Page 37 of Lovers Like Us
“And you’re so pure.” I take a largerbite.
He growls out his irritation, but his lips start to slowly rise. “Farrow.”
“I’m going to pay for it. Relax.Relax.” I widen my eyes and then lower myaviators.
He exhales a bigger breath, and we peruse the next aisle. Some stocked over-the-countermedications.
I squat and shift boxes of cold medicine. I give him my half-bitten apple so I can reach further back. I feel him fixating on the movement of my hands. I smile and find only one pregnancykit.
I flash him the box. “I’ll check out with cash and rip up thereceipt.”
He looks surprised that I have a gameplan.
I rise. “I’m still your bodyguard, wolf scout. And I’m still tallertoo.”
He laughs shortly and backs up from me. “By one fucking inch.” He lets his gaze drop all the way down mybody.
8
MAXIMOFF HALE
We’re leaving.
It’s time, and this isn’t some alternate universe. This is actually, in real life, happening. Six inches of snow blankets a deserted parking lot. Right outside of a Food Lion. I shove the tenth suitcase into the storage bays of our parked tourbus.
Security Force Omega darts around and coordinates through their mics, carrying cases of water, beer, soda, and othersupplies.
My four cousins hop on and off the black sleeper bus, bringing in snacks andpillows.
And paparazzi—they’re gone. Vanished. They trailed our families back to Philadelphia, and they probably believe we’re with them. But me, Jane, Sullivan, Beckett, Charlie, and six bodyguards are still in the SmokyMountains.
It’s weird—not having a cameraman up in myface.
I keep thinking about that. And how I’m more used to their invasive presence than the unadulterated peace withoutthem.
My family also decided to extend the hiatus forWe Are Calloway.I called Jack Highland, an exec producer of the docuseries, and he agreed to push film dates until after the tour. So those cameras won’t be around for at least fourmonths.
“Moffy?” Jane steps off the bus into thesnow.
I heave another duffel into the bottom bay. “Bonjour, ma moitié.” My voice is tight. Because we haven’t talked without a peanut gallery—her brothers, my boyfriend, or any of the security team—in fuckingforever.
And byforever, I meandays.
For us, that’s practically acentury.
She nears. “Regarde-moi s’il te plaît.”Look at me,please.
I stand straighter and lift my gaze. Wind whips her tangled brown hair, and her outfit is classic Janie: furry pink boots, cat-stitched mittens (gifted by me years ago), a chunky zebra sweater, and a mint-green tutu over knitleggings.
Just seeing my best friend, my mouth aches torise.
Jane touches her mittens to her rosy cheeks. “It’s just you and me, old chap, and a tour bus full of beautiful people. Friends andfamily.”
I start to smile. I can feel us finding footing in our friendship again. And I think we’re going to land upright. “You sure they’rebeautiful?”
“You’re right. They’redreadfullygorgeous.” A cheery smile overtakes her face, and we notice Quinn and Donnelly lingering by the rear wheels. Watching ourexchange.
So Jane and I walk over to a curb that landscapes a skeletal tree. Grass probably hidden beneath snow. We’re out of earshot from the bus but still inview.
