Page 52 of Lovers Like Us
“Why do you want to know?!” he yells over thecacophony.
I don’t like SFE, and SFE doesn’t like me. It’s been written in stone. “Man, I’m asking for my client. I wouldn’t call you for shits andgiggles.”
“What does Maximoffwant?!”
Maximoff instantly takes over. “Where’sTom?”
Bass and guitar strums through the speaker. “We’re at his bandmate’shouse!”
“Let me talk to him,” Maximoff says, not shittingaround.
“TOM!” Ian shouts, and after muffled sounds, the bang of a drum, crash of an object, laughter and more chatter, Tomspeaks.
“Moffy! What’s up,dude?”
Maximoff cups my cellphone. “Have you been texting me? Where’s yourphone?”
I picture Tom patting his pockets, and his voice fades. “Which one of you douchebags took my phone?” Morelaughter.
I put two-and-two together: a kid stole Tom’s phone and texted Maximoff as a prank. I spit out my stale gum. I’m fucking irritated atIan.
Maximoff keeps shaking his head, and he tries to stretch his flexed arm over hischest.
See, the mistake is on the bodyguard. Ian shouldn’t have let anyone steal his client’s phone. If Tom set it down, his bodyguard should’ve picked it up. Simple asthat.
“Sorry, Moffy,” Tom says, voice louder. “My bandmate has a bad sense of humor. Phone’sback.”
“You staying there all night?” Maximoffasks.
I pull into the hotel parking lot, the clock blinking 4:32 a.m., and once I stop inbus parking, I switch off theignition.
“Yeah, I’m crashing here,” Tom says. “Wait a sec.” I hear footsteps, as though he’s walking somewhere more private. Background noisedeadens.
Maximoff unbuckles his seatbelt the same time as me. I zip up my leather jacket, and he reaches around the seat and finds his plain greensweatshirt.
Tom continues, “There’s this dude here named Freddie, my bandmate’s friend of a friend, and he keeps going on and on about how you and him hooked up onenight.”
I go still, bus keys in my hand. If they did hook up in the past, the fuckwad is breaking his NDA by talking aboutit.
And since the @maximoffdeadhale user has become a real threat, everyone who personally knows Maximoff is on my radar. I’m beginning to realize that any of his one-night stands could beculpable.
I don’t know how many people that could be. I never asked for a number. I never sifted through his old NDAs. I didn’t need or want to, but if I need tonow…
My nose flares, mixed emotions slamming atme.
Maximoff brick-walls his features. I can’t read him. He tells Tom, “I don’t remember aFreddie.”
“He said you were the best lay he’s ever had. I thought you should know in case he’s violating a privacy contract, but if he’s justlying—”
“Ignore him,” Maximoff says and grabs his dark Ray Bans. “Give the phone to yourbodyguard.”
I re-lace one of my boots and tug on black gloves. Then I stand out of my seat and holster my Glock in my waistband. The most tedious prep for the tour was applying for each state’s gunpermits.
“One more thing,” Tom says. “I’ve sobered up a lot, but I, uh, took Fireball shots, and during those minutes or hours, I said some things I shouldn’t have—but I think they think I’m full of shit. So we’re allgood.”
Fuckinghell.
I collect my radio, untwisting the wires to the earpiece, and I descend a few steps to the busdoor.
