Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(46)

Akara nods. “I’ll ramp up the extra security when he exits the venue.” He takes outs his phone.

“Thanks,” I say but we all eagle-eye an incoming hoard of preteen girls. Giggling and shrieking at the celebrity sighting.

Donnelly flings his headband off. “See ya.” He lowers his middle and ring finger into a hand-gesture that means love. And he beelines for Beckett at the cash register with Sulli and Maximoff.

Akara and I reach them before the girls are halfway into the gift shop. Sulli collects her receipt and bag, hesitant. “Are we leaving?” She glances at Akara.

See, Beckett and Sulli only greet fans in controlled, pre-secured environments. Not every day life.

“It’s up to you,” Akara says.

Beckett shoves a fry in his mouth. “I’m not staying, Sul.” He waits for his cousin to make a decision.

Maximoff is definitely staying. It’s what he always chooses, and it’s more dangerous with the Instagram threat. But that’s why I’m here.

He already waves to the twelve girls, and they scream in unison. Snapping selfies with Maximoff towering in the background. “DO YOU SEE HIM!?!?”

I smile.

I see him.

Maximoff gives me a look like would you scream like that for me?

I shake my head. No. At the very least, he’d have to work for it.

Sulli turns to Maximoff and whispers, “How pissed will they be if I leave?”

“It’s not a reason to stay,” he says quietly. “Some people will hate you no matter what. It’s just what happens when you’re more public.”

She nods. “Right. Fuck, okay. I’m going. Beckett?” He clasps her hand, and they move out of the store. Akara and Donnelly create a barrier between their clients and the fans. No one able to approach them.

I stand right next to Maximoff.

He gestures the girls forward. “Want a photo?”

More screaming. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!”

I increase my radio volume to drown them out, and I eye their pockets and purses and hands. Staying alert. Eh, I don’t typically do this for preteens.

The chance is low.

The risk is low.

But I realize I’m more vigilant than I’ve ever been. Most bodyguards would add precautions. And I don’t mean extra security. They’d tell Maximoff to change his lifestyle. Sacrifice these interactions. Be less public.

He’d feel choked, and I still want to provide him that safe middle-ground. Shit, I love giving him what other people can’t.

I’m not forcing him into a cushioned room with no windows unless it’s dire.

I just can’t do that to him.





16





FARROW KEENE





We’ve reached the one-hour mark of the Cleveland FanCon. The crowds are massive. Crew and assistants buzz around the conference room like invisible insects, and temporary security manages the long, weaving lines of excited fans.

My sole focus: Maximoff Hale.

Five velvet-roped aisles lead to plain-white backdrops. Jane, Maximoff, Sullivan, Beckett, and Charlie stand in separate aisles.

Different lines.

Less chaos.

Fans cue up and wait for their turn to meet their favorite celebrity. A line coordinator motions for a twenty-something brunette girl to approach Maximoff. She wears a FanCon shirt and eagerly sprints towards him, throwing an arm around his neck like they’re long-lost friends.

He hugs back, smiling genuinely.

I stand only a few feet away, hands cupped in front of me. I’m out of the photos, but close enough in case there’s trouble.

“I’m such a big fan. I love you so much!” She speaks hurriedly. “Are you okay? How’s your nose? Who brought you breakfast? Did you have a nice shower? Oh my God, I can’t believe this is real. I’m meeting you right now.” She pets his arm.

I chew my gum a little harder. This is the sixty-seventh time I wish I could say he’s mine. I know what I like and what I don’t like, and I’ve never been into people “caressing” a boyfriend.

But I’ve also never dated a celebrity.

“I’m good, I promise.” He squeezes her shoulders in a side-hug. “What’s your name?”

“Penny. Oh my God, please say my name.”

“Penny,” he says with a bigger smile.

She squeals.

“Want a picture or autograph?” he asks. “Q&A will be later. Hopefully we’ll be able to answer some of your questions then.”

“Yes, yes! Can you sign my shirt?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

An assistant is ready and passes Maximoff a Sharpie.

Penny clutches his bicep while he uncaps the pen. I hone in on her hand that veers to his chest, dives down his waist, and even reaches his belt. I wait, wait, and her hand moves south—I step in, my mere presence an electric shock.

She jolts backwards, wide-eyed at me and my tattoos.

“Try to keep your hands above his waist.” I’ve repeated this phrase too many times today.

Before she pales, Maximoff smiles again like nothing is awry. Distracting her from being called out. “Where do you want the signature?”

“The back of my shirt. Thank you so, so much.”