Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(32)

Farrow drives the graveyard shift. On route to Cleveland. I camp out in the passenger seat and keep him company.

I prefer Farrow driving over pretty much everyone else. I can fucking admit that I’ve been on edge. I’d do just about anything to sit behind the steering wheel, except break the law.

Which leaves me with a bucket load of nothing. Unfortunately.

Lights dimmed, the bus hums. Quiet. Bodyguards and my family sleep in their bunks. The privacy door is slid closed, so we’re shut out from the first lounge. And only one paparazzi van has been trailing us. With tinted windows, there’s not much cameramen can catch.

Farrow keeps one tattooed hand on the steering wheel, posture all cool confidence. His left foot is perched on the seat, arm relaxed on his bent knee. He constantly glances at me with an ever-growing know-it-all smile.

My blood simmers. I crack a knuckle or two and shift in my seat.

I never thought a lot about chemistry or how his unperturbed energy would be compatible with my strong-wired, but something about Farrow just drives me nuts. My pulse pounds harder than my broken nose throbs.

Every damn time I’m with him, it feels like the first time we’re together. He’s inched under my skin, into my blood stream, definitely my brain—I’ve been a fucking goner since I was sixteen. And I still haven’t fully accepted this fact.

That someone in my life is here for me. Because they love me. A romantic love. Not family, not solely friendship. It still seems unbelievable.

I don’t know why.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

I unconsciously glance at his zipper. Fuck my sexually frustrated brain.

He tilts his head, and then eyes the road with a satisfied smile. “You dreaming of fucking me?”

I give him a weird look while I prop my foot on the dashboard. Trying my hand at relaxing. It feels strange. “Why would I dream about it when I can just fuck you?”

“Because you’re not fucking me right here, wolf scout.”

He knows I usually get what I want as a celebrity. And him telling me no—it just sets my body on fire. I drop my foot, my muscles flexed and abs tight. “Hold on, let me wish upon a star,” I say, sarcasm thick.

He glances at me, the road, then the bulge in my jeans. It’s a normal bulge. Don’t get excited. “How pent-up are you?”

“Not enough to ram my dick in your ass and kill everyone in the back.”

He rolls his eyes and then smiles. “Always a precious smartass.” He unwraps a piece of gum and steers by propping his knee on the wheel.

“I’ve seen way too many movies where a couple dies because one is blowing the driver. Death by blowjob—not how I’m dying.”

“Okay, that’s not what I asked.” He crumples the foil and tosses it in the change tray. “Time hasn’t really been on our side lately, and if you need to jack off without me, I won’t be pissed.” He focuses on the road as the GPS directs him off the exit. “That’s not a hall pass, by the way.”

“Wait a minute.” I sit up straighter. “You’re telling me people stop masturbating when they get in a relationship?”

He checks his side mirror. “I never expect it, but I’ve been with someone who did.”

I grimace. “Fuck that guy.”

Farrow starts smiling. “And you do know what a hall pass is, right?”

I blink into a glare. “No.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Yes. Jesus Christ.” I growl out my irritation.

“Just checking. You seem a little—”

“Don’t say it.” I’d literally cover his mouth if he weren’t driving right now.

“Pure.”

I flip him off, and in the next brief glance, he studies the corners of my eyes, the skin beneath bleeding black-and-blue. I’ve checked in a mirror. I’ll need to conceal the bruises with makeup before the meet-and-greet.

I watch his palm and fingers rub his knee before he clutches the wheel again. Talking about sex just sends me down a rabbit hole. An abnormal, really strange abyss that no one would expect, but he can tell I’m drifting somewhere. Mentally.

“What are you really thinking about?” he asks.

I try to lean back. “My mom.”

Weight sinks in the air at those two words, but he waits for me to continue.

I inhale a strong breath. “I was just thinking about how difficult a trip like this would’ve been for her—if she were here at my age, still battling her sex addiction.” I lick my lips. “I don’t know. It’s the small stuff. Like, would she have wanted to stop the bus and screw my dad? Would she be fidgeting or upset? Or would they’ve just fucked on the couch? Then I start thinking about how fucking weird it is to be casually thinking about my parent’s sex life.”

He opens the cap to a Lightning Bolt! energy drink. “It’s your normal,” he tells me. “It doesn’t have to be everyone else’s.” He sips the drink, then offers me the slender can.

I take a swig and pass it back, remembering how non-judgmental and open-minded Farrow is—and yeah, I like it. I can’t have someone in my private life belittling me for not being perfect. I get that too much online.

Farrow merges onto another freeway. “What would you’ve done if you weren’t rich and famous?” he asks me. “For a career?”