Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(69)

Donnelly leans a hip against the antique dresser, oil painting landscaped behind him. “It doesn’t seem like that hard of a choice. I’d fuck even if it wasn’t a life or death scenario.”

Me too.

“What if the person you need to fuck is your arch nemesis?”

“If they agree to it, too.” He shrugs. “I’d dick ‘em down good and we’d be BFFs for life.”

“What if they don’t agree to it?” I wonder.

“Get my tombstone ready.”

I hate that scenario where he’d die because someone wouldn’t agree to have sex with him. It’s horrible. “I’d agree to it,” I say. “I’d fuck you.”

And this is the moment that Akara Kitsuwon clears his throat at the door.

Also, a major reminder that I am living with many Homo sapiens who walk by this room. And why is the door open? Ah, yes, because Donnelly and I are friends. And we were having a friendly conversation.

Akara looks between both of us, and Donnelly nods. “Boss,” he says in casual greeting like nothing is amiss.

I explain quickly, “We were talking about the fuck or die trope. I was testing out a hypothetical scenario involving an alien species.”

Akara nods slowly like he’s digesting. “Alright, okay. Well…that’s cool, I guess.” He runs a hand through his black hair, probably suspecting unchaste things were happening between me and Donnelly. Especially since Akara is among the Great Secret Keepers of the time Donnelly went down on me. “Uh, I just wanted to welcome Donnelly to the penthouse. All the guys are glad to have you here—frack.”

On cue, Orion barges into the room and nearly bowls over Akara. My dog races, not to me, but to Donnelly’s bed and decides to jump onto the mattress.

“Orion,” I whisper-hiss.

Instead of jumping off, he decides to lay down.

I don’t blame him. “Sorrysorrysorry,” I slur the words together and mush Orion off the bed with a light pat. He at least takes note and hops off. My face is hot. “We’ll be on our way.”

“See ya later, Planet Partner,” Donnelly says.

He is my new roommate. Once I’m in my room with Orion and Moondragon, I find myself with my back to my door in a state of utter starry-eyed bliss.

I’ve never been the girl destined for love. I guess that’s why I should be preparing myself more for the inevitable heartbreak, but in this moment, I just swoon.





DONNELLY’S DAILY PLANNER





Friday, Sept 28th





Today’s Focus: slay (toughen up, you have a few hours) and let it all go (homecoming tonight, gotta be on your A-game for Xander).



* * *



To Do:

Usual FriYAY school routine to protect X. Leave early for a “long lunch break” (boss already okayed it). Gabe will switch with me.

Meet C.D.

Return in time for Dalton Homecoming.





* * *



Notes: Haven’t run into Loren Hale in a while. Success??? Or is he avoiding me too? Mutual avoidance. Feels like a bad thing, idk. Likelihood of seeing him tonight = 99% Welp, bumped into O’Malley at the gym. He dipped in his book of overused burns and told me he saw a corner with my name on it. Guy needs new material.



* * *



Meals: no time for Wawa. Grab what’s in the penthouse pantry that no one will care about. (Thatcher’s protein bar, maybe. Farrow’s apples?) May skip lunch. Better to go hungry than be late to Homecoming (See if the Hales will let you have a Pop-Tart later?)



* * *



Water: H2O is fire (drink more tho)



* * *



Question of the Day: Does Luna use the detachable wand in our bathroom shower? Why is Luna so cute? How badly would the Hales lose in a Hunger Games situation?





19





PAUL DONNELLY





Everything is going to plan so far. By lunchtime, I swap out with Gabe, SFO’s resident floater, who immediately goes on-duty in my stead.

For a while now, Xander hasn’t needed two bodyguards on his detail at all times, and he’s been calm whenever I’ve had to take a short break and someone else is placed with him. He gets it’s temporary.

I’ll be back.

Going to my cousin’s row house down in South Philly isn’t the furthest trek. And I’m not making this a habit. This is a one-time thing.

Hopefully.

Tonight’s my little elf’s first Homecoming dance, and I’m not missing it for anything.

Colin’s place is bottom-level of the row house, and skipping every other step, I quickly descend and go below street level to the worn navy door.

Two knocks, and it swings open.

Same chestnut brown hair as mine. Same blue eyes filled without a hint of surprise. Colin lifts his chin to appear taller, but he’s standing shorter by a few inches. At thirty-two, he’s wiry and skinny like how I used to be before MMA, and his face is pockmarked from old scabs. A thin silver hoop earring looks new.

But I wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen him in over a decade.

“Paul,” Colin appraises me with the quickest sweep. He opens the door wider, and I take a step through. As soon as my foot crosses the threshold, I know I’ve made a choice to reenter something I’ve been trying to leave behind.