Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(77)

We return to my townhouse at almost 4 a.m.—Farrow and I stayed with my sister for about three hours. He would’ve waited at the security’s house one street over, but he’s closest to Luna. I was glad she wanted him there.

Luna ended up feeling comfortable enough to tell our mom and dad. Tears were shed. Hugs were given. In the end, they made a plan to speak to the principal. She may not have to repeat the whole year if they learn about the shit-in-a-bag.

I thought I was pissed, but my dad almost woke up Jeffra’s parents at three a.m.—not by phone. That family lives in our gated neighborhood.

My mom spider-monkeyed his back to stop him, and he turned to complete affectionate mush in her presence.

I check my watch when I shut my bedroom door.

4:23 a.m. “I’m sorry,” I tell Farrow. I turn off my harsh lamp, and the strung bulbs on the rafters cast shadows and a soft, orange glow in my small bedroom.

Farrow unlaces his boots and tugs them off. “That’s the fifth time you’ve needlessly apologized tonight.”

I pull my crew-neck over my head and toss the shirt in my wicker hamper. “Every damn time we’re alone or in a conversation—actually, when we’re doing anything at all, something in my life swoops in and cuts it off. Your pockets are overflowing with rain checks.” I watch him walk to my sole window, gray curtains drawn shut. “I’m shit at this, Farrow. You should reconsider this whole thing.”

He’s so damn calm as he leans against the window ledge, half-sitting on it. “This whole thing?”

“Yeah, this whole thing.” I motion from him to me, then me to him. “I can fuck. Christ, I’m good at sex—”

“Who told you that?” His lips quirk.

I don’t miss a beat. “—but being someone’s boyfriend is so far out of my territory. It’s on another galaxy. My life can’t accommodate romantic relationships. At least not the kind you deserve.”

“Is that really what you think?” He frowns darkly.

“Yeah.” I nod several times. “You’ve had four other boyfriends, Farrow, and I can say I’m probably without a fucking doubt your worst. In terms of fucking—I’m number one though, sure.”

“Sure,” he adds, eyeing me, still not giving anything away. Maybe he’s processing everything I dumped on him. He shakes his head once. “How long have you been agonizing over this?”

“What?”

“Come on,” he says, still calm. Still cool. He crosses his arms over his chest more leisurely than serious. “You’re you. You fixate over the details, over every variable you can think of. You’ve most likely been wrestling with this for weeks, if not months.”

He knows me well.

Millions of people know me, but not like this. Not like that. I hang onto that fact like rope on a wall that blocks my view of everything. He’s how I see the other side. He’s made my life feel freer.

He made me believe I could actually have a relationship.

He made me believe I could experience more than just this fleeting, temporary thing.

And I have.

Christ, I have, but what is this for him? I give him halfway. Half of a relationship. A semblance of the real thing.

“It’s been on my mind,” I admit. “You’ve experienced what it’s like being with me. The constant interruptions that I won’t ignore. The lack of privacy that won’t change. The never-ending phone calls. The zero PDA. If you want to break things off now, I get it. Just…clean cut. You can go back to being just my bodyguard. I go back to being just your client.” My chest is on fire.

“Is that what you want?” he says, those words like a sling blade.

“No.” My eyes sear. “No. I want you.” More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.

Farrow never breaks my gaze. “And you’re assuming that the lack of privacy, the ‘zero’ PDA, and all the interruptions bother me.” He shakes his head. “They don’t. Would I like to touch you in the car or on the street or even in an elevator? Of course, but I get more by being with you than any PDA could give me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maximoff,” he says, “the reason why this relationship works is because I’m your bodyguard. I’m with you almost twenty-four hours a day, every single day. One week with you is the equivalent to three months with anyone else. You know more about me and what it’s like to be with me than some of my long-term exes.” He laughs at a thought. “The fact that we’re sleeping together, around one another all the time, and not killing each other is a miracle. And it says something.”

His words extinguish the toxic heat in my chest. “What?”

“We’re good together. Really good.” Farrow smiles. “And you’re not a bad boyfriend. You’re not the worst. Or even second-to-last-place. You’re the most thoughtful, the most caring, and the media was right when they said whoever dates you would be the luckiest fucking human alive. I feel lucky to be with you.”

I inhale, but I don’t exhale yet. “I can’t give you more though. I know there may be a point where a crisis in my family may conflict with whatever’s happening in your life—and you’re not going to like who I choose.”