Page 68 of Wild Like Us
Farrow runs his tongue over his bottom lip, grinning. “I’m not fucking with you. You have something in your hair.”
“Mybionicsuperpower is all-seeing, and Iseethat there’s a bucket load of nothingthere.”
Farrow smiles more. “Just when I forgot how big of a dork you really a—”
“You check out Sulli’s foot?” I interrupt the very second I roll up in front of them. Causing them to stop abruptly in place.
Farrow eyes me with raised brows, like I’m a bat flapping hysterically out of hell. “Yeah, her foot is fine. She’ll live.”
Maximoff slips me a tougher look. Thedon’t hurt my cousinwarning is something I’ve seen him shoot more at my brother. I just now realize he’s holding his son.
Ripley isn’t sleeping anymore. The baby rubs his tired, blue eyes, his cheek on Maximoff’s chest.
I nod, “Thanks.”
Farrow frowns. “Why are you acting like you stung her, Moretti?”
Maximoff tenses. “Did you do something—?”
“No,” I cut in sharply. “I didn’t exactly do a knockout job helping her with the swelling. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
Her cousin eases a bit. “She’s alright. Sulli is tough.”
I nod, “Yeah, she is.”
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
We fucking kissed.I bite down on my molars, hoping the truth isn’t raging through my eyes like it’s raging through my head.
I can handle this.
Hell, I’vegotthis. Yeah, it’s fresh on the brain—it literallyjusthappened and I’ve already spilled to Thatcher—but this news can’t be that hard to shelter. I’ve done a twin-switch before and pretended to bemy brotherfor weeks on end. Nowthatwas fucked up and impossible.
“You took a shower with her?” Maximoff asks suddenly.
“No,” I say. “I took one after her.” At least I’m not lying. He might only be twenty-four, but this third-degree feels like he’s her fifty-year-old father grilling my ass.
So I step out of their faces, and we all head for the same place. The rental cars where Oscar, Charlie, and Akara still talk.
On our trek, Farrow plucks a leaf out of Maximoff’s hair. He shows his husband. “You were saying?”
“I saw that,” Maximoff replies, trying to suppress a smile.
Farrow keeps smiling until Maximoff breaks his composure. Keeping pace, Farrow cups the back of Maximoff’s head, bringing him closer as they walk. Slipping each other affectionate smiles.
They have that storybook love.
What I used to call sentimental, sappy romance when I was a kid.
Attainable for only few. Like my Cinderella brother.
Maybe I thought ofloveas a storybook because it seemed unreal. Something I never had. Something I couldn’t grasp because I’d trip before reaching the door.
And theloveI saw as a child was destroyed by a toxic divorce. One that ripped through my family like shrapnel. Sometimes I still feel the ache inside me, metal lodged underneath my skin.
Storybook love.
