Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(94)

Jack was the only name on the list.

Throughout years of time—while he’s been an exec producer on We Are Calloway—I’ve talked about painful memories, spilled secrets to him, and at last minute, I told Jack, don’t air it.

None have ever leaked.

Since he plans to sleep on the tour bus, I decided to share the secret about me and Farrow. The first thing he said after I told him I’m in a real relationship was you deserve it. I don’t know. It fucking got to me.

Jack slings the duffel on a bed. “I thought you’d need some toothbrushes, deodorant, some extra clothes, and food.”

Oscar stands up. “You’re now my favorite person, Highland.” He unzips the duffel and finds a bag of Doritos. Janie helps unearth the clothes and toiletries for everyone.

Jack swerves, searching. “Where’s Sulli?”

“Here.” Sulli is doing push-ups between the two beds. She rises to her feet and twists her dark hair in a high bun. “What’s up?”

His smile radiates. “Come here for a sec.”

Akara casts a narrowed look at Jack. The you hurt her, you’re dead threat unmistakable.

Sulli approaches Jack, our attention super-glued to them, and he lowers the pastry box.

She smiles. “God, if you bought donuts, I could seriously fucking kiss you.”

Akara makes a face at Sulli. “Your first kiss for donuts?”

“Uh, yeah,” she says like he’s being weird. “Not for payment, but donuts are happiness. Now dry cereal on a donut, that’s heaven.”

Jack grins. “It’s better than donuts.”

Sulli snorts. “No fucking way.” She pauses. “Is it a waffle? Because that’s a close second, then pancakes.”

“You’re off,” Akara says.

Sulli swings her head to her bodyguard. “You know what it is?”

He shrugs.

She breaks into a smile. “Okay, now I have to see.” She flips open the pastry box, her eyes lit. When she tilts the box a bit more, I catch sight of two-dozen turquoise cupcakes, iced together to form a wave.

“Happy 20th Birthday,” Jack tells her.

It’s February 4th. Our indoor waterpark plan to celebrate Sulli’s birthday pretty much died hours ago. To salvage the day, Jane has been trying to get a cake delivered.

But Jack Highland beat us to it.

Sulli is lost for words, but then she starts with, “You didn’t have to—”

“I didn’t,” Jack says and then nods to Akara. “When he found out I was coming by, he told me to pick up the order.”

Correction, Akara Kitsuwon beat us to it.

Sulli looks overwhelmed. “Thanks, Kits.”

He shrugs again, his lips inching up. Then he glances at Jack. “Her mom has a theory that cake fixes everything.”

Sulli lingers on Akara for a long moment, then plucks a cupcake out of the box. “Right on fucking time.”

Jane has already unloaded all the supplies, but I don’t see any drinks. Charlie has walked the hall a few times, so it shouldn’t be a problem for me. As long as I’m fast.





34





MAXIMOFF HALE





An ice machine rumbles in the vending enclave. I crave to run, to swim, to feel something other than confined, hollowed out or empty.

I smack the side of a black-and-gold Fizzle machine that won’t spit out a Fizz Life.

“Move, wolf scout.”

My pulse skips. Reminding me I’m alive. Breathing. Human. I look over my shoulder.

A six-foot-three, tattooed know-it-all comes up behind me. His brows raise and lower in a wave.

I feign confusion. “Who are you again?”

Farrow kicks the machine. A can drops. “Your boyfriend.” He collects the soda from the dispenser and tosses the silver aluminum can to me. “Want to talk about it?”

Yes, a million fucking times yes. The can is cold in my grip. I want to express how I feel, but I’m not used to articulating any of this out loud. My guards scream no, my heart pleads yes.

And I end up saying, “You want a drink?”

He chews his gum slowly, our eyes not detaching. “Yeah.”

I go to take out my wallet.

“I’m buying my own,” he says casually, fishing out a couple bills from his leather wallet. “I can tell you something I’ve never shared with anyone.”

“I don’t want to force you—”

“I want to, Maximoff,” he says with the tilt of his head. Trying to assess my reaction.

My muscles start to unbind. “What about?”

He smiles and then talks while he feeds money into the machine. “My second week of rotations in the ER. It was a bad night, understaffed, and the only attending available was an ass. At one point, there was just him, a first-year intern, two nurses, and me. And a teenage girl comes in with a stab wound to the heart.” Farrow presses the regular Fizz button. “There was no time to rush her to the OR, and the doctor decides on an emergency thoracotomy.”

The machine dispenses a gold can.

He grabs the soda and then faces me. “I knew the girl had a two-percent chance of living, and so I hung onto the excitement of seeing a thoracotomy. It made it easier when the attending cracked her chest open…” Farrow shifts his weight, his nose flaring. But he keeps eye contact with me.