Page 17 of Lovers Like Us
Thatcher cringes a bit, obviously hoping to avoid that word. “If you want them on the bus,” he says to Jane more than Beckett. “I need a list. Names. We have to clear them before they’re allowed ontour.”
A cold draft wafts into the study, snow falling heavieroutside.
Becket zips his leather jacket over a blackThe Carrawaysband T-shirt, half tucked into ripped jeans. His brown curly hair is artfully styled, and he’s lean and tall, built perfectly for dance. A warm smile toys at his pink lips. He looks older than when I last sawhim.
Like he’s met more parts of the world, and he came out better.Tougher.
You know Beckett Joyce Cobalt as a principal dancer of an elite ballet company in New York City. His tattoos and extracurricular activities cause a stir for tabloids. But they also fill seats for shows. You call himthe bad boy of balletand he doesn’t bother proving youwrong.
I know him as my twenty-year-old hard-working, extraordinarily talented cousin, the most calm and the least dramatic of the Cobalt Empire. He has no room for bullshit, and he’ll be the first to say you smell full of it. If he weren’t Charlie’s fraternal twin, maybe we’d find common ground. But if there really are sides in my family, Beckett will never be onmine.
Fair Warning: if you fuck with Beckett, I won’t hesitate to team up with Charlie and rip you limb-from-limb.
Beckett extends an arm. “No fuck buddies forme.”
Donnelly rocks back. “Yousure?”
You’ve definitely seen Beckett pick up random girls at NYC nightclubs. You don’t know that he sometimes goes to private sex parties—the only reasonIknow is because he once told Eliot, who then let it slip to Tom. Who told Jane. Who then toldme.
Gotta lovefamily.
“Positive,” Beckett says. “If I’m going to hookup, it’ll be with someone I meet on theroad.”
I take a larger sip of tea, and I notice how everyone’s zeroed in onJane.
She’s quiet and tucks a pink throw blanket around her body. Maybe she’s thinking about her options. I’m about to ask, but Thatcher beats me to thequestion.
“Do you want to bring Nate?” heasks.
Her blue eyes meet me. “I don’tknow.”
Farrow messes with the puzzle. “You can’t smuggle him on the bus, Cobalt. If you want him, we’re all meetinghim.”
“What do you think, Moffy?” sheasks.
“I think it’s your choice.” I dunk a tea bag a couple times. “But if I have to share space with your Asshole With Benefits, there’s not a chance I’ll be able to hold mytongue.”
She could do light-years better than that fucking douchebag. He cares more about expensive things than about her. I swear he’s complained a million times that our townhouse lacks a pool, hot tub, six-car garage, private guesthouse, etc.—and he’s told Jane that she should move outASAP.
Beckett eyes me. “He’s thatbad?”
I see-saw my hand likeso-so. “AWB #2 was definitelyworse.”
Jane shoots me a strong look. “Je regrette d’avoir demandé ton avis.”I regret asking for youropinion.
I touch my chest. “Tu connais mes sentiments à propos de Nate.”You know my feelings aboutNate.
Beckett turns to his sister. “Est-ce qu’il t’a frappé?”Did he hityou?
Oscar whispers in Donnelly’s ear. I quickly realize that I have no idea which bodyguards are fluent in French. Farrow definitelyisn’t.
Jane shakes her head adamantly. “No.Never.”
“He’s just an asshole.” I finish off my tea in one gulp. Literally every bodyguard trains these narrowed, pinpointed eyes on me like I’m withholdingsecurityinfo. “That’sit.”
Farrow tilts his head from side-to-side, considering my words. “Okay, but there’s a range for assholes, and most of us want to know where Natefalls.”
Oscar spreads out two hands to demonstrate the range. “There’s the likable asshole over here.” He waves his left hand before lifting up his right. “Then there’s the abusive motherfucker that deserves to eat cowshit.”
