Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“It’s Sulli’s first production meeting,” Maximoff tells me.
“It needs to go well,” Jane adds.
Right.
Their cousin has never been on We Are Calloway. By joining the docuseries, Sulli is opening herself up to new criticism from the public.
But Maximoff and Jane have been on the show since they were little kids. Before I even met him, I watched Maximoff Hale on-screen profess his undying love for Power Rangers and excitedly say, “I hope that if I have a brother or a sister, they’ll like Power Rangers too.”
Public fact: Xander is a Power Ranger every year for Halloween.
Jane abandons her frozen peas to flip open another pastry box. “What do you want, Jack?”
Jack Highland ascends the twisting staircase. He has a quintessential “jock” look: broad, cut muscles visible through his tight black button-down, shoulder span as wide as a linebacker, and the charisma and popularity of a letter-jacket quarterback.
In any teen comedy, my “type” should hate his “type” but real people are more than just “rebel” versus “jock.” Plus, we’re both adults.
What I know about Jack: he wasn’t a football player. He did swim in college. He’s twenty-five, Filipino-American, biracial, and he has short dark brown hair, honey-brown eyes, and he’s a good inch taller than me.
“Give me the blueberry muffin,” he tells Jane, and she passes the baked good before gently sitting back down. Quinn slumps onto his beanbag.
Unwrapping his muffin, Jack turns to me first. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”
Maximoff’s brows knit. “What offer?”
I cross my arms loosely. “Jack wants me on the show. So fucking badly.” I emphasize those words. “How long have you been asking me?”
“Three years.” He bites into the blueberry muffin. “The more you keep turning me down, I’m going to start believing it’s personal.”
“Wait.” Maximoff stands. He hates sitting when other people are standing, I swear. “You want Farrow, this Farrow”—he points at me—“on the show?”
I give Maximoff a once-over. “How many Farrows do you know?”
Maximoff shoots me a middle finger.
Jack is used to exchanges like these, not fazed. “I’ve always wanted to showcase a bodyguard on We Are Calloway. Farrow has a good look, there’s a gif of you two…” Using one hand he scrolls on his phone and flashes me the gif first.
We’ve seen that one.
A Tumblr user made a gif from the footage when the court suspended Moffy’s license. In the gif: Maximoff and I push through the courthouse doors, exiting with sunglasses, side-by-side, cameras flashing repeatedly.
We look hot together.
“And Farrow is good looking enough to be a model,” Jack tells my boyfriend.
I raise my brows in a self-satisfied wave at Maximoff. He tries not to stare at me again. He almost has fuck me eyes.
By the way, Jack is straight. And I’d agree, I’m a 10 out of 10, but coming from Jack…
“That loses its meaning when I’ve heard you use the same compliment for forty-two different people,” I say, being precise on the number because I have a great memory. So I can be precise and accurate.
See, Jack has a way of making people feel good. It’s his job to ensure everyone in the room is comfortable. Then they can share information with him.
Even now, his eyes soften on me. “You’re a gorgeous guy. Better?”
“We’re getting slightly more original. But not by much,” I say and return to my beanbag beside Quinn.
In a matter of seconds, we’re all seated around the low table again.
Maximoff refills his tea and says to Jack, “It still doesn’t make sense. If you put Farrow in the show, he’d become famous. He wouldn’t be able to be my bodyguard.”
“Exactly.” I pick up my croissant sandwich. “Jack wants me in the show acting like a bodyguard. What he hasn’t grasped yet is that I like my job as a real bodyguard.”
Maximoff makes a concentrated effort not to look at me and draw attention. But he knows the fuller truth: I love my job because I’m around him.
Jack opens his notepad, slouched coolly on a yellow beanbag. “All I’m saying is one day you may want a change.” He flips a page. “Before Sullivan arrives, we can start with the two of you.” Pen between his fingers, he motions to Maximoff and Jane. “Next season is about big topics. Is there anything specific you want to talk about?”
29
MAXIMOFF HALE
Is there anything specific you want to talk about?
Jack always pitches this question first. My mind reels through various issues I could possibly discuss. Everything circumnavigates to one.
One topic, one plight, one goddamn annoyance.
“Yeah.” I set my cup on the table. “I want to talk about my uncle.”
The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing in Avengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.
Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which uncle?”
“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’ to mine. I don’t even say fuck as often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.