My assistant just emailed me the schedule for the first leg of the tour, and I organized a crew to follow our bus. They’ll set up the meet-and-greets at each convention center. Taking care of the tech aspects.
The H.M.C. charity team and I decided on an unstructured tour. We’ll announce each FanCon city only the day before the meet-and-greet. It’ll create more buzz and social media interaction. Fans will try to guess which city we’ll be in next, and they’ll keep checking to see if we’ll be near them.
It also helps keep our location more anonymous on the road. And hopefully, more paparazzi will lose track of us.
I already know what else I need to tell Jane. “My sister thought she was pregnant,” I let that bomb drop.
Janie’s eyes widen. “Merde.”
“Shit is right.” I brush snow out of my hair. “She’s not. Thank God.” The test came back negative, and Luna just broke down sobbing in relief. “I thought about what you would’ve done if you were there.”
“You did?” Jane clutches her elbows, cold.
I unzip my outer jacket. “I put on The Fifth Element—”
“One of Luna’s favorite movies,” Jane says, already knowing.
I nod. “And I made her a Pop-Tart.”
Jane smiles. “She’s lucky to have you as a brother.”
“No, she’s lucky I tapped into Jane Eleanor Cobalt’s Best Sibling Guide.” I shrug off my Patagonia jacket and hand it to her.
She sticks her arms in the holes and zips it up. “Merci.”
I glance at the twelve-bunk sleeper bus. More of Omega lingers outside on purpose. Maybe they’re taking bets on the status of our friendship. Weirdly, I’m kind of glad they care.
I ask Jane, “How are you and your parents?”
“We’re not speaking really. I need time,” she says. “You?”
I think back to the talk with my dad and mom. “Honestly, I don’t know. They’re not ready to forgive themselves, and there’s not much I can do.”
She asks about their feelings on Farrow, but my parents didn’t even reach that topic. Maybe it’s what Farrow said. It has less to do with him as my boyfriend and more to do with him breaking their trust as a bodyguard. Those weeds are too tall for me to crawl in, and so I don’t start.
“What about your passion?” I ask, realizing that I haven’t even brought this up. Not once. “You’re supposed to be finding what you want to do.”
“I will. Just…not now.”
“Janie.”
“I brought knitting.” She crinkles her nose because she’s tried knitting and she’s not good. “It’s something, but I don’t think I’ll have time…don’t look at me like that. Our friendship comes first.”
“You come first.”
Jane pinches her eyes. “Don’t make me cry. My tear ducts are in pain. They haven’t been in this much use in ages.”
I hug her again, and we chat for about ten more minutes, then we walk back to the bus—fuck. “I need to make a call,” I tell her, our bodyguards reanimating and shoving the last of the supplies in the outside-accessible bays. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
A smile pulls her freckled cheeks. “Let’s never fight again.”
“Deal.”
I step away from the bus and trek back to the curb. Searching for a number in my contacts. Cold drives through my gray sweatshirt, and my arms shake a bit.
Farrow rounds the bus, black boots crunching snow, and our eyes latch. He combs a hand through his bleach-white hair. He dyed the strands early, early this morning.
His features pop a billion times more. A barbell pierces his brown eyebrow again, and he stands like no stress on planet Earth could weigh him down.
God, I am colossally, uncontrollably attracted to him. I motion Farrow over to me, 100% subconscious. My brain zeroes in on him and just computes one word: closer.
Farrow hikes over, his masculine stride so casual and unhurried.
My muscles contract, blood pumping in my veins and rushing down. In one blip, I imagine us tangled together. Legs, arms, bodies welded—I want him all over me. His hands, his eyes, his emotion, his mind.
I solidify at one jarring thought.
I want to be smothered by my boyfriend.
Fuck.
Me.
“Maximoff.” Farrow waves his hand at my face, pulling me from a somewhat-fantasy. His smile expands to James Franco territory.
Jesus. “I’m great. Thanks for asking.”
“I didn’t ask.” His barbell rises with his brows, and my neck heats. “Where’d you go?”
“Neverland,” I quip.
He rolls his eyes, but his knowing gaze drips down all six-foot-two of my build. “Next time,” he says, “take me with you.”
You were already there.
I swallow the words and my infatuation. Because I’m too apparent. He looks like he’s about to catalogue this moment, frame it, and gift it to me. “I was thinking about the weather and tour route,” I explain.
“Sure you were.” His teasing smile strokes my cock. Fuck me. He notices my phone. “Making a call?”
“Yeah.” Focus. “I’ll put it on speaker.” I scroll back through my contacts, and a large gust blows through the parking lot. Without my outer jacket, I shake way more than I want to.
Farrow suddenly moves behind me.
I lick my lips, pulse heightening in anticipation of the unknown.
He drapes his arm over my shoulder, then he clutches me around my collarbones. And he draws my strong back to his hard chest.
His warmth sheaths me, the embrace more intimate than I’d allow anyone else. With Farrow, I almost ease back, letting myself sink against him.
“Separate!”
“Fuck,” I curse and rip apart from Farrow. I run my tongue over my teeth. Fucking A. Thatcher is hawkeyeing us from the damn tour bus. I stand more rigid on the curb and try to refocus on my phone.
Farrow is nailing the coldest glare into Thatcher, and then he clicks his mic. “We weren’t even kissing.”
From afar, I notice Thatcher clicking his mic and speaking.
Farrow unhooks his earpiece, letting the cord dangle on his shoulder, and he raises the volume on the radio.
Thatcher’s voice filters through the earpiece speaker. “You look like a couple. You want to do that, do it on the bus. The windows are tinted.”
r /> Farrow is about to click his mic.
I hold up a hand. “Just drop it,” I say. “We’re in public right now, and we can’t get caught.” Thatcher thought we’d be less cautious now that family and security know we’re together—and I’m starting to realize he was right. I didn’t even think twice, and I should’ve.
Farrow’s jaw muscle tics. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere at eight a.m.—the risk is nonexistent.”
“Not to him.” I gesture to Thatcher. “And I don’t want to burn that bridge. Not after he helped us.”
Farrow combs two hands through his bleach-white hair. His nose flares, and then he half-heartedly nods. “Fine.” He watches me scroll through my contacts. “Who are you calling?”
“Your father.” I find Dr. Keene’s number. “He keeps texting me to call him.” Now’s the time. I press the green button, and Farrow props his shoulder against the skeletal tree. He looks unconcerned but as curious as me.
“Moffy.” Dr. Keene answers on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Sorry.” I lift the speaker to my mouth. “It’s been hectic.”
Farrow mouths, don’t apologize. As though I’m being too nice.
I give him a middle finger.
Farrow almost smiles, but he eyes the phone as his father says, “That’s not a problem. I heard you’ve been busy planning a meet-and-greet tour.”
“Yeah.” I turn my back to the roaring wind. “And I get why you’re calling, but Farrow and I are happy, we’re adults, and I hope you can respect our decision to be together. Even if it involved some risks.”
The line goes quiet.
Farrow pushes off the tree, brows knotting, and he comes to my side.
My voice is firm. “Dr. Keene?”
“You’re together?” he questions. “As in…dating?”
Holy. Shit.
I’m in a slow-mo car crash. I find myself sinking into a crouch, my face buried in one hand. Why the hell did I assume he knew?
Dear World, can you die from embarrassment? Sincerely, a dying or possibly already dead human.
“What happened?!” Donnelly shouts from the bus.