Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Farrow considers this. “Maximoff has never asked me to fuck him to sleep, but that’s also because he’s paranoid about being a sex addict. He’d stop himself more than I’d need to stop him from being compulsive in bed.”
I love that Luna doesn’t descend too deep inside her head while we’re fucking. It’s so visceral having her that uncontrolled, that untamed. “She’d go until she passed out every night if I didn’t stop her.”
“Damn.”
“Best lay in the fucking world though. Baptize her with my cum seven times a week.”
“Okay,” Farrow cringes. “That’s where you lose me.”
I grin. “She makes a cute cinnamon roll when I—”
“Oh my God,” he interjects like his ears are bleeding.
I laugh hard.
When the sound fades, Farrow rests against the dryer and says, “I’m not specialized in sex addiction, but I just wouldn’t make it a routine.” He clarifies, “Having sex to sleep.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Since Luna has given Farrow consent to discuss her medical care with me, we talk more about my girlfriend’s health and mine too.
Insomnia. PTSD. Night terrors. Sleepwalking.
“One day I might do it,” I say about the sleep study he’s always recommending. “But right now, I feel like I could sprint down Broad and sing Don’t Stop Believin’ at the top of my lungs, so think I’m doing alright.”
Farrow looks me over, his lips upturning. Like he sees it too. Then my phone goes off, and he picks up the hamper.
I groan seeing the text from the big boss man.
“What’s wrong?” Farrow comes closer.
“You know how Price heard I slept in Luna’s bunk on the tour?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, now he wants to ensure Luna isn’t a distraction while I’m on-duty. So he’s putting me on Ben’s detail today while she’s at Penn.”
At least Thatcher will be protecting Xander. That’s what Price texted. We’ve been one holly jolly security team lately, so it’s not surprising he’s poached one of Akara’s men for the day.
Farrow makes a winced face. “Who the fuck ratted you out to the boss in the first place?”
“Don’t know. O’Malley swears up and down it wasn’t him. None of Epsilon even acted like they had a problem with me bunking up with Luna. And if they did, I wish they would’ve just told me to my face rather than run to Price.”
“Oscar said something about Epsilon’s rookie floater,” Farrow says in thought.
“Hart McKenna? Was it that he looks like your asshole ex? ‘Cause Oscar and I have already talked about that.”
He rolls his eyes into a glare now. “Can you let Rowin die in your brain and conversation?”
“Not when McKenna could be his twin. Look at me, got a cousin out of nowhere.”
“It wasn’t out of nowhere, and he’s not his twin. And no, Oliveira didn’t bring that up. Just that…McKenna seemed off. I’d keep an eye on him when he’s around.”
I appreciate the heads up, and I’m about to tell him thanks when our phones buzz at the same time. Farrow drops the hamper to check his cell.
AKARA
It’s official. We bought the apartment space above Studio 9. Signed the papers this morning. Sry, guys. We couldn’t wait any longer for the repairs to be done. The baby might come any day. We’ll miss living with everyone, but this is a permanent move for the three of us. We aren’t coming back.
Farrow and I share a shocked look. Akara, Banks, and Sulli are leaving the penthouse for good. They’re moving out.
“Did not expect that,” Farrow says.
“They’ve always been the spur-of-the-moment ones. Makes sense they’d just run out and buy a new place since they ran out and got married.”
“Yeah,” Farrow sighs. “Shit.”
“Shit,” I stare out, realizing Luna’s gonna be sad Sulli won’t be around anymore. Just when she’d been reconnecting with her.
We’ve been living at the Hale House for a full week already. The structural damage to the penthouse is so extensive, the original seven-day repair timeline has been extended. It might be a month or two.
“What’d that psychic say about lasts?” I ask Farrow. “We’d all have a last there? Could be the last time any of us step foot in the penthouse.”
“She was just guessing and seeing what stuck,” Farrow says, lifting the hamper.
This one might’ve stuck.
‘Cause I’m starting to believe no one’s going back.
67
PAUL DONNELLY
Being on Ben’s detail feels more like I’m a fly on the wall rather than the Boogeyman scaring away teenagers at Dalton. Didn’t think I’d miss the latter, but here I am.
Spent most of the morning chilling in the hockey rink stands and watching Ben practice. He’s the fastest on the ice.
Of his whole team.
Always been that way. I’ve seen him play hockey in high school—when Beckett attended his little brother’s games—and he’d sweep past his rivals with the puck. No one could catch him.
But today, at practice, Coach Dorsey benched him. A ton.