Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(33)

That alternate universe. “You don’t know?”

“Why would I?”

“It’s public knowledge. Every time press interviews me, they ask that question.” It reminds me of something Beckett said in the bathroom. Something that I’ve tried not to let creep into my brain like a parasitic insecurity.

Beckett told me, “For every 200 facts Farrow knows about you, you only know 2 facts about him. So what do you really even know about Farrow? I’m not trying to be a dick. Just be careful. You’re not the kind of person who lets anyone in, and he’s slipped past all your guards, hasn’t he?”

He has, and maybe I haven’t grilled Farrow enough or fucking quizzed him as much as Beckett would. But I hate being indecisive or even doubtful about my own actions. I like to move and speak with assuredness, and even this morsel of uncertainty makes me cringe.

Farrow is quiet trying to find a memory. “Didn’t you joke around in those interviews?” He switches lanes. “Unless you were serious when you said you wanted to be an intergalactic bounty hunter.”

“I was serious, and I was four,” I say.

He pops his gum, about to laugh. “When I asked, I was asking the twenty-two-year-old in the passenger seat. Not the four-year-old.”

“Right.” I lick my lips, restraining a smile. “Truthfully, I try not to think about that alternate universe, but sometimes...I know where I’d be.”

Farrow holds my gaze for a longer moment, understanding in his brown eyes. “The military,” he says with a nod, beating me to the answer.

“Yeah, the military,” I say. He knows me. Really well. I rake a hand through my hair, my gray paracord bracelet still tied around my wrist. I don’t take it off that often. “So your past relationships…”

He checks the directions on his phone’s GPS. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

So he knew Beckett’s words would seep into my brain somehow. Some fucking way.

Farrow sets his phone down. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll answer.” He’s always said as much.

I instinctively shake my head. “It’s not that big of a deal. A huge, colossal part of me hasn’t wanted details about your exes, which is why I haven’t pried before.”

Picturing him with other guys when I have strong feelings for him—I start scowling, then wincing. Almost like I’ve sprayed Pam or Lysol in my eyes. No, actually, I’d rather spray my eyes with household products than hear in grave-fucking-detail how Farrow fell in love with another man.

My brows furrow with another thought. “I don’t know what people typically do in serious relationships.” My shoulders tighten. “I don’t know…should I ask you and pry? Is that the right thing?”

His smile breaks through. “Wolf scout, just do what you feel. There’s no right or wrong here. And there aren’t any ‘best boyfriend’ merit badges on the line or even ‘worst boyfriend’—I promise, you’re safe either way.”

My carriage rises in a deeper breath, confidence surging back. I rotate some, just to face him. “I don’t need to know any of your exes’ names or anything like that. But I’m just curious…did you break it off or did they?”

“One was a mutual break up.” He takes a larger gulp of energy drink. “The other three, I ended things first.” He glances at me, and I listen intently, interested in his past. “One had to move out of the country for work, and I didn’t want to do a long-distance relationship. The other two, I wasn’t feeling after a while.”

“You grew bored or something?” I ask.

Farrow tosses his head from side-to-side, considering this. “Or something.” He places his drink back down. “I never actively looked for a forever guy, but at some point, I’d wake up and I’d think, can I do this for another year, two years, three? And if the answer was constantly no, then I broke it off.”

Huh.

I stare faraway for a long beat. “Even if you loved the guy?” Our eyes catch.

Then he focuses on the road again, but his body is still completely relaxed. “I don’t think I loved them as much as I could’ve or else I’d still be with them and not talking in the past tense.”

I ease back. I don’t need extra reassurance or for him to promise that I’ll be the forever guy. Because this is fucking brand new for me, and I can’t foresee the future either. But right now, he’s mine.

I’m his, and there’s no better feeling than that.

“Is that it?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“You usually go for jocks or am I an outlier?”

His smile stretches wider and wider. Fuck me. I want his mouth wrapped around my cock like yesterday.

“Are you an outlier?” he repeats my words with a husky voice, and his gum chewing habit somehow bolsters his casual confidence to the umpteenth degree. In a boiling glance, his gaze just scorches down my body. “I’ve gone for jocks before, but not a lot look like you.” He motions to my face. “Supermodel.” Then points to my abs. “Athlete.”

“So you’re saying I’m hotter than you.”

His smile reaches cheek-to-cheek. “I’m absolutely still hotter than you, wolf scout.”