Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Few month’s time, Redford, and we’re all going to watch your smug ass on TV,” Oscar tells me, all of SFO congregating around a few wooden high-top tables we shoved together. Plates of finger-food and nonalcoholic drinks cover the surface.
We’re all on-duty.
I wondered how being a bodyguard again would work. How the guys would handle me coming back after I willingly quit. That same day in Greece, during the sandcastle contest, the news was announced.
And then all of SFO pushed me in the motherfucking sea.
In jest.
Akara knew what was happening way before. Apparently, the Tri-Force had talked to Lo in advance, and he would’ve never offered me the spot if they said no. Akara told me they were unanimous in favor of bringing me back.
I didn’t need to know why the security team would want me. I just figure it’s easier to have me on the team than a new hire. It’s what Thatcher said a while back. Trust is invaluable with these families, and they trust me a hell of a lot.
Enough to let me marry into American royalty.
I prop my boot on the rung of a stool that Donnelly sits on. Most of us are standing, and I tell Oscar, “You can watch my smug ass in real life.”
“Already accomplished.” Oscar dips a fry in ketchup. A long, long buffet table spans an entire brick wall. Invite-only guests amble around the open space, mixed drinks and beers in hand.
The food isn’t the main attraction. Cameras and lighting equipment point at a white backdrop. See, these wrap parties are always half-cocktail-hour and half-photo-shoot. The famous ones have to take promotional shots for the premium cable-network’s digital apps.
“You don’t want us to watch your episodes?” Akara asks, giving me a weird look.
“Eh…” I waver my hand. Being honest, I don’t give a shit.
“Did you embarrass yourself?” Oscar asks. “Bro, I told you not to talk about serious shit with the parents on camera.”
“It happened,” I say truthfully, picking up a whole apple off my plate. “Connor was offered a condom sponsorship.” I let that out, trusting these guys, and also that footage with Connor is going to be aired.
Banks laughs hard.
“Cobalt Condoms.” Donnelly flips a page in a gossip magazine. “Magnum-size only.”
“For the wealthy man,” Oscar chimes in.
“Nah, I’d wanna buy some,” Donnelly notes.
I whistle. “These are definitely fictional condoms when Donnelly thinks he can fit into a magnum.”
Everyone laughs.
Donnelly blows me a middle-finger kiss. And I won’t tell anyone but Maximoff, at least not to the full degree—but I missed these guys. Shit, like I really missed them. In ways that I didn’t think I would or even could.
I glance at Donnelly who dog-ears the magazine. “We should make a drinking game out of the docuseries,” he says, his Philly lilt thick. “Every time you roll your eyes, we take a shot.”
Akara shakes his head, a water bottle to his lips. “Too many shots.”
“How about you all just not watch the show,” I say casually.
Donnelly laughs like that’s an absurd idea.
Thatcher says, “That was the plan.”
“See, listen to Thatcher,” I tell everyone and bite into my red apple.
He sends me a narrowed look. Not understanding why I’m agreeing with him. Let’s make this clear: he agreed with me first.
I watch his gaze drift to the camera set-up. Right now, a photographer takes various shots of Maximoff and Jane together. She rests her freckled cheek on his shoulder, and he has a protective arm around her waist.
Their relationship intact means a ton to me. And the fact that I didn’t destroy that good thing and I still got the man, the love, and everything in between—there are no words for what I feel. Because “happy” doesn’t seem powerful enough.
Donnelly hunches forward on the stool and clears his throat. Reading from the magazine he’s holding, “‘With a wedding on the horizon, you can expect interest in Maximoff & Farrow’s relationship to escalate in the coming months.’”
I hone in on how they called me Farrow and not just Maximoff’s fiancé or Maximoff’s boyfriend. And the Alphas Like Us articles stopped referring to me as the “new boyfriend,” and they’ve started printing my name too.
Either this means that the world sees me as a human being or as someone worthy enough to be attached to Maximoff by name. Possibly both.
And I’ll definitely take both.
Donnelly rotates the tabloid sideways and reads on, “‘They’re the current it-couple and it’s going to take somethin’ huge to change that.’” He looks at me with seriousness. “Want me to do somethin’ huge?”
“No, fuck no.”
SFO may have a modicum of fame, but the spotlight on me is much brighter and blinding. Being with Maximoff, I’ve learned to not let that shit get to me.
Don’t fear it. Don’t run away from it. Don’t fight it. Instead I hang onto the bright side and just live every day with him.