Page 104 of Charming Like Us
I’m ignoring the few glances as people try to place my face.Bodyguard to the famous ones. Security Force Omega hottie.
I suddenly remember my conversation with Jack about cheesesteaks. Without much thought, I pop up his number on my phone. But I think he’s in New York right now. He was shooting some footage of Charlie this afternoon.
I hesitate.
Fuck it. I text:Wanna grab an actually good cheesesteak? Meet me here. I drop him a pin of my location. My stomach twists for a solid minute. I expect him to tell me he’s not in Philly, but my phone pings.
Cool. Be there in ten.– Highland
My smile hurts my face.
“Someone looks like they got dicked down real nice.” Donnelly appears behind me with a lopsided grin. He fists a slender can of a Lightning Bolt! energy drink. “You wanna spill?” He leans into my shoulder to try and read the text.
I press the phone-lock fast, the screen now black. “Good dick is good.”
“Poetry,” Donnelly smirks.
“I am a poet these days, bro.” I almost grin back, but our banter makes me miss him with me in New York.
He pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear. “You still into Jack?”
An image of the other night pops up. Where we fell asleep in each other’s arms as the sun rose.
Yeah.
“I’m working on it.” I pocket my phone and retie my rolled bandana. “You into anyone lately?”
He shrugs, then sips his energy drink. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
I glance past him. “Where’s the gentleman?”
Donnelly laughs. “He’s one.” He points to his dick. “And he’s in need of some nice warm love.”
“Rub harder next time.”
“My hand is nothin’ compared to a…” He mimes a blow job with his hand and tongue against the inside of his cheek.
A lady shoots Donnelly a scathing glare from a picnic table. “There are kids here,” she sneers, a hand covering her daughter’s eyes.
“Nah, really?” Donnelly lights a cigarette even with a can in his hand. “I just thought that was a mini adult.”
Her aghast noise is drowned by the click-click of cameras and screech of paparazzi. “Redford’s here,” I say.
Though, I can’t see yet. Hot sun begins to set, and I shield the shine with my hand.
But sure enough, cameramen trip over themselves as Farrow and Maximoff saunter down the sidewalk side-by-side. Donnelly and I watch as an on-duty Farrow blocks cameramen from crowding his son and husband. Ripley wiggles his legs in a tactical vest on his chest, and Maximoff is actuallycarryingArkham. The puppy acts like a scared, furry baby.
At this point, their son braves the paparazzi better than their dog.
Donnelly and I laugh, and we rib Farrow while we try to hop in line. Too many motherfuckers are just clustered together waitingfor their order to be called.
Thankfully, paparazzi aren’t allowed on the deck, but we’re pushed further back towards the railing while fans approach Maximoff and ask for selfies. I’m off-duty and still surveying the area.
It’s a good habit. Considering a famous one is in our company.
We stand in a jagged ass line, and we could shoulder our way further in, but doing that would piss off too many people and stoke bad press.
“Is that Jack Highland?” Donnelly asks, bouncing on his feet.
