Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(47)

When she leaves, his eyes briefly flit to me in thanks.

I nod. Dick-grabbing crisis averted. The only person touching his cock will be me.

Oscar’s voice floods comms. “Now confirmed, this is taking forever.”

We’ve barely made a dent in the lines.

“It’s Sulli,” Quinn says through mics. “Someone tell her to stop having twenty-minute conversations with fans.”

Oscar returns. “Look at you, little bro, trying to take charge and keep an eye on a Meadows girl.”

I click my mic. “Shit, it’s like he’s Akara.”

“He wants to be,” Oscar says, his tone half-joking.

“Fuck you, bro.” That was a real fuck you.

“Hey,” I cut in. “He’s fucking with you, man.” I’ve seen some Oliveira fighting flare-ups on the bus, and to be honest, I don’t like it. I prefer all of us ribbing Quinn and him smiling at the end. Not this pile of shit.

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Quinn growls.

I can’t believe I’ve gone from mentor to mediator. I speak into my mic. “Akara, this is all yours.”

“Chill on comms,” Akara says, “and leave Sulli alone. She’s new to this. I’m getting her line coordinator to usher people out faster.”

“Smart thinking, boss,” Donnelly adds.

Thatcher has been absent from comms, and I quickly scrutinize Jane’s line next to me. Three feet from her, he stands like a brick wall, hands cupped in front. Zeroed in on fans who excitedly bob up and down.

“Maximoff, this is for you!” A boy hands Maximoff a scrapbook he made. I watch the friendly exchange.

“Redford,” Oscar says in my ear. “Look at Charlie’s line.”

I reroute my attention for only a second and crane my neck to the very end of the set-up. Charlie is the furthest from Maximoff, and his line is almost empty.

One blonde girl snaps a picture, and I read Charlie’s lips that move with one word: bye.

The girl grins from ear-to-ear. Taking no offense to his curtness. And she slips into Beckett’s winding line.

I click my mic before he rubs in the success. “You mean the guy who has a reputation of being elusive can blow off his fans and none of them bat an eye? If others copied him, we’d have Celebrity Crush calling them rude bitches and assholes.”

Oscar laughs. “Look who became a publicist.”

“Sucking Maximoff’s dick must give superpowers,” Donnelly says without thinking.

“Cut it out,” Thatcher snaps.

I’m not easily offended, and Thatcher’s all up-in-arms because Donnelly is speaking about a client’s dick. Not necessarily because that’s my boyfriend’s dick. But I’m of the mindset that if you dish it, you better be able to take it, and I dish a fucking ton.

Not listening to the bane of my career and my sanity, I speak into my mic. “And no one knows what sucking Donnelly’s dick does because no one wants near it.”

Donnelly lets his laughter filter through the comms.

“Farrow,” Thatcher warns.

I roll my eyes. I let go of my mic. Still observing Maximoff and the overzealous fans. I have faith in our entrance security, so I’m not paranoid about concealed weapons.

Maximoff accepts a basket of cookies from a girl, and he’s about to pass the present to an assistant. But I tell her that I’ll get it.

Maximoff hands me the basket, and I ask, “How are you doing?”

“Good.” He nods and flashes a smile at his line. The fans erupt in cheers, and then he turns to me and whispers, “How are Sulli and Beckett doing?”

“Sulli’s just mismanaging time, and Beckett is getting asked to lift girls for pics.”

“Like ballet lifts?”

“Yeah.”

“His arms are going to be sore.” Maximoff scrutinizes his cousins in a quick sweep.

“That’s what Donnelly keeps telling him, but he’s having trouble telling the girls no since they paid to be here.”

Maximoff nods and asks me, “How much longer do you think?” He cranes his neck, searching.

“Four hours—”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He zeroes in on Charlie’s empty space. True to Charlie Cobalt form, he’s left the building. Oscar is gone too.

“You’re glaring,” I warn Maximoff.

Before the line coordinator ushers someone forward, Maximoff says to the crew member, “Give me a second.”

He grabs his water off the floor and then fully faces me. Back turned to the fans. His caustic glare could drill holes into the wall.

Charlie touches a raw place inside of Maximoff that I’ve never seen anyone else reach. Not even a heckler. It’s another level of hurt and frustration and spite.

“He’d better be in the bathroom,” Maximoff says.

I want to wrap my arm around his shoulders. But I pull against that natural impulse. I may as well yank against a taut bungee cord. It just makes me want to snap forward that much more.

I chew my gum and do what I can to help. Clicking my mic, I ask Oscar where he’s at. I share the answer with Maximoff. “They’ll be at the other hotel until the Q&A starts.”

“He said he’d stay and help Sulli if he finished early.”