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)
That’s the advice she’s seeking?
“Luna will like whatever you give her,” I say.
“She won’t be weirded out? Will the gift make her feel bad about losing her relationship with me? Should I ask her therapist first?”
I shut one eye at that last question. “No, no, I dunno.”
Frog spins to Oscar and Farrow for input.
“Ah ah, that’s his girlfriend.” Oscar points at me. “He knows her the best.”
“Oh, now my instincts to go to him first are correct,” Frog deadpans.
I smile. “He’d give you a cookie, but Audrey stopped making them for him a year ago.”
Oscar fake laughs, and I laugh for real. While putting on socks, Quinn is the next one barreling into my room.
“There you are.” He sighs at Frog. “Is your radio off?”
“I wonder who used to do that,” Oscar says under his breath, eyes darting between Farrow and Quinn.
Farrow gives him a middle finger with all the nonchalance in the world.
Frog checks her radio zipped in a fanny pack. “It’s on now. Is Luna on the move?”
Already? I’m about to check my phone for a missed text, but Quinn is shaking his head. “Just making sure you didn’t leave without me.”
“That was one time.”
“Seven times,” Quinn refutes. “Just slow down. Why are you always in such a hurry?”
She mumbles while fiddling with the radio. “It beats hanging around you and Nessa.”
Don’t think he hears her, but I ask, “How are you and Nessa doing?” It’s a casual question. Hell, I’m sitting beside Oscar and putting on socks. I’ve got wool in my hands, not steel.
But his eyes flash hot on me. “Fine.”
“She’s always at our apartment,” Frog tells Quinn. “You should be glad Nine’s not charging her rent.” She calls her cousin Akara by his nickname Nine.
Quinn says, “It’s not like Gabe has slept there for the past week. There’s room.”
Oscar mouths to me, Millie’s. So Gabe really is dating MK.
While Frog and Quinn bicker about apartment living, six-foot-seven Thatcher Moretti slips in the room more quietly. He goes straight for Farrow and speaks hushed to him. Farrow nods, then Thatcher puts a radio in his hand and more ammo.
Must be about security during the funeral, but Farrow catches his shoulder, says something quieter, and pats Thatcher’s back. They’re close. Bonded through marrying Maximoff and Jane, best friends. Shouldn’t make me jealous. Never has before.
I sense the clench of my stomach. It’s probably because I’m not on SFO anymore and Thatcher is—despite being suspended for failing his psych eval. I’m guessing that’s why he’s dishing out extra security info to Farrow. Thatcher has to give up the reins to someone.
“You meeting Jack at the funeral?” I ask Oscar about his husband while I pull on my second sock.
“My eyes will be on him, yeah, but I can’t talk to him.” Oscar’s eyes darken. “Jack has to work at the funeral.”
He’s production. Why…? “They’re filming the funeral?” As soon as I ask it, the room deadens, and I look up to see Akara and Banks in the room too.
Minus Gabe, all of Omega is here.
My pulse beats strangely, and I just turn to Oscar for an answer.
“They’re filming it,” Oscar confirms. “It’s been a back-and-forth argument with the Calloway sisters and their mother. Production has been trying to stay out of it and just let them decide. Apparently, Samantha is adamant they show the funeral on the show. Jack said it was ugly. She threatened to get the lawyers involved, called them names, dug up the past.”
“Shit,” Farrow breathes.
Silence falls again, and I’d bet any unborn child of mine that we’re all thinking we wish the Crow died instead of her husband.
I stand up, and the bed squeaks. Eyes veer to me like a lit neon Welcome sign. Only, I feel more like a No Vacancy budget motel at the moment. All booked. No room for personal one-on-ones, or in this case one-on-sevens.
“Hey, Donnelly,” Akara says, his tone more uncertain than friendly. He doesn’t know where we stand after terminating my contract with Kitsuwon Securities and trading me off to Triple Shield. He did it like I’m a stat on a page, a number that he needed to subtract.
But if not me, then it would’ve been the three rookies.
Better it was just me.
Just wish I meant more to him is all. I’ve been living at the penthouse. We’re still roommates, but the place is so massive, it’s easy not to bump into him on the daily.
I up-nod to him now, opening my closet. Am I hiding? No, I’m searching for a belt and hoping someone takes the attention off me.
“Price thinks you’re trying to get fired,” he says.
My chest constricts. “I’m not trying to get fired.”
He snaps his finger to his palm. “Well, I’m supposed to tell you that if you do get fired, I’m not hiring you, so don’t self-sabotage.”