Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(85)

Sulli leans into Janie. “Do you talk about sex?”

Jane touches her chest. “Personally, I have to talk about sex. If another guy tries to chokehold me in bed, I will lose it.”

“That’s never happening again,” Akara says, side-eyeing me because he knows I’ll actually kill the person. I’ll commit murder.

Farrow wasn’t around Jane during that incident. One of the worst nights of my life—where I woke to a lamp crashing. Jane’s old bodyguard started knocking down her locked door. Standing guard because she brought someone over. I charged in her bedroom before security inched inside—and I tore a guy twice her size off her body.

I was all rage. My mind blared three notes: you’re killing her, you’re killing her, you’re going to die. My bodyguard had to restrain me.

Just to be clear, I’m not proud of that.

“Can I ask you something?” Sulli says to Jack. “What exactly would I say about sex? I’ve never had sex, the end. There’s nothing more.”

Jack closes his notepad. “Are you waiting to have sex until marriage or to fall in love—”

“I’ve been so focused on swimming. I just never made time for anything else, including sex or dating, and I’d do it all over again. I don’t regret it.”

“Have you ever been attracted to someone? Have you ever thought about hooking up?”

I swear they’re acting like they’re the only two in the room. They’ve blocked us out.

Sulli nods a couple times. “Definitely. A few…okay, several guys on the team were really fucking hot, but I wouldn’t let that get in my way. My mom always said she regretted not waiting for someone who made her feel comfortable and loved. Like my dad. And I want that too.”

He smiles. “Okay. Have you been kissed?”

She bites her lip. “No.”

Wait.

I didn’t know that.

I glance at Akara. And I just read his protective features really well, and I nod to myself, he knew.

Jack smiles more warmly. “So truth: that’ll be a thing. It’ll cause a lot of press, but it’s up to you whether you want to share. The good: I can see a lot of girls relating. The bad: a lot of guys will…”

“Be fuckwads?”

“Yeah.”

More bluntly, Farrow interjects, “Perverted fuckwads.”

Sulli holds her bent leg to her chest. “It shouldn’t be such a big fucking deal. So what? I haven’t been kissed and I’m nineteen. Who cares?”

“So make it less of a big deal,” Jack says. “Make it ordinary. Make it normal. You have that power. And it’s all up to you.”





30





MAXIMOFF HALE





Board meetings at eight in the morning are like an average human’s ten-minute sprint. Come prepared to my table—then we’ll be back in our individual offices by 8:10.

Fifteen other people sit in leather chairs. At twenty-two, I head the table. It’s not just hard work that put me here. Clearly nepotism plays a vital role.

I don’t ever forget that.

“We have three grant applications that look promising,” Yara says, a longtime board member and also the COO of Cobalt Inc.

Outside of our own projects, H.M.C. Philanthropies funds local and regional nonprofit organizations, but with the amount of requests we receive every year, we need to be selective in where the money is allocated.

“Are those the ones you emailed me last night?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Approve them all,” I tell her. My eyes lift to the clock on the wall. 8:05.

Farrow will pick me up at 8:10 on the dot. I’m scheduled to drop by the local animal shelter and talk about future fundraising events.

Just as I start wrapping up the meeting—the damn door blows open. Heads swing.

People freeze. Coffee cups to lips and pens raised midair. Silence invades the room like an airborne virus.

What the fuck is he doing here?

Charlie Cobalt stands in the doorway, all six-foot-three of him looks like he just fucked someone. No shit. White collar popped on his button-down, half-tucked into black pants. His sandy brown hair sticks up in odd places. Artfully messed.

“Sorry I’m late.” He saunters inside with a commanding, oxygen-vacuuming presence. Everyone is caging their breath—everyone but me.

Charlie strolls past my chair and the long row of board members. Reaching the opposing head of the table. They watch.

Staring.

Like he’s a reptile in the terrarium, burrowing underneath the dirt. Only exposing himself when he wants you to see him.

My phone pings on the table. I read the message without clicking in the text.

I just learned that Oscar is at the H.M.C. office. Heads up, if Charlie’s not there yet. He will be. – Farrow





Just one minute too late, but I appreciate that Farrow tried to warn me.

I look up.

Charlie stands at the other end. I shake my head a few times. He carries poise like a unique possession only he owns. His tweets go viral in under seconds. His words are like cannonballs thrown into pools.

You’ve seen him on We Are Calloway. You’ve watched him as long as you’ve watched me.