Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(26)

Her hands touch her mouth, and her bright blue eyes only grow brighter. “You did? And what’d he reply?”

My smile overwhelms me for a second—just feeling her happiness for me. “He said that he loves me too.”

Janie shakes my arms, elated, and then we catch each other up. Apparently the younger girls—Audrey Cobalt, Winona Meadows, and my sister Kinney—protested about not being able to join the tour. They made a PowerPoint presentation, and when our parents said no, they locked themselves in a lake house bedroom.

“It was dramatic and passionate,” Jane finishes, “but they lost.”

“Good. We don’t need the youngest kids on the tour with us.”

“Je suis d'accord.” I agree. “The meet-and-greets are already very spontaneous,” she says, “and Beckett and Sulli aren’t as used to the spotlight as us. Having the teenagers here would be twice as chaotic.”

My assistant just emailed me the schedule for the first leg of the tour, and I organized a crew to follow our bus. They’ll set up the meet-and-greets at each convention center. Taking care of the tech aspects.

The H.M.C. charity team and I decided on an unstructured tour. We’ll announce each FanCon city only the day before the meet-and-greet. It’ll create more buzz and social media interaction. Fans will try to guess which city we’ll be in next, and they’ll keep checking to see if we’ll be near them.

It also helps keep our location more anonymous on the road. And hopefully, more paparazzi will lose track of us.

I already know what else I need to tell Jane. “My sister thought she was pregnant,” I let that bomb drop.

Janie’s eyes widen. “Merde.”

“Shit is right.” I brush snow out of my hair. “She’s not. Thank God.” The test came back negative, and Luna just broke down sobbing in relief. “I thought about what you would’ve done if you were there.”

“You did?” Jane clutches her elbows, cold.

I unzip my outer jacket. “I put on The Fifth Element—”

“One of Luna’s favorite movies,” Jane says, already knowing.

I nod. “And I made her a Pop-Tart.”

Jane smiles. “She’s lucky to have you as a brother.”

“No, she’s lucky I tapped into Jane Eleanor Cobalt’s Best Sibling Guide.” I shrug off my Patagonia jacket and hand it to her.

She sticks her arms in the holes and zips it up. “Merci.”

I glance at the twelve-bunk sleeper bus. More of Omega lingers outside on purpose. Maybe they’re taking bets on the status of our friendship. Weirdly, I’m kind of glad they care.

I ask Jane, “How are you and your parents?”

“We’re not speaking really. I need time,” she says. “You?”

I think back to the talk with my dad and mom. “Honestly, I don’t know. They’re not ready to forgive themselves, and there’s not much I can do.”

She asks about their feelings on Farrow, but my parents didn’t even reach that topic. Maybe it’s what Farrow said. It has less to do with him as my boyfriend and more to do with him breaking their trust as a bodyguard. Those weeds are too tall for me to crawl in, and so I don’t start.

“What about your passion?” I ask, realizing that I haven’t even brought this up. Not once. “You’re supposed to be finding what you want to do.”

“I will. Just…not now.”

“Janie.”

“I brought knitting.” She crinkles her nose because she’s tried knitting and she’s not good. “It’s something, but I don’t think I’ll have time…don’t look at me like that. Our friendship comes first.”

“You come first.”

Jane pinches her eyes. “Don’t make me cry. My tear ducts are in pain. They haven’t been in this much use in ages.”

I hug her again, and we chat for about ten more minutes, then we walk back to the bus—fuck. “I need to make a call,” I tell her, our bodyguards reanimating and shoving the last of the supplies in the outside-accessible bays. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

A smile pulls her freckled cheeks. “Let’s never fight again.”

“Deal.”

I step away from the bus and trek back to the curb. Searching for a number in my contacts. Cold drives through my gray sweatshirt, and my arms shake a bit.

Farrow rounds the bus, black boots crunching snow, and our eyes latch. He combs a hand through his bleach-white hair. He dyed the strands early, early this morning.

His features pop a billion times more. A barbell pierces his brown eyebrow again, and he stands like no stress on planet Earth could weigh him down.

God, I am colossally, uncontrollably attracted to him. I motion Farrow over to me, 100% subconscious. My brain zeroes in on him and just computes one word: closer.

Farrow hikes over, his masculine stride so casual and unhurried.

My muscles contract, blood pumping in my veins and rushing down. In one blip, I imagine us tangled together. Legs, arms, bodies welded—I want him all over me. His hands, his eyes, his emotion, his mind.

I solidify at one jarring thought.

I want to be smothered by my boyfriend.

Fuck.

Me.

“Maximoff.” Farrow waves his hand at my face, pulling me from a somewhat-fantasy. His smile expands to James Franco territory.