Page 37 of Headstrong Like Us
I barely crest the doorway, and I stop cold.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Maximoff.” Farrow lets go of my hand. Just to put a calming touch to the back of my head.
Do I look like I’ve seen a ghost?
Feels that way.
I’m wide-eyed on a sandy-brown-haired, twenty-something guy. He’s waiting for a machine to fill his coffee mug. Full lips, hooked nose, squared shoulders—a pretty boy, masculine, and fit like he never skips leg day. He still dresses like he’s simultaneously trying to be preppyandnot give a shit. Taupe sweater, a size too tight, and dark denim jeans, fabric ripped at the kneecaps.
I unfreezefast, and like I’m trying not to trigger a bomb, I skulk backwards. Until I’m in the hallway, and I realize I’m letting Farrow lead me somewhere.
I don’t know where he’s taking me.
I don’t care where the hell we’re going.
He’s reaching behind his back and holding my hand. And I keep up with unoiled joints, walking like the Tin Man behind him.
My dad’s office.
Farrow guides me into the familiar space. FramedX-Mencomics hang on burgundy-hued walls, and tons of family photos are crammed on metal bookshelves. Black leather chairs crowd a wooden coffee table, and a Mac computer sits on a clean industrial desk.
I shut the door, my brain spinning. Trying to determine how to tell Farrow about this past thing that just smacked me in the face.
Farrow takes my motorcycle helmet out of my death-grip. And he places his helmet and mine on the desk. His jaw muscle spasms like he’s biting down, territorial and protective of me.
I swallow a rock. “You should know that I know that guy.”
“I know.”
Confusion pulls at my face. “Wait, how?”
“Kaden Simmons.” Farrow speaks his name into existence.
My mouth falls. “You know hisname?”
He rests his ass partially on the desk. Seemingly casual and cool, but tension still tightens his jaw. “Back when you had a stalker, I had to read all your NDAs.”
Right.
Fuck.
Our eyes grip each other like we’re about to free-fall together.
Farrow has a photographic memory, so I don’t ask why he remembers Kaden out of all the other NDAs. I bet he can easily file through all the names of my one-night stands. I wonder if he had to do a background check on Kaden. I never asked how deep he dove when trying to find my stalker.
His concern mounts the longer he sweeps my features. “You remember him.” That’s not a question.
It’s a fucking fact.
I blink; my eyes feel burnt raw. Farrow knows that I’ve had too many one-night stands to recall faces and names. I can barely pinpoint locations and dates. It was just sex, but I took care of who I slept with. I was highly aware that they’d always remember sleeping with me, Maximoff Hale.
I wanted sex to be a good experience for every hookup. But there are a handful of times where it wasn’t that great for me.
Words jumble, and I end up just saying, “Yeah, I remember him.”
Farrow combs two hands through his bleach-white hair, and I zone in on the gray titanium band on his ring finger. I zero in on the crossed swords on his Adam’s apple, and the beautiful wings on his neck. Just to avoid the rising pain on his face.
