Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(44)

Farrow laughs out a pained smile. “Man, you think this is easy for me? I don’t want to rifle in your past when I know it hurts you for me to be there.”

“Then don’t.” I gesture to his chest. “Give the job to me or if not me, then Akara—”

“I’m your fucking bodyguard.” His narrowed gaze drives deeper into me. “Not Akara. Not anyone else. And as your bodyguard and your boyfriend, I want to protect you. It’s my job to take care of your NDAs, your safety, and if you don’t let me help you, then I’m hurting you by being a worse bodyguard than what you need.”

I set my hands on my head, almost out of breath. Like I just swam a 400-meter IM without coming up for air. I just stop. I breathe, and I try my best to understand him. Because I don’t want to fuck with his job.

My mind reels, and I just say what hits me. “I want to not care about the fucking NDAs, the faces, the names,” I tell him. “I get it. If our positions were reversed, I’d hope you’d value your life over something trivial. And that you’d let me sift through papers about your one-night stands and let me help…” I cringe at the thought of anyone stepping into a sex life that I kept private from the world.

From you.

How do I open a door that I padlocked, chained, and bolted shut? “Fuck,” I breathe, glaring at the ceiling.

“It’s not trivial,” Farrow says, swiveling the knob to his radio.

“What do you mean?”

“What you feel, what’s important to you—it’s not trivial,” he clarifies and sits half on the desk, casually stuffing his hands in his black pants pockets.

I can’t unglue my feet from the middle of the room. “I’m not ashamed of my number, but if you learn about all of this—I don’t want it to affect our relationship.”

“It won’t,” he says strongly. “I promise you, Maximoff. I don’t give a flying shit about your number or who you’ve fucked. I’ve never judged anyone for being promiscuous.” He shrugs. “It’s a personal choice, and that’s your business, not mine.”

“Exactly.”

He rolls his eyes and stands off the desk. “Unless this psychotic dickhole is someone you enraged after fucking them, then it becomes my business.”

“I’m not an asshole,” I say, my chest tight. “I’d like to believe I treated all of my one-night stands with respect.”

“I know.” His voice is almost a whisper.

I crack my knuckles. “I always thought about how every hookup had to sign NDAs and jump through hoops to sleep with me. To protect me.” I look up at Farrow. “And I always thought who’s protecting them? And I knew, I fucking knew, that it was my job to protect the people I had sex with. I had to care or else it felt like my life meant more than theirs because I’m famous. And that’s just bullshit.”

Farrow stares deeply. “And now I just want to protect the fuck out of you ten times more.”

I lick my lips, knowing that I need to let go of control. I need help, and I need him. If I create a roadblock, then I’ll lose Farrow as my bodyguard. He’d probably quit his job before he failed me—and maybe he’s been struggling with that idea.

Maybe he still will. But I have to make it easier on him.

So I say, “I’m okay with that.”

Farrow closes the distance between us before I unfreeze. I hold the back of his neck, and he clasps my jaw, his hand affectionate and forceful. I hear our heavy breaths.

His brown eyes melt against my forest-green, and he says, “I’m really, really in love with you, and whatever happens, keeping you safe is my priority.”

“Same here.”

He begins to smile. “You’re going to keep me safe?”

“Yeah.” I nod heartily. “No one’s fucking with you.”

“They’re not fucking with me because I’m not the famous one,” he says. “And unfortunately for you, it’s my job to jump in front a bullet that’s aimed for your head.”

I grimace. “Thanks for reminding me.” We eye each other’s lips, a half-second from kissing, and then my phone rings. I pull away. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Farrow leaves my side to pick up his oatmeal, finally eating.

I take the call. “Hey?”

“Moffy, can you come into the gift store downstairs?” Sulli whispers softly. “Please? Fuck, this is so hard.”

I already start grabbing a clean pair of jeans and a crew-neck shirt. “I’ll be right there.”





15





FARROW KEENE





I rest my ass partially on a table of folded Cavaliers shirts. “Why the phone call?” I ask Akara and Donnelly. We hang out at the gift shop’s entrance.

Our clients talk towards the back. Near a rack of keychains and souvenir mugs. And in my peripheral, I clearly see Beckett eating Wendy’s fries, Maximoff unwrapping his chicken biscuit, and Sulli speaking too quietly to hear.

Akara wears a backwards baseball cap and bounces a rubber ball. “She said she’s having a hard time picking out a souvenir for her little sister.”

My brows ratchet up. Because that’s not a reason she’d call Maximoff. I eat a spoonful of oatmeal, and Donnelly listens while he tries on winter beanies.