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)
It irritates the fuck out of me this time. I don’t care that my family and security can hear. I care that eat that ass has woken up my boyfriend, who’s been majorly sleep-deprived.
Farrow slips his arm off me, eyes fluttering open into a glare aimed at the window.
“LICK MAXIMOFF HALE’S WOUNDS!!”
My jaw sharpens.
Farrow combs a hand through his white hair, and I sit up more—he puts a hand on my leg. I read his gaze quickly: don’t rush outside. And I spot the heat in his brown eyes.
“They’re pissing you off?” I ask, both of our shoulders propped against the headboard.
“Yeah.” His brows lift at me. “You just had surgery. You don’t need this shit right now.”
“Neither do you,” I say strongly.
Farrow sweeps the length of my build, combing back his messy hair for the second time. He opens his mouth and—
“LICK HIS HOLE!!”
Farrow rolls his eyes.
My scowl darkens.
And Oscar is on his feet, staring hard at the curtained window.
Jane and Luna wake beneath it, and when Akara starts texting, I realize all of the room is now alert and agitated.
They look to me, to Farrow, back to me, and I tell them, “Welcome to my attic.”
“MAXIMOFFFFFF!” a drunk guy slurs. “SUCK MY COCK AFTER YOU SUCK FARROW KEENE’S!!”
No.
Beckett is giving the window a bigger what the fuck face.
Sulli cringes. “This is fucked up.”
Donnelly stands and shuffles between the air mattresses. Trying to reach the door.
“No.” Akara points at him, still texting. “No one do anything yet. Don’t turn on a lamp. They’ll be able to see the room light up from the street.”
Donnelly listens and stays put, and Thatcher towers at a stance, guarding the exit.
Oscar studies the window again. “We can tell these drunk fucks that this isn’t Maximoff’s room. Get Jane to call out to them—”
“No,” Thatcher interjects. “Then they’ll start harassing her.”
“I can do it,” Luna offers. “This can be my room.” My sister starts peeking beneath the curtain—
“Luna, don’t!” I yell, and before I try to slide off the bed, Janie is already pulling my sister away from the windowpanes.
Paparazzi wait on the street nightly. Camera lenses are constantly pointed at my window. And there is a 100% chance of hecklers with a shower of ridicule tonight.
I don’t want that for any of my family or SFO.
Quinn adjusts the curtains, the room fully obscured from the street.
Farrow eyes me and twists his silver rings.
“FARROW! MAXIMOFF!! WHO’S THE BOTTOM?!”
I glower. Blood boiling.
Oscar quickly heads over to Jack and Akara, speaking hushed to both of them.
I’m putting Farrow in this fucked-up situation. If he weren’t in a public relationship with me, no one would shout that on a goddamn city street.
“WHO TAKES IT IN THE ASS?!”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I’m about to stand, but Farrow draws me back on the bed.
Swiftly, he turns sideways and tents his legs over mine. Caging me. “Don’t let that shit bother you,” he says easily, and in his peripheral, he’s watching SFO figure out a plan. “Because my natural instinct is to defend you, wolf scout, and I know yours is to defend me, but we’re a target together and we have to take some of these hits.” He stares deeper into me.
Some of these hits.
Not all of them.
We both have our limits. But these hecklers shouldn’t be a breaking point. This is easy in comparison to what else could be thrown at Farrow.
My chest rises.
People have always tried to hurt who I love. My parents, my sisters, my brother, all of my fucking family. Attacks from online, from on the street.
And now the world knows that I love Farrow.
You know that I’m in love.
For real.
All I want is to protect him, and all he wants is to protect me. It’s been our motto since the damn start. But Farrow is used to people mocking me, hating me, shitting on me. I’m not used to seeing him beneath a burning spotlight that leaves scars.
“This isn’t easy,” I admit.
“I know,” he says like he’s met this irritation, this frustration and anger time and time again while we’ve been together in private. When he’s not allowed to bear his fists to protect me.
Just take the hit.
I tilt my head back, my sore muscles begging me to relax.
“RIDE HIS DICK!!”
Farrow raises and lowers his brows in a teasing wave.
I lick my lips, heating up in a better way. “Never happening.”
He cocks his head and whispers, “It’s definitely already happened.”
“Has it?” I feign confusion.
He rolls his eyes into a short laugh—and then he notices the same thing as me. “Cobalt, what the hell are you doing?”
My best friend straps a sequined purse across her grannie jammies. She has a switchblade and pepper spray in there, and we watch her quickly fit on fuzzy cat slippers.
“Janie,” I call out, already figuring out why she’s angry. “We can post an Instagram video. You don’t need to confront them on the fucking street.”