Page 64 of Lovers Like Us
I nod a few times. Even before we got together, he always kept me in the loop. Even at the cost of disobeying the security team. “Thanks,” I say. “You know I won’t share with anyone but Janie.” I’m not about to scare my youngercousins.
I click into the @maximoffdeadhaleaccount.
Farrow watches me, our silence more uneasy. I thought that tension woulddisappear.
“You don’t need to worry,” I tell him. “I’m not afraid ofstalkers.”
“I didn’t think you were.” He combs a hand through his white hair. “There’smore.”
I frown at him before looking at the account. 52 photos. Most recent one shows me lying bloodied on a neon Cleveland sign, their Photoshop skills top-notch.
My first and only thought:I’m happy it’s me and not Farrow, not Jane, not my siblings, not my family, not anyone Ilove.
And I think about that. How I’m staring at dozens of pics where I’m dying or already dead and the only thing I feel isgratitude. Happy that the user didn’t choose to mock-kill someoneelse.
Farrow adjusts his earpiece, gaze drifting like another bodyguard is speaking. When his attention returns to me, he says, “It’s likely the account belongs to someone you personally know. Someone who hates you. Someone you’ve intentionally or unintentionally pissed off, and since I’m closest to you, I need to narrow down alist.”
I think back. Who did I piss off? “Most of my fistfights with hecklers made the news, so those names are somewhere online. That should help.” I stare faraway. “I can’t think of anyone else who’d want me dead besides anonymoustrolls.”
Farrow slowly edges into the next question. “What about any of yourhookups?”
Blood just drains out of my head. I’m not an idiot. I rapidly connect all the pieces and fully comprehend hisreservations.
He needs to search my old NDAs for possiblesuspects.
And bysearch, I meandiscover the names and number of people I’vefucked.
I start shutting down. Brick upon brick upon brick. I climb off the bed and grab a pair of boxer-briefs.
He stands. “Maximoff—”
“I’ll go through my NDAs,” I say confidently, pulling my underwear to my waist. “I’ll give you the names of anyone that I think could be capable of creating an account likethat.”
His jaw tics. “That’s not how this works.I’myour bodyguard. I protectyou, Maximoff. You can’t do thisyourself—”
“Why not?” I shake my head, my neck stiff and hot. “I’ve met these people. You haven’t. I can filter out the ones who wouldnever—”
“How the fuck do you know they’d never hurt you?” he snaps, not backing down. “You were only with these people for one night. How much do you even know aboutthem?”
I cast a glare at the wall.Notmuch.
“Omega wants to research all of your NDAs, and Iagree—”
“No,” I say out of impulse and step back from him. Two feet. Three and four. Hands up. “You don’t need to know the faces of every person I’ve ever sleptwith.”
Farrow laughs out a pained smile. “Man, you think this is easy for me? I don’t want to rifle in your past when I know it hurts you for me to bethere.”
“Then don’t.” I gesture to his chest. “Give the job to me or if not me, thenAkara—”
“I’myour fucking bodyguard.” His narrowed gaze drives deeper into me. “Not Akara. Not anyone else. And as your bodyguard and yourboyfriend, I want to protect you. It’s my job to take care of your NDAs, your safety, and if you don’t let me help you, then I’m hurting you by being a worse bodyguard than what youneed.”
I set my hands on my head, almost out of breath. Like I just swam a 400-meter IM without coming up for air. I just stop. I breathe, and I try my best to understand him. Because I don’t want to fuck with hisjob.
My mind reels, and I just say what hits me. “I want to not care about the fucking NDAs, the faces, the names,” I tell him. “I get it. If our positions were reversed, I’d hope you’d value your life over something trivial. And that you’d let me sift through papers about your one-night stands and let me help…” I cringe at the thought of anyone stepping into a sex life that I kept private from theworld.
Fromyou.
How do I open a door that I padlocked, chained, and bolted shut? “Fuck,” I breathe, glaring at theceiling.
