Page 171 of Tangled Like Us
He just laughed and smacked my chest.
Told me he had a feeling.
Said he’d never tell a soul.
And that was that. My relationship with Banks is one of the purest forms of love, and I’m selfishly glad that I have him to confide in again. I’m already thinking about all the shit I want to talk about. Ask him for advice.
Lord fucking knows I needed his adviceweeksago.
“They’re on their way back,” Jane says aloud. Straightening up.
Farrow and Maximoff walk over to the table with four aluminum-wrapped hot dogs and nachos. Their voices audible as they approach.
“Taste this.” Farrow grins and raises the tray of nachos to Maximoff.
He glares. “No fucking way. You put jalapeños on it.”
His lips stretch in a smile. “In the corner, wolf scout.” He motions to the middle. “Pick a chip over here. Promise you won’t die.” They reach the table.
“You can’t promise that, man.” Maximoff pulls out two metal chairs. “I could choke on the chip and die.”
Farrow tilts his head. “I’d give you the Heimlich. I’m your doctor.” They both take their seats.
Maximoff blinks. “Sounds like you just want to touch me.”
“I wouldn’t need to be your doctor to touch you. I’m yourfiancé,” he says pointedly.
Maximoff grimaces, trying not to smile. “I’d rather Janie save me.” He swings his head over to his best friend. His brows suddenly furrow. “You okay? You look super pale.”
She’s lost some color in her cheeks. “I’m okay. Perfect, actually.”
Maximoff is more rigid. “You know…lately you’ve been acting seriously weird around me.”
She gulps her root beer.
“Like that.” He motions to Jane.
“Like what?” Her eyes grow.
He scoots forward and lowers his voice. “You know you can tell me anything. Right?” Both of them lookpained.
And this just started. I can pull this pin for Jane—say what needs to be said in a few words, but I can’t slip into her dynamic with Maximoff. Neither can Farrow.
“I know I can,” Jane says wholeheartedly to him.
Farrow scrutinizes me until comms hit us. There’s chatter about crowds amassing outside the bingo hall. We both glance at the extra security posted at the entrance.
Should be fine.
His tattooed fingers peel aluminum, and I pick up my bottle of root beer.
Jane folds her hands on the table. “There is something we’ve been wanting to share with you and Farrow—it’s actually sort of funny…” Her eyes are huge; she didn’t mean to say that, and then she slides me an apologetic look.
I can’t believe I’m almost smiling. I take a swig of root beer. Keeping my arm around her.
“Bywe, you mean…” Maximoff’s eyes drift from me to her. “Thatcher and you—”
“Take your seats!” the caller announces, a bingo ball just rolled out. “We’re beginning with I-28! I-28!”
