks his head. “Cracking a guess, Akara and Banks will be the last to show. They won’t leave their father-in-law’s birthday until the last minute.”

“No doubt,” Oscar licks his finger. “Kitsuwon is keeping us occupied with food.”

“Fine by me.”

“Stamp,” I chime in. With food piled high on our plates and beers in our hands, we settle in at one of the picnic tables. Farrow faces me and Oscar.

“You guys hear about O’Malley wanting to fuck Luna?” I just go and ask it.

Oscar coughs on a shrimp.

Farrow’s brows furrow.

I pat Oscar’s back. “Don’t choke, man. Didn’t know I needed to wait for you to swallow.”

“You really are going to kill me, bro.” His voice is hoarse and tight. He reaches for his beer.

“O’Malley?” Farrow already looks pissed. “You heard him talk about having sex with Luna?”

“When?” Oscar wonders.

I shake my head. “I didn’t hear anything. Xander said something about it.” I tip a beer to my lips.

“Something about O’Malley wanting to fuck Luna?” Farrow asks more skeptically. Guess he would know Xander well enough with them both being Hales and all.

“In a roundabout way.” I bite into a hushpuppy. Mouth full, I say, “He told me he overheard O’Malley saying he likes Luna.”

Oscar and Farrow share a look.

“Bro,” Oscar says. “That is not the same thing.”

“It’s one step away from fucking. First you gotta like the person.”

“Not always,” Farrow says. “Do you fuck everyone you like?”

“If I could, I would,” I say into a shrug.

“Then, man, you must not like anyone right now,” Farrow says with ease, because I recently told him I haven’t fucked a soul lately.

I blow him a kiss with my middle-finger.

Oscar applauds. “Redford slinging out the royal burns now that he’s American royalty.”

Farrow rolls his eyes, but they fall on me. “Okay, I’m just going to ask. Are you hung up on Luna?”

Oscar quickly washes down his food. “I would also like this answer.”

I try not to tense. “Why?” My pocket vibrates with a phone notification.

“One, you’re basically celibate at this point.” Farrow counts off his fingers, beginning with his thumb. “Two, Oscar heard you saying her name while you were sleepwalking. Three, her dad—”

“I know,” I cut him off, staring Farrow dead in the eye. “You want the truth, man. I don’t want to be hung up on her. I don’t want to be hung up on anything.” My chest heavies.

Farrow looks me over. “It’s okay to be.”

I shake my head and light a cigarette.

“No, Redford is right,” Oscar jumps in. “How do you even form anything serious with anyone if you’re not hung up on them?”

I blow out smoke and look back at Farrow as he tells me, “Take it from someone who loves being in solid, committed relationships, it’s okay, and I’ve been hung up on the wrong guys and the right one.”

“She can’t be the right girl,” I say. What if she is? I pull out my phone beneath the picnic table. “Her dad won’t let me be a part of her life like that, and she might not even want me like that either.”

Farrow rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh like that is the dumbest shit he’s heard. “This is frustrating as fuck.”

“Why?” I ask again.

“Because you two should be together!” he shouts, pissed. “Because the only thing keeping you apart is her dad. A father—my father-in-law, who trusts me when I tell him shit except when I vouch for your character.”